“Ye don’t understand,” Freya snapped. “All that bloodshed, all that madness. Could ye really stop it, if ye went back?”
He paused. This was unexpected.
“Do ye think Ishouldgo back? I don’t want to be laird. I never did.”
“Nobody wants it, nobody except the mad and power-hungry. Ye have it in yer power to save yer people, and ye won’t do it.” She gave a short, mirthless laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know what hurts me more. The fact ye have done nothing but lie to me since we met, or the fact ye won’t lift a finger to save yer clan. Ye fled from yer father, but he still has ye in thrall, doesn’t he?”
The stung. “I’m not in his thrall,” Brendan responded harshly. “I don’t care to hear ye say that. Ye knew right from the beginning that I had secrets, that there were things I wasn’t going to tell ye yet. Ye toldmethat it didn’t matter.”
She shook her head. “I understand holding a secret like this. I’m not a fool. I know why ye didn’t tell me. It hurts to know that ye didn’t trust me, but I understand that trust needs to be earned. But will ye truly not help yer people? If ye unseating Laird Grahame and taking his place is what they need, then why not do it?”
“It’s not so easy.”
“I didn’t say it was easy. I said it was the right thing to do. I hate the word, but is it not yer duty?”
Brendan clenched his fists, swallowing hard. Anger and guilt bubbled up inside him. He’d lied, over and over again. What wasone more lie to Noah’s face? They didn’t understand, none of them.
Why must I fix all of this? I don’t even know if I can.
I can’t do it.
Words began spilling out of his mouth before he could stop them, or even think twice about what he was saying.
“If ye want to talk about duty,” Brendan snarled, “ye ran away from yer own duty, too. If ye think ye should do whatever needs to be done to save yer people, why did ye not stay and marry Laird Grahame? Perhapsyeshould go back.”
She flinched backwards as if he’d slapped her, the color draining from her face.
“Ye don’t mean that,” she whispered. “Ye can’t think that.”
Of course, he didn’t mean it. Ofcoursenot. Brendan willed himself to speak, to say something, to apologize, but his tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth, and the words wouldn’t come out. Despite the words spilling out earlier like beer from a leaky barrel, his tongue now seemed to be tied into a knot, refusing to help him.
Freya stared at him for a long moment. It could only have been a second or two of silence, but it seemed to last forever.
Then she turned away, and Brendan knew he’d made a mistake. He’d lost his opportunity to speak.
“I have to go,” she muttered shakily. “I’ve been gone too long. They’ll be worried about me back at the convent.”
Brendan found his tongue again. “Freya, wait. I didn’t mean what I said.”
He reached out to take her hand, but she jerked her arm away from him.
“No, ye did. I’m too tired to argue with ye, Brendan. Keep the wound clean. Make a paste with the herbs I’ve left out for ye, and reapply it every day until the wound is starting to knit together.”
She made to push past him, and without thinking, Brendan put his arm across the door, at her eye level. She glanced up at him, face blank.
“Move.”
“I’ll not let us part on these terms.”
She gave a harsh laugh. “That’s not yer decision to make, Brendan.Move. Let me go.”
“I can’t,” he found himself saying, the words catching in his throat. “Ye are mine, Freya. Please stay with me.”
Her gaze softened, just for an instant. At that moment, he was sure she was going to stay. She would listen to him, he would explain and apologize, and she would see that he couldn't go back, he justcouldn’t. Everything would be well between them.
Then the moment was gone. Before he could react, she ducked under his outstretched arm, striding forward.
“For future reference, Brendan Grahame,” she said, voice tight and hard, “I do not belong to ye, or to yer father, or to my father. I am me, and nobody owns me. I come and go as I please. Don’t ever get in my way again, or ye will be sorry.”
