"Yes." Fallon blinked hard, fighting back the hot tears that burned her eyes. "Ciaran," she said after a moment, "there's something I need to ask you. A favor."
"I'd do anything in my power to repay you for what you've done for me, Mary Fallon."
"Promise me something. That you won't just vanish—leave without saying good-bye. Promise you'll tell me when you're leaving."
"I can't promise that. If there's some sort of disaster, I might not be able to find you and tell you." His gaze intensified on her face. "Why is it so important to you?"
Fallon sucked in a shuddering breath. Did she dare to trust anyone with the wounded corner of her heart? "Too many people have disappeared from my life already. Papa rode away, and I never saw him again. And Mama—I woke up one morning, and she was gone. Ever since, I've loved the hills and the castle, the stories and the legends and the sea cliffs. I've never let myself care about anything or anyone who could leave me."
A stillness settled over his features, an unutterable longing. He closed the space between them, cupping one hardened palm gently against her cheek, and she wanted to reach up, stroke away the lock of hair that all but concealed the healing gash. "Ah, Mary Fallon. I understand what it's like to be alone."
"Because you've lost your memory? Everything is strange and new?"
He shook his head. "No. I've always been alone. I don't know how I know that, but I do." His thumb stroked a tiny arc across her lips. "And I didn't want to be. I wanted... somewhere to belong. Someone to wait for me."
"Are you starting to remember?" She didn't know if the thought relieved or frightened her.
His eyes slid closed. "Just impressions. Shadows. The ugliness of battle, the stench of death, suffocating."
"You were a warrior, then! I knew it!"
"I fought. That much I know."
"Can you see what kind of clothes the other men are wearing? That way we could tell if it was hundreds of years ago."
"No. I can't remember that because it wasn't important to me. All that mattered was what happened after the battle was past. The sun shining. Other men laughing as women flung themselves into their arms, sharing fierce kisses, not caring that the whole world was looking on. ThatIwas looking on. Tears. The women crying, touching the faces of their husbands and lovers as if to make certain they were real. And children clambering about, clinging to their fathers' legs, tugging at their hands, their little voices..." His voice cracked.
"There would be time for tales of glory later. Admiration, respect. I'd get the hero’s share. But none of that mattered. I didn't want that—didn't need it. I needed... someone's arms around me. Someone's tears dampening my chest. I needed..."
Fallon's throat tightened at the image he'd woven. In all the years she'd pored over her myths and legends, learning Ciaran's tale by heart, she'd never considered what it would have been like to be high champion, separate from other men because of his honor, his noble deeds. And there had been no woman waiting. For all that he was beloved by his people as a hero, Ciaran the man had always been alone. "I would have kissed you even if the whole world were watching. In fact, I already did, outside the pub."
Ciaran's mouth tipped up in a heartbreaking smile. "You did. But you seemed far more likely to kick Redmayne in the shins than to stand by, helpless, weeping pretty tears."
"I'm not very good at crying. I gave it up soon after Mama died. What's the use when there's no one to hear?"
Silence hung between them, a long, aching moment. It squeezed Fallon's heart. Then Ciaran's voice, so low, so tender.
"I'm listening, Mary Fallon."
Damn him. Just four tiny words, and she could feel the burning beneath her lashes. This time, all the stubbornness she possessed couldn't keep the tears from spilling free. He gathered her in his arms, her cheek pressed to the beating of his heart. They were the tears of a lonely little girl, the tears of an angry young woman, the tears of a dreamer awakened and afraid.
And he held her in the strength of his arms, warming her, stroking her hair, murmuring soft words against the crown of her head.
She wanted to stay there forever. In the end, she had to pull away. Scrubbing away the traces of tears with her fist, she gave a nervous laugh, suddenly and hideously uncomfortable that she'd revealed such weakness to anyone.
"I have to stop this," she said. "This is supposed to be our wedding night. It won't do for the maids to see my eyes all puffy and swollen from crying."
"Perhaps they'd think these were tears of joy." He grasped her chin, turned her face up so that he could look full upon it. "And I—I would think they were beautiful." He skimmed his fingertip along her cheek, gathering up the droplets and hiding them in his hand, as if they were liquid diamonds, a treasure too precious even for the cache of the fairy king.
She peered into his eyes, suddenly breathless. Yearning softened the sensual curve of his mouth. "Would you kiss them away? If they were tears of joy?"
"Any tears. All your tears."
"Show me."
He hesitated just an instant, and Fallon sensed that he was ready to pull away. But then he threaded his fingers back through her hair. Slowly, as if he'd imagined this moment a thousand times and wanted it to last forever, he lowered his mouth to her tear-damp face.
Warm, tender, moist, his lips skimmed along the salty wet path trailing down her cheek. His breath wisped against the fragile skin beneath her eye then he kissed her lids closed. A tiny whimper rose in Fallon's throat, as his mouth melted the hard lumps of pain, of grief, of loneliness she'd hoarded through the years.
