He reached for the sealing wax before the letter was finished.
Hector’s hand came down on it lightly. “It isnae done.”
Ciaran looked at him.
Hector lifted his hand away. “What is wrong?”
“Ye wouldnae understand,” Ciaran muttered, too quickly.
He heard the defensive edge under his answer, the admission tucked inside the refusal.
If the matter had been political, military, or practical, Hector would have understood it very well. He had been raised in the same castle, under the same losses, beside the same responsibilities. To say otherwise was foolish.
But it was said now and could not be taken back.
Hector leaned back in his chair with the patience of a man not yet willing to push, but very much willing to wait. “That sounds suspiciously like something worth understanding.”
Ciaran gave him a flat look. “It sounds like none of yer concern.”
“Aye,” Hector said. “That, too.”
The study went quiet again.
Outside the door, a servant walked by, and Ciaran could hear the sound of someone dragging something across the floor.
These were sounds that usually kept him afloat and aware of things around him, but now they didn’t. They just made him much more anxious. It was a feeling he hated, and a part of him chalked it up to the wound in his shoulder.
He took the page from Hector, read through it once, and found no fault in it worth voicing. So he signed it. Hector watched him sand the ink, fold the page, and set the seal. When it was done, Ciaran placed the letter aside and stared at it.
“Do ye think this is going to do anything?” Hector asked.
Ciaran looked up at him. “Let us hope so.”
Hector did not move to leave. He remained where he was, one hand still resting near the folded letter as though the reason he was in the room was more than the letter itself.
“Do ye think we can keep this castle safe?”
Ciaran saw it then. The mild desperation on his brother’s face and the need for reassurance. Hector was just as worried as he was, probably even more.
“I daenae think we have any reason to worry,” Ciaran responded, hoping his voice conveyed as much reassurance as he could.
“And what about her?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Her?”
“Yer wife.”
Ciaran kept his eyes narrowed. “What does she have to do with any of this?”
“Ye ken very well she has a lot to do with this.”
Ciaran folded his arms. “What?”
“I understand yearning for a woman one doesnae or cannae have better than anyone.”
There was no pretense on Hector’s face. He had always been great at teasing him, but he wasn’t doing that. Not now. And that alone felt more irritating than anything.
For a moment, Ciaran said nothing. Then, he cleared his throat and resumed speaking like his brother had not dropped a rather profound thing for him to ponder. “I will be honest, though. I didnae expect her to be like this.”
