She sounded as shaken as if Redmayne had just fired a cannonball into her chest. And who the devil could blame her? Ciaran felt as if a whole battalion of artillery had just thundered across him.
"How could we possibly thank you?" Fallon asked a little faintly.
"By allowing me the pleasure of watching your faces as you take your vows." Perfectly chiseled lips spread into a lethal smile. "After all, it is not every day one has the chance to make a dream come true. Then, after the ceremony, I will ride with you to Misthaven House, to help smooth things over with your brother, Miss Delaney. With luck, we can all raise a toast to the newly wedded couple before the night is past."
Ciaran could feel Fallon's panic. Her face was ice-pale. "Kind as your offer is, I don't think that would be a good idea. My marriage will come as quite a shock to Hugh. Better to face him in private."
"I must insist on having my way, Miss Delaney. Trust that I know what is best. The presence of a stranger in such a crisis will serve as a calming influence upon your brother."
Did Redmayne see the tiny spark in Fallon's eyes—heartbreak, hopelessness? It wrenched at Ciaran. "Again we are in your debt," she said. "I only hope someday we can repay you."
"I shall be looking forward to my just reward, my dear. Now, forgive me. I have some pressing business to take care of before Crimmins and Dalton return. There is a washbasin in my adjoining chamber. You are welcome to tidy up a bit if you wish." Redmayne's uncannily piercing gaze skated over the tendrils of Fallon's hair, wild and windblown. "After all, this is your wedding day. A day you'll remember the rest of your lives. A bride should look her best. Allow me to lock the door to assure your privacy while you prepare yourselves."
Ciaran gritted his teeth. No doubt the bastard allowed prisoners to prepare for hanging as well. Wouldn't want one's hair mussed when the noose was slipped over one's head.
With a crisp bow, Redmayne exited the room. The instant the door clicked shut, Ciaran charged to the single window, hoping to find some avenue of escape. He couldn't marry this woman. No, fleeing this place would be better. Whatever had estranged Fallon from her brother, Ciaran had seen the love in Hugh Delaney's features. Her brother would help her somehow.
But as he peered through the glass panes, his heart sank. Curse Redmayne to hell, the devil had thought of everything. If there had been one guard, even two or three below the window, Ciaran might have risked a fight. But just as in the village, a half dozen men lounged about, pretending to clean their weapons while they stole surreptitious glances at the window.
Fury and helplessness raged through Ciaran. He rounded on Fallon. "There's no way out. Damnation, you've gotten us into one hell of a disaster with your accursed lies!"
Color flooded her cheeks, her eyes over-bright. "If you hadn't run away from Misthaven like a brainless idiot, I wouldn't have had to lie! Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"
"I've been trying to do nothingbutleave you ever since I met you, woman! But no. You think I'm some accursed hero—some stupid myth. A legend you were going to keep like a pet dog to perform tricks at your command. I'm not Ciaran of the Mist or the Sea or the Cow Dung! I'm just some poor sonofabitch who got cracked on the head. Damn it to hell, why couldn't you just let me leave?"
Her eyes widened, a wounded light flickering in their depths. "If I hadn't found you, you wouldn't be in Redmayne's office, you'd be in a gaol cell, or Crimmins and Dalton would be trying to beat answers out of you!"
"I would have preferred an honest lash to Redmayne's brand of torture! The man damn well knew what he was doing—stalking us, trapping us in your web of nonsense strand by strand. By God, you made it so easy for him."
"So this is all my fault, is it? I'm sorry that things got so tangled, but I couldn't think of any other way to calm his suspicions."
"Tangled? That's the understatement of the century. We're not talking about ruined hair ribbons here, madam. We're talking marriage. How the devil can I marry you? I barely know you—hell, I don't even know myself. What if I have a wife somewhere? Children?"
She looked as if he'd slapped her. "Nowhere in the legend is there a wife mentioned. No children. Ciaran was always alone."
He wanted to throttle her. "Damn it, I'm not—"
"If you're not Ciaran and you have another wife"—she paused, swallowed hard—"then whatever happens between us in the next hour won't matter. The marriage won't be valid."
"But you'd have me make the vows anyway? Sacred vows taken upon my honor? Knowing I will discard them?"
"Why should it matter so much? To hear you talk, you don't even know if you have any honor. You're no one. Nothing. But perhaps you've discovered something you loathe in addition to Redmayne even more than my hero tales—the mere idea of marriage."
He wished it were that simple, wished that it were true. But as he glared down into the soft oval of her feminine face, all peachy tints, ripe and sweet with the scent of new cream, he knew with sudden certainty that he had always been alone.
As alone as her precious Ciaran of the Mist had ever been.
Ciaran probed beneath the dark veil that was his past. Had he chosen to be solitary of his own free will? No. He could feel the tug within him, an ache more familiar than his own face.
He'd wanted a bride. He'd wanted to hold a woman's hands tight in his, feel them tremble as she pledged her love to him, the souls of their unborn children dancing dreams in her eyes. He'd imagined taking her to his bed, stripping away her garments piece by piece, unraveling the mysteries of their bodies together.
He could remember nights that seemed to stretch out forever—the sweat dampening his skin, the yearning in his body so fierce it all but drove him mad, the need to touch, to hold in his arms someone who belonged to him, only to him. He knew the stark despair, the feeling it was forever beyond his reach. He'd stared up at the stars, raging... at what? At whom? The fates or his own idiocy?
And now this fresh-faced woman who had braved so much for a dream stood before him, willing to cast her future into his hands. Didn't she know she'd be giving him the power to destroy her?
Anger drained away, leaving desolation. "Fallon, I can't let you do this thing. I can't let you sacrifice yourself for me. What if I'm some kind of monster? Someone more evil than Redmayne?"
Her voice was small, broken, and yet, so very, very sure. "Don't you know, Ciaran? Honor shines, like the armor of the knights in the Arthur tales. It can't be hidden by darkness, or danger, or doubt. You are a hero."
