His embrace tightened, and he held me like a drowning man holds the floating remnants of his boat. Anything to keep his head above water.
I will always be your savior, Thomas.Though the way I clung to him, I might have been drowning, too.
“Ah, lass,” he finally breathed, and kissed the top of my forehead. “Too much has happened since you left, and I have little time to explain. Come.”
I had no choice but to do as he bade me and followed him into the unwelcoming, iron-tainted manor, wondering all the while what became of my merry shepherd king.
Thomas led me into a small storage room off the great hall. Knights had not slept in the hall for weeks, but only now did I notice the emptiness of the manor. The warmth of humanity, their needs and hungers, their living so fully and dying so quickly—all these things that had helped distract me from the foul trappings of Christianity seemed to dull now, like a guttering flame. The manor house became all bare bones, naught but iron and crosses, assaulting my senses on all sides.
A shadow fell across me, not of the fae this time. ’Twas pure mortal heaviness and sorrow.
“I apologize for the accommodations,” Thomas said as he ushered me in. “I needed someplace we could be alone.”
Once my heart would have leapt at the word “alone.” I hungered still for the shepherd’s touch. But not here.
The room was bare. Two small stools were all there were for us to sit upon; we faced each other over crates and boxes, cobwebs and dust. The stench of tallow and mouse droppings assaulted my nose.
Thomas’s eyes were upon me.
I took his hand. “It is wonderful to see your face.”
It would have been more wonderful to see his smile.
“And yours,” he told me. “I missed it—and you—so much.”
Yet his fingers slipped out of my grasp.
Thomas glanced around the room. “I could not risk Father seeing you.” He swallowed hard, and passed a hand over his forehead, disrupting his curls. “Family and household alone in the manor at this time.”
“So the guards did tell me.” I cocked my head. “They did not tell me why.”
In the dim light, something glistened on his cheek.
“Thomas?”
His voice shook as he spoke. “My brother Malcolm has passed on.”
I heard the words without taking their meaning. His brother Malcolm had passed on.
His brother Malcolm.
My charge, Malcolm.
The baron’s legitimate son and heir.
I left him alone. The Dark Fool played me, pulled me from his bedside.
Sweet Mab, I had failed.
The manor closed in around me. My skin prickled like nails poking at my flesh.
A sob caught in Thomas’s throat.
Purely mortal shame thrust its way into me. I thought only of my failure. Had I no thought for Thomas and his grief?
“Oh, Thomas.” I was torn between my need to comfort him, and the overwhelming sense of unwelcome from the manor itself. I had been tolerated while I might have been of use. But I had failed. Sweet Mother Mab, I had failed.
How did I fail? How was I not enough?
