Overwhelmed by the sense of impending doom, Lathir sagged back, watched as a hawk screeched as it soared overhead, disappeared beyond the shield of winter-blanched trees.
“Nor, with his troops ensconced within Wynshire Castle,” Rónán continued, his voice grim, “furious at the shun, he might seize the stronghold and force you to wed against your will.”
Saint’s breath. Never had she considered the repercussions. “But you dinnaknow for sure.”
He arched a brow. “I dinna, but with Lord Torridan’s reputation as not a man to cross, and after having met him, with everything at stake, ’twould be unwise to riskoffending him.”
Heart aching, she damned each row that brought them closer to shore. “But ’tis you I love, you I want.”
“I love and want you as well, Lathir,” he forced out in a strangled whisper, “but our feelings for each other dinna outweigh the peace between your realms, or yourfather’s life.”
The last wisp of hope inside faded. Emptiness clawed through her as she sat back, deep, dark gouges that left her floundering for choices, found none. Tears burned her eyes as Lathir wanted to scream her denial, but she forced both back. Neither would help, and the last thing she wanted was to make this terrible situation more so on Rónán.
Though she didn’t want to marry Lord Craigshyre, despised contemplating a life without Rónán, to save her father, maintain peace within her realm, and keep control of her castle, ’twould seem her choice was made.
At the hopelessness on Lathir’s face, Rónán damned the situation. With a curse, he dragged the oars through the water. Nor as a knight could he challenge the earl’s son for Lathir. With naught but his sword, the noble would order him banished from the castle under the threat of being hanged if ever he tried tocontact Lathir.
Who could blame the lord? If she was his intended, he would do whatever necessary to keep her.
The bow scraped the sand as theyreached shore.
“Wait here.” Each breath burning like bile in his throat, Rónán climbed out, lifted the bow, and pulled the dinghy another step up the beach. His boots crunched on the icy ground as he walked over and offered Lathir his hand.
Her breaths falling out in fragmented puffs of white, she lay her fingers within his palm, and he gave a gentle squeeze that drew her gaze to his.
“I will love you forever,” he whispered, the devastation in her eyes matching his. Nor, however much he wished to keep her, could he change fate now. Heart crumbling, on a shaky breath, he stepped back.
She let her hand fall to her side. “I will never love another.” Her pallor having faded to a bloodless white, she straightened her shoulders and walked past him, as regal as a queen.
At the distant creak of wood and splash of water, Rónán glanced back.
Tighearnán and his daughter, along with two crew, were rowing toward the shore.
Muttering a curse, Rónán, started up the incline. As if either he, or Lathir, had a choice? He fought the heartache, doubted he’d ever get over losing her. If there was but a hope, a chance to salvage the love they’d found,he’d take it.
But none existed.
Resigned to an empty life ahead, he focused on duty. Nor was all dismal. As promised by Lathir, Tighearnán and Órlaith would begin a new life at Wynshire Castle. As well, peace would exist between the realms of Tír Sèitheach and Tír Connail.
At least King Robert had support from both formidable nobles. In time, any foothold against the Bruce in Scotland, as in Ireland, would be destroyed.
His legs heavy, as if filled with lead, Rónán fell in step beside Lathir as she headed toward the men who’d gathered to greet her. The younger noble’s gaze was fierce as he watched her approach, the older’s stalwart.
She continued up the incline without hesitation.
Though she was promised to another, for a time they were together. He would have that memory, if not her.
The crunch of their steps upon the frozen grass filled the silence. As if there was anything left to say. Their love, hope of ever being together, was lost.
* * * *
The scent of roast boar, herbs, and several delicacies that were served during the betrothal celebration lingered in the great hall as Lathir stepped from the dais, exhausted and more than ready for this night to end.
Though her betrothed’s mouth had tightened at her request to allow Rónán to sit at the table on the dais with them, she’d held firm. Regardless that she wouldn’t marry Rónán, he’d saved her life and deserved aplace of honor.
The meal, one filled with naught but cordial pleasantries, was over. In the morning, once everyone had broken their fast, Lord Torridan, her betrothed, Rónán, and the master-at-arms would meet in the war chamber to discuss plans to find and save her father.
It was what she desperately wanted, yet her heart still ached at the way she and Ronan had deliberately avoided each other’s gaze throughout the evening.
