“Ava,” Isobel whispered, pulling back and looking at her friend.
The discomfort on Ava’s face seemed to say more than words would have. Isobel, still relieved, got the hint anyway and stepped aside.
“Come with me,” Ciaran whispered, and they resumed walking again.
The morning sky was turning into a greyish blue, and the sun would be out any moment from now.
Ava’s wrists burned where the rope had rubbed her skin raw, and her shoulder ached from the force of being caught and dragged back from the cliff. Clumps of dirt clung to the sides of her gown, and her hands would not stop shaking, no matter how tightly she clasped them.
Men were moving everywhere around her, and horses stamped in the yard. Voices rose, then dropped when they saw her. Someone opened the door before she reached it.
She did not look at anyone until Ciaran steadied her at the threshold. His hand closed around her elbow with care.
That touch, more than anything, nearly undid her. She could still hear him. She could still hear the hard certainty in his voice when he had said she meantnothing.
She knew why he had said it. She knew he had saved her life with the same mouth that had cut her open.Knowing, however, did not heal the hurt.
“Ava.” His voice was rough. Her name sounded as though it cost him.
She made herself meet his eyes anyway. The expectation in them made something break inside her, but she was still overwhelmed. Now wasn’t the time to address that.
“Thank ye,” she mumbled.
His grip tightened slightly, as if he meant to say more.
She could not bear to hear it then. Not in the hall, with the scrape of boots still punctuating the morning silence. The last thing she wanted was to bear him explain anything. She wanted a hot bath first and then the oblivion of slumber. She had been through a lot. The last thing she needed was another thing for her to deal with.
So she stepped out of his hold.
“I am very tired.”
She did not wait for his answer. She went up the stairs with one hand on the rail and her head bent against the wave of dizziness that assaulted her.
“Me Lady, yer father will want to—” a maid called behind her as she climbed the last steps.
“I will see him later,” she called back without stopping.
By the time she reached her room, her breath was coming too fast. She shut the door, turned the key in the lock, and then stood still in the center of the room until the silence pressed in around her.
Then she began to cry.
She bent over as if someone had punched her in the stomach and covered her mouth with both hands because the sound wanted to come out ugly. The room blurred, and her knees weakened. She caught the bedpost before she could fall.
He had saved her.
He didnotwant her.
He had come for her.
He didnotwant her.
The truths beat against each other until she could not tell which hurt more. He could say all he wanted, that he had done it to save her, but the other thing was true. He had asked for an annulment before any of this happened. Why should a near-death experience change anything?
She wiped her face hard, crossed to her wardrobe, and opened it with shaking hands. She pulled out a traveling dress first, then another. A trunk stood at the end of the bed. She dragged it closer and began folding.
She packed whatever she could—stockings, dresses, shawls, and some of the combs she had brought from home. By the time the knock came, she had half-filled the trunk and soaked the front of her dress with tears.
“Ava?” Isobel’s voice called.
