“Aingeal --”
She rose before he could say more. The bench scraped over stone. Every eye at the high table turned. “I am tired,” she said. “Continue without me.” Then she walked from the hall before shame could stop her.
The corridor beyond was dim and cold. She kept walking until the noise from the Great Hall softened. Only in the upper passage did she stop, one hand braced against the wall, breathing as though she had run.
She had hurt him.
Worse, Étaín had seen everything: the jealousy beneath the accusation, the hurt beneath the jealousy.
There would be no hiding from that.
Aingeal closed her eyes. Máire’s face rose at once. The ridge. The shame. The wanting.
No. Not Étaín. Not Donal. Not again.
By the time she reached her solar, she knew the truth.
It was not Étaín she feared. It was the girl she had once been.
Reginald half rose before he knew he had moved.
Aingeal had gone, the edge of her cloak disappearing through the hall door, and all he could think was that her face before she left had not held anger alone. It had been too brittle.
He took one step after her.
“Donal.” Étaín’s voice stopped him more effectively than a hand.
He turned.
All brightness had gone from her face. Concern remained.
“She should not be alone,” he said.
“No,” Étaín agreed softly. “But she should not be followed by you just now.”
The words landed hard. “I am not the cause of all her anger.”
“No. Only the part nearest the surface.”
He looked toward the door. Every part of him strained after Aingeal, toward the need to stop whatever hurt he had just seen break across her. “She is upset.”
“Yes.”
“And you would have me sit here?”
“I would have you think.” Étaín leaned nearer, lowering her voice. “Whatever passed through her just now was not meant forthe hall. Do not force her to defend herself again before she has caught her breath.”
Reginald’s jaw hardened.
“You may mean kindness,” Étaín said. “She will only hear pursuit.”
That stopped him because he knew she was right. If he followed now, he would not soothe her. He would corner her. His hand closed once at his side, then loosened.
Étaín’s face softened by a degree. “Give her time. Let her choose when she will face you next.”
He looked once more toward the doorway, feeling the pull like pain. Then, slowly, unwillingly, he sat back down, but everything in him remained turned toward the hallway where she had fled.
Chapter fifteen
