A man in love.
The feelings tore through him, and he did not try to hide them from her. She must be able to see all in his eyes.
He had no right to ask her to stay. Only that given by a devoted heart.
He said aloud, hoarsely, “I ha’ no right to ask ye to stay.”
“Quarrie.” Her head came up even as she spoke his name. There was pride in this woman he loved. “I would stay with you if I could.”
“Ye could remain behind, lass. Let the rest o’ them go home.”
Slowly, as if considering it, she shook her head. “I must try to salvage the pieces of my life back in Avoldsborg, before Ivor ruins me. It may not matter to you, who I am there, who I have been, but it does matter to me. I owe explanations to my faðir, whether or not he will accept those explanations. I owe comfort to my móðir.”
Something inside Quarrie died. She would leave him. He could scarce believe it. Despite all the troubles and the differences between them, in his heart he had thought she would not be able to do that when it came to it—leave him.
He took a step forward and reached for her hands. A curse upon anyone who watched them and saw. He had to touch her.
“Tell me ye will return. Once ye ha’ made your explanations at home and salvaged your reputation.”
Her gaze burned on his, even in the dim light. Aye, a thousand things he saw there, the foremost among them regret.
“I cannot come by myself.Freyais not mine alone.” She wet her lips. “Mayhap in the spring.”
The spring? The whole of a winter to get through, then. Without seeing her, without touching her. Without the promise that ever he would again. He would not survive it.
He drew a breath that snagged against his pain. “Och, Hulda. How d’ye expect me to endure?”
“Quarrie, I do not know how either of us may endure this.” She shook her head. And her regret, that same he’d seen in her eyes, swamped him. “I should have known better. From the first, I should. How could it ever end well between us?”
He did not know. He did not know, but at the same time he never could have refuted what existed between them.
“Could ye ha’ denied me, lass? Could I ha’ denied ye? I knew ye before ever I met ye in this life.”
His fingers tightened on hers convulsively. He drew her nearer, defiant of anyone spying upon them.
“It is true,” she allowed, “and I will not try to say I ever could have denied what lies between us. Misguided,” she added swiftly. “Star-crossed. The product, mayhap, of Loki’s twisted intentions.”
“Do no’ say so. Say, rather, ye will return to me. I care no’ how long I ha’ to wait. If ye do no’ return, Hulda, love, I will find a way to come to ye, if I ha’ to search the very earth.”
“Do not come to me. Do not try. For you to come to Avoldsborg—it is certain death. And I could not bear—”
Her voice broke despite her hard-held control.
But, Quarrie thought in distress and confusion, he had promised to follow her always, to find her always. Long, long ago he had.
“Not every love is meant,” she told him with deliberation. “No matter how beautiful. I am glad—glad I had a chance to know you. But not every tale spun by the bards, or the gods, can be a happy one.”
“Tell me but one thing, Hulda. Ye willtryto return.” He could not live, if he did not have that promise.
“I will, ja, try.”
He drew her into his arms, wrapped her tight. This might be the last time he held her. The last time he would experience the perfection of having her in his arms, the need answered, her soul coming to anchor alongside his own.
“When?” he whispered. “When do ye go?”
“At first light.”
And so, after dreading the sight of sails on the horizon all his life, he would now have to stand and watch one slip off through the morning, knowing it tore away the better part of him.
