“I dinnae ken—” he began.
“Yes, you do. Or at least I do.” Compassion lit her eyes. “You’re terrified of losing someone you love again. So since Maeve died, you’ve allowed your world to get smaller and smaller, more tightly restrained.” Her eyes narrowed in understanding. “The truth is you don’t want to be here without her.” She shook her head. “You’re just going through the motions, not really living.”
While it could be said she was craftily redirecting the subject from her to him, he sensed more than evasiveness at work. A level of understanding she shouldn’t have. A connection between them that wasn’t there hours before. Make that minutes.
He scowled and shook his head, uncomfortable with her assessment, trying to convince himself she was wrong. He lived. He fought for his country and defended his clan. He smiled and laughed, though granted, not as much as he used to.
“We are not talking about Maeve, nor will we be again,” he said flatly. “She is not part of this.”
“Sadly, I think she is,” Chloe said softly, her gaze steady on his face. “I think she’s with you no matter where you go, tightening a noose around your neck that she no longer has anything to do with.”
What noose? What the bloody hell was she talking about?
“You know what I’m talking about,” she murmured, surprising them both based on her expression. Because she had clearly heard his thoughts. “You’re caught somewhere between loving her and being angry with her, not just because she left you but...,” her pupils flared in sudden magical understanding, “because she loved another.”
About the last thing he wanted to talk about was this.
Especially with her.
Yet Chloe’s curiosity was at the helm again.
“What makes it worse is he’s family.” She searched his eyes. “And he betrayed you...they both did.” She cocked her head. Her eyebrows pinched together. “Or was it the other way around?”
“’Twas as you said the first time,” he grunted, refusing to stick around for this. He continued down the hall, grinding out, “She was with me first. Cray should have never gone near her.”
While he had since forgiven his cousin, or so he showed the world, hearing Chloe speak of it opened old wounds.
She caught up with him. “Did he, though?”
“Did he what?”
“Did Cray go after her?”
“Och, aye, of course, he did!” He strode into his chamber and gathered his belongings, all the while muttering things he shouldn’t to a lass he had only just met. “He’d had his eye on her and finally acted on it. Bloody MacLeod!”
“Well, that’s awful,” she agreed.
“Aye, ‘twas.”
“But is it true, I wonder?”
He stopped what he was doing and frowned at her, not liking the speculation on her face. As if she sensed something she should not.
“Aye, ‘tis true, lass,” he assured. “My cousin betrayed me.”
“They both betrayed you,” she reminded. “But that’s not what we’re talking about.”
“’Tis precisely what we are talking about.”
“No, we’re talking about who approached who,” she said. “And when exactly that happened.”
“Aye, and ‘tis a good question, lass,” came the last voice he wanted to hear. “After all, ‘twasmeMaeve loved first, not the Hamilton.”
