by D. K. Combs
“It’s not, love. It’s just warm water. Shh,” he murmured, nearly weeping with relief when she seemed to settle down. He took her shoulders, sliding her deeper into the water, until her breasts were completely submerged and the tips of her hair were damp. He waited with baited breath, praying to the Lord that she wouldn’t have an episode.
After several moments in silence, he relaxed enough to reach for the same cloth he’d used on her before. The only sound in the room was the softly crackling fire.
Nothing from Saeran. His stomach tightened.
This could have been avoided. He could have chosen to keep Gwen as his mistress. He could have proposed to Blaine. He could have let his water nymph slip through his fingers the first night he saw her. He could have done the dutiful thing with her, ignored his selfish needs, and let her go.
But no. He’d ruined her and nearly killed her.
Kneeling beside her, he dipped the cloth into the water and began swiping it over her face, wringing it on top of her hair. He lost himself in caring for her, pushing his self-loathing to the darkest part of his heart. It wasn’t until she was completely soaked in the water, her blonde hair dark and plastered to her head, that he began rubbing her shoulders. He paid close attention to the wound on her abdomen, careful to look just at that. It was not as deep as they had anticipated, but the sword had been coated with something deadly enough to nearly kill her.
He waited for her to move, to cry.
Still, nothing. Worry began to sit heavily in his gut. She was never this still when she was in the tub. She was never this quiet.
“Al—Saeran?” he murmured, scanning her face. It was oddly…relaxed. No signs of strain or pain, she appeared to be sleeping. Her chest moved in even breaths, the only sign she gave to let him know she was not dying on him.
“It’s not burning,” she whispered. It was the most lucid sentence she had said in the past fortnight. Nothing was slurred or muffled. It was just the gentle roll of words off the tip of her tongue. “I don’t see the fire anymore.”
“What fire?” he asked, sliding his hands up the nap of her neck. She leaned into his touch, head tilting like she was drawn to the sound of his voice.
He swallowed thickly.
“The fire in my stomach. It’s always there. Guilt. It eats…and burns…my strength. Thoughts.”
Kane had no clue what she was talking about, but something in her voice made him tense. There was so much despondency in her voice that he felt it to the center of his soul.
“I’m not human,” she whispered. In his hand, her neck muscles tensed.
“Saeran,” he said roughly. “Yer as much a human as I am, love. Donna fash yerself with—“
“No. I’m not—I can’t be. Humans…would worry. Over family. Life. Aren’t I right? I would…worry about Blaine when she said…”
Why was she talking about Blaine at a time like this? he thought, staring down at her.
“Said what, love,” he murmured. Talking was good for her, wasn’t it? The only thing she had done as of yet was whimper and cry. Talking must be an improvement, he thought, desperate to believe he as correct.
“We’re not family. She said…we’re not. And I didn’t care—humans would care. They would die in the fire.” Her legs bent, knees peaking above the surface of the water. She curled forward, arms around her knees. Her eyes remained closed. Her voice stayed quiet.
Kane could only watch her.
“Maybe she made them die…in the fire. Burnt alive.”
“Saeran, what are you talking about?” He felt like he should know. It was something the king had told him, warned him of.
“My parents. I’m not human. They…are. Humans burn.”
It hit him like a boulder. Her parents had died in a fire. The hallucinations were stemmed from guilt—for not dying with them?
Kane almost vomited. Quicker than he had time to think, he was pulling her out of the tub and wrapping her in a blanket. She didn’t fight him, didn’t speak. Her eyes stayed closed.
“Saeran,” he said firmly, once she was set on the bed and covered in the same shift she’d been in before. He had to ask Mabel for another one soon. “Saeran, open yer damn eyes and look at me.”
She did neither. Like a statue, she sat there, head lowered.
His stomach roiled and he could have shaken her. “Saeran, damnit.” She wasn’t trying to fight the fever. She was letting it overcome her will and her strength. She was letting it kill her—she wanted it to kill her.
Helpless frustration made him angry. How dare she do this to him—how dare she give up and leave him. His father. His mother. His brother. His sister. Everyone had left him—and she was daring to leave him as well.
He tried everything he could think of to make her eyes open, desperate, pained. Threats, warnings, promises, bribes. Anything. It wasn’t until he had promised her his eternal life that he let his frustration free and did the only thing he could think of—he kissed her.
Taking her jaw into his hand, he lifted her head and pressed his lips to hers. The plea didn’t need to be spoken with the kiss—it was an unspoken appeal for her to come around, for her to wake up and fight.
She was just as unresponsive as before. Cursing and hating himself, he began to pull away from her. He couldn’t stay in here—he couldn’t watch the woman he loved give up, couldn’t watch her do that to herself. It was going to kill him more surely than his enemies would.
Pain and memories stabbed at him. His father had died before his eyes. His mother had been driven to insanity before his eyes. His brother had been stolen from him before his eyes. His sister had been murdered before his eyes.
He refused to watch Saeran die before his eyes. She didn’t care—if she had, she would have stayed with him. Would have realized that he needed her to be alive. Out of everyone that had come into his life since his family had been torn apart, she meant the most to him—and that didn’t matter to her in the most.
He stormed to the door. His eyes stung, but he ignored it. He refused to acknowledge anything at this point. A brawl—a good, bloody, murderous brawl was what he needed.
Kane was throwing open the door when he heard the soft rustle.
“Kane.”
Thin, weak arms wrapped around his waist from behind. He felt her cheek against his back.
And then he just…broke down. Great, heaving sobs left his chest before he could do anything to stop them.
THT | 39
“God damnit,” he rasped, swiping a hand over his face. It came away, wet with his own pathetic tears.
“Kane,” she said again. Her voice was soft and melodic. Even as weak as she was, he crumbled under the force of her tenderness. How could this woman have lied to him? How could this woman have nearly given up on her own life?
Frustration made the sobs come harder, until he was shaking so much he couldn’t stand on his own. He fell against the door, head and arms braced there. The hot sting in his eyes continued.
“Why, Saeran.” He couldn’t understand his own voice, or the plea that came through it. What was he questioning? Her lies? Her love? Her…everything about her and him and his life? There was too much to ask “why” to. Too much for him to put into words.
So he did the only thing he could—he stood there, with her arms around him, and wept like a giant, newborn bairn. It lasted until he couldn’t breathe, until he was using her as a source of strength. She didn’t move away from him, didn’t pull or push him from her. She simply stood there, letting him use her.
When he felt the trembling in her arms, he realized how much of a bastard he was. Too weak to bring them to the bed, he unlaced her arms from around him and slid to the floor, back against the wall. She stood there, staring down at him with an uncertainty that wrenched his heart even more.
His head fell back against the wall as he reached blindly for her hand. She threaded their fingers and met him on the floor, her thin, hot body curling into his lap.
Kan
e kept his face away from her. This was what he needed—to look even more weak and foolish, a pathetic bastard, in front of her. He had already failed in keeping her safe and unharmed. What was the use of caring about how she felt about him now?
She should hate him. She should be coming at him with a blade in retribution. This was all his fault, so there was no reason for her not to. A low sound left his throat and he slammed his head into the wall, cursing.
“Ka—my lord, I…”
“No,” he rasped. “No. I’m Kane to ye’, lass. No’ yer lord.”
She silenced herself, head lowering. He felt chocked for words. As if they were stuck in his throat with no way to come out. She wasn’t hallucinating anymore. Somehow, she had managed to break through the haze of the fever. There was lucidity in her eyes. Her words would not be clouded now.
“Yer parents…died.”
She tensed in his lap, but didn’t draw away.
“In a fire.”
“Ye’…ye’ always cried about burning alive. In a fire. When I put ye’ in the bath. Is that…Saeran. God.” She had felt so much guilt her whole entire life, and he didn’t think she realized it. The guilt had nearly driven her to suicide, he thought, physically ill. He knew she had so many more problems, but that was the only one he could think of.
“I don’t know where that came from,” she whispered. If it was possible, her body became even more stiff, until she was as tense as a statue in his lap. “I…nothing makes sense to me anymore.” Crystalline eyes flipped to his. “You know…”
“Aye. Yer name. Yer lies. All of it.”
She inhaled slowly, then pushed herself away from him. His heart jumped in his chest, but he couldn’t make himself reach for her. Instead, he watched her. Watched her and fought the craving he felt to hold her, to erase all of her problems.
“You…stayed.”
“Aye.” He shouldn’t have. All he was going to do was leave her.
“You cared for me.”
“Aye.” No one else had but him. Anyone who came near her had turned into a bloody mess. The only two men who came in here were Connor and Brodrick, but even then, he wouldn’t let them touch her.
“What about the Campbells? The men who attacked us?”
“Taken care of.”
Remorse and pain entered her face. “By taken care of, you mean…”
“All of them. Except for Alasdair.”
“Dead,” she said again.
“Aye.”
Kane jumped to catch her when she swayed on her feet. Tears glistened in her eyes, ripping his heart in two.
“Lass, be careful. Yer wound has no’ fully healed and yer weak from the fever and—“
“I killed.”
He paused.
“What?”
Watery eyes met his. “I killed. With Fergus. He…he led the soldiers to me and I attacked them from the shadows. I—Kane, I killed the MacLeod’s son. That’s why he wanted to kill me, why he—I’m dead.”
“Nay, lass. Yer right—“
“No,” she hissed, tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’m dead. I am an animal. I killed to survive, and that means he’s going to kill me. It is…God,” she whispered, dropping her head to her hands. He gently picked her up, carrying her to the bed.
“Lass, ye’ did what ye’ had to do. I’m the one who told ye’ to stay and fight. I…Ye’ll no’ be taking the blame for this.”
“You’re not the one who pushed your dirk into the back of those soldiers,” she said. He stood back, staring at her. “You might be used to it, but I am not. I helped them for your safety, and now…now I’m dead. I can’t—I can’t—“ She put a hand over her mouth, turning her head away from him. Not only that, but she rolled onto her side, facing the other way.
It was like she had shut a door in his face.
“Saeran…”
“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice throaty. He felt bile rise in his throat. If it hadn’t been for his own stupidity, she would not be in this position. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I can’t. I just—“
“Why did ye’ lie to me.” She didn’t want to talk about that—fine. But she was going to keep speaking, if not to keep herself awake. After her two weeks of hallucinations and mumbling, he was terrified of her slipping back into that same state if she became too quiet.
There was more to his wanting to know than that, though. He wanted to know—no, he needed to know. He had told her, point blank, that he hated liars—and she had continued to lie to him. It would have been easy for her to tell him the truth, to tell him that she was actually the lad he had put through training, the lad he had made train the bea—
His stomach revolted. He had made her train a beast of a horse, put her in danger. The woman he had been so determined to protect could have been killed multiple times.
“Kane, please…”
“No, tell me. That’s the least ye’ can do for lying to me for the past two moons,” he rasped, hands clenching at his side. He could have protected her, kept her safe and warm and loved—but she had lied to him. Anger unlike anything he had ever felt coursed through him.
“I…” She trailed off. He waited, too furious to speak.
“Saeran. Tell me, damnit. I told ye’ things about my family that I’ve told no one else. I’ve shown ye’ a side of me that no one has seen before. The least ye’ can do is tell me why you would betray me like this.”was
“It wasn’t intentional,” she whispered. The sound of her voice was so quiet and unexpected, he wasn’t sure she had heard her. He sat on the edge of the bed, but he didn’t touch her. Not until she reached for his hand, that is. The fire crackled in silence, and he became more convinced that she hadn’t answered him. “If you had never seen me in the kitchen that night…none of this would have happened.”
“That was no’ the first time I saw ye’.”
She turned her head. Her eyes were wide when they met his.
“The night we came back from court. I saw ye’ in the creek, bathing.”
He took pleasure in the soft blush that came over her face, the shock in her eyes.
“I…how? Why did you not say anything sooner?” she asked, taking her hand from his. He felt a moment of displeasure until he saw that she was using it to cover her cheeks. Her adorable, red cheeks. She started to sit up, but winced, that same hand dropping to her abdomen.
Her mouth tightened, face becoming pale. Kane shushed her like he would a bairn, lowering her into the bed with his hand to her shoulder.
“Lass, ye’ canna be moving so much. I donna even know how ye’ got out of the bed by yerself before…” Kane paused. Narrowed his eyes on her. He reached for the candle beside the bed, holding it to her abdomen. It was too dark in the room for him to see the dark splotches of red on her shift without the candle light, but when he did, fury boiled in his gut. “Lass…”
“It’s fine,” she said thinly, pushing the hand holding the candle away. She turned her face from him, only infuriating him more. He had tasked himself with ensuring she was safe and comfortable, and only moments after she was awake, he was failing. He sought out a clean cloth, one of many that Mabel had left for him, and dipped it in the now cool bath water. He came back to the bed, debating.
“Nay, it’s no’. Would ye’ be fine if I were movin’ about with a wound after being asleep for so long? I think no’.” Kane went against everything his head was screaming at him for and slid onto the bed, closer to her. When she only stared, he sighed, careful not to move her too much as he took her into his arms.
She relaxed into his embrace almost immediately. The pain on her face lessened.
He hated himself for this weakness, his need to touch and hold her. She was in pain, and somehow, he helped to alleviate that…until he lifted up her shift. He felt her panic in the way she tensed.
“What are you doing?” she asked frantically, starting to push at his shoulders. He ignored her. It had to be wiped clean, no matter her objec
tions. He had to grit his teeth against throwing the cloth against the room when she started to cry as he tenderly swiped away the smeared blood. Hell, he had to grit his teeth against killing himself for causing her pain.
“I donna want it to get infected, lass. I’ll ask Mabel to bring up some ale for ye’, but we canna let this become worse than it is.”
“Ale for me? Kane, I don’t drink,” she wept against his shoulder. When he had cleaned away the last of the blood and checked the stitching Mabel had done to her stomach, he tossed the cloth away and threaded his fingers into her hair, holding her.
“It’s no’ for ye’ to drink…though ye’ might want to before we pour it on ye’.”
“Kane,” she sobbed. “That’s—I can’t let you do that. It will hurt me!”
“Aye, but ye’ dying will hurt me. Lass,” he said patiently, tilting her head back. “Either ye’ take the ale or ye’ die. The latter is no’ an option, love. I’m sorry.” The sobbing continued. He knew it was more from the panic and pain than what was to come, and knew he had to distract her. “Ye’ never told me why ye’ were pretending to be a lad.”
“Blaine,” she cried against him. Her tiny fists balled up on his chest, hitting him. She had the strength of a kitten. “Blaine made me, to protect me. What does that have to do with you killing me with ale?” Her voice was so watery and distraught he had to decipher what she was saying, but when he understood, he smiled. His woman had always been an adorable little thing.
“How did Blaine bring this about?” he asked, ignoring her question. The more she focused on that, the more distressed she would become. He would rather find the reason for her deception than have her rip him into shreds with her tears.
She blinked, looking at him, as if realizing there was no way for her to get around this conversation. Saeran lowered her eyes, wet lashes sweeping over her cheeks. He swiped her tears away with her thumb, waiting.
“She convinced me that I would die if any man found out I was barren. Hans, the man I would have had to marry if you chose Blaine. You, if you chose me. Blaine ‘offered’ herself to save me and keep her by her side.”