Page 43 of Faithless Vows

Peel, turn, peel. My hands keep up the steady rhythm of it, but my mind has already drifted back to the reception. Back to Ronin. The hard set of his face. His hand clamped around my wrist as he tugged me into the hall in front of everyone. Then later, walking out with Kitty, her hand in his as if I were nothing at all. Peel, turn—my hand presses too hard, and the skin tears unevenly beneath the blade. The potato slips from my hand and falls to the floor.

I stare down at it, and the words start coming before I can stop them. “He was with someone else. The whole time.” My voice cracks. “He told me he loved me. Said it to my face.” I shake my head, my hands unsteady. “Then he called me naïve for thinking I’d be the only one. Like I was supposed to expect there’d be other women. Like it was none of my business.” My breathing grows uneven. “God, I was a fool. I was such a fool.”

My grandmam takes the pot from my knees and eases the knife from my hand, setting them both on thetable. Then she rests a hand on my shoulder. “Alannah. Look at me.”

I do, and the sadness in her eyes makes me choke back a sob.

“He shamed you,” she says, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “That’s the truth of it.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. What would I even say? That she’s wrong? That I didn’t see it? That I should have? I am so tired of it all. Tired of turning it over in my head. Tired of wondering what I did wrong. Of when everything went wrong.

“But you’re not the fool in it,” she says, her eyes holding mine. “He is. And whether he knows it now or not, one day he will.”

Then she leans down and kisses my forehead, and I start crying all over again. I press my face into her stomach, my tears soaking her apron as she holds me close. My hands clutch at her, fisting in the fabric as she murmurs to me in a low, soothing voice, but I can barely hear her over my broken sobs. Her hand strokes over my hair, then down my back, again and again, until my breathing begins to steady. “I know the road behind you was hard, my girl,” she says, holding me tighter. “But the ground here is solid, and you’ve your family round you. You’ll be yourself again in no time at all.”

I nod against her, though from where I am now, I can’t see how I’ll ever be that girl again.

After a moment she draws back, and I lift my face to look up at her. “There’s a silver lining to every cloud,” she says quietly. “Always remember that.” She gives my cheek a soft pat, then turns back to the stove and pours two cups of tea, setting one in front of me when she comes back to the table.

I reach for the cup and take a small sip. When I set it down, my eyes catch on my hand. Bare. There are no rings there now. No bands pressed into my skin. No reminder that I was meant to be someone’s wife. I don’t know how to feel about that.

My tea goes cold before I finish it. By then I’m peeling more slowly, my hands heavy with tiredness. When I finish the potato in my hand, Grandmam tells me that’s enough for todayand sends me upstairs to get washed. After my bath, I walk into my bedroom in a fresh nightgown. Grandmam is finishing making up the bed with clean sheets, the window open to air the room. All I want is to crawl into bed and try to sleep, but she sits me down first and brushes the tangles from my wet hair before plaiting it loosely down my back. When she’s finished, I climb beneath the covers. The sheets smell fresh and feel cool against my skin.

Sleep takes a long time coming, and when it does, it brings the reception with it. Ronin’s face. Kitty’s voice. My father telling me not to make things worse by leaving. Mam across the room, tipping her chin up at me, expecting me to keep my head up. Every eye in the room on me while I sat there and died by inches.

I wake with a cry caught in my throat, tears on my face and my heart pounding so hard it hurts. For a few terrible seconds, I think I’m back there. I blink until I can make out the room around me, and I remember. I’m home in Ireland. In my grandparents’ house. In the guest room. I’m safe.

But safe isn’t the same as whole. And right now, I can’t imagine ever feeling whole again.

Chapter Seventeen

Alannah

I sit by the window in the rocking chair Grandda brought up for me. He put it here the morning after Grandmam first got me out of bed two weeks ago, and I’ve spent most days in it since, my knees pulled up and a blanket across my lap, looking out at the yard and the fields beyond. There’s always someone moving about outside, family coming and going between the houses and Grandda’s men crossing between the sheds and outbuildings. It’s better than lying in bed staring at the ceiling.

I’m watching Aunt Maeve pin the last of her washing to the line when heavy footsteps sound on the stairs. A moment later, my door opens without a knock and Róisín steps in with a folded stack of clothes in her arms, a pair of shoes balanced on top. “Morning, cousin,” she says cheerfully, bumping the door shut with her hip as she crosses to the bed and drops the lot onto it before sitting down beside the pile.

“Morning, Róisín,” I say quietly, looking at the pile beside her. “What’s all that?”

“A few things Mam sent up,” she says. “Some are hers. Some are mine. You’re too tiny for any of it to fit you right, but it’ll do well enough for now, till we can get you out to the shops and sort you.”

I look back at her, my brows drawing together. “I’m hardly going anywhere.”

Róisín lets out a breath through her nose. “Aye,” she says. “And that is exactly the problem.”

Of course she didn’t come up here just to bring me clothes. My eyes start to sting. I don’t think I can do this today. I turn back to the window. “Róisín, I’m not really in the mood for company just now.”

“Well,” she says dryly, “that’s unlucky for you. Because I’m here.”

I don’t respond. I just keep watching the little spider I noticed earlier building its web in the corner of the window frame.

I hear her shift on the bed. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter. “You’ve been gone six years, Alannah. I only just got you back, but it still feels like you’re an ocean away.”

She wouldn’t understand.My fingers tighten in the blanket on my lap, and I press my lips together, keeping my eyes on the window.

“We’ve all missed you,” she says. “So much. And I know you’re hurting. I know that. But don’t shut us out.” She pauses. “Have you even talked about what happened? Properly, I mean. To anyone?”

Her voice is so gentle, and I just can’t hold it in anymore. I clap a hand over my mouth, but a sob breaks through anyway. Another follows, and then I’m crying so hard my shoulders shake, tears running hot down my cheeks.