He held himself still by force.
“FitzUrse,” she said.
The name seemed to strike the walls and settle into the chapel air.
Reginald did not start. Did not turn away. But something in him went motionless in a way no calm man ever could.
“God help us,” she whispered.
“No,” he said at last. “You do not know enough to use that name.”
Her eyes never left his face. “Were you there?”
“I said you do not know enough.”
“You do not deny it.”
“No.”
Étaín drew in a breath and mastered herself again. When she spoke, her voice had gone very quiet. “I have not told her.”
He looked at her properly then. “Why not?”
“Because I did not want to wound her for the sake of my own unease.” Her mouth tightened. “And because if I am right, there is already enough falsehood in this castle without adding reckless accusation to it.”
He inclined his head once. Étaín loved Aingeal too well to throw chaos at her feet for the sake of her own alarm.
“If I have not told her,” Étaín said, “it is not because I intend to keep silent forever.”
He looked past her to the wavering candles, then back again. “What do you want from me?”
“Now?” Her hands came together more tightly. “I want to know whether my cousin is standing beside a man who means to ruin her.”
He answered without hesitation. “No.”
Étaín searched his face. “If there is any honesty left in you, go now. Tonight. Before she is bound any further to your lie.”
He was silent long enough that she frowned. At last, he admitted, “I had meant to.”
Étaín went still. “Had?”
He looked at the rail, the candles, anywhere but her. Then back. “Your cousin and I had an agreement.”
“What agreement?”
“I was never going to stand beside her at the altar.”
Her composure broke in disbelief. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I do not expect anything from you.” His voice had gone colder now, stripped and plain. “But it is true. She wanted me gone before there was any question of affection or trust between us. I gave her my word I would leave before the wedding.”
Étaín stared at him. Then, very quietly, “Why are you still here?”
“Because leaving now would not spare her,” he said. “It would shame her.”
Étaín’s brows drew together.
He went on before she could interrupt. “If Donal O’Raida vanishes from her castle in the middle of a border crisis, after sitting in council, after standing at her side before the household, after being spoken of as her intended husband, then I do not merely disappear. I make her look deceived. Weak.Foolish.” His jaw tightened. “Her rivals will smell it before dawn. Every man who already doubts her because she is a woman ruling alone will take it as proof.” He heard the harshness in his voice and did not soften it. “If I flee now, I do not save her. I expose her.”
