Allaston had the same aching feeling he did, something that made her limbs tingle and her heart flutter. The way he was looking at her made her feel so warm and liquid inside. She’d never known such feeling until she had met him and now, as she came to know him better, the feelings only grew strong. Strange, wonderful, alien feelings. But she was deeply torn.
“You are a killer,” she said softly. “You have killed so many. You want to kill my father. But I think you are correct when you said you had no choice in what you have become. You had to become this killer, this mercenary, in order to survive. I could not have feelings for the killer. But I could have feelings for the man beneath. I think I already do. And I want to help him.”
Her unexpected response hit him like a hammer, so much so that he actually emitted what sounded like a strangled gasp. He could hardly believe what he was hearing but, in the samebreath, it was empowering. All of his thoughts and feelings started to come out whether or not he wanted them to.
“Already, I know I cannot be without you,” he said. “You have grown on me but I cannot describe what I feel more than that. All I know is that I want you with me, for always, and if you were to hate me, I could not abide it. But my hatred against your father… it has made me what I am.”
“It also brought me to you,” Allaston reminded him quietly. “How can you hate my father when he has given you someone you have feelings for?”
Bretton shook his head, baffled and bewildered. Then, he came off the stool, slowly, crawling the few feet to the tub and sitting next to it. Allaston unwound herself from her protective ball and leaned against the side of the tub, next to him, her head very close to his. He was looking at his lap and she was looking at him.
“I do not know,” he whispered. “I find myself in a great quandary. I have plans and aspirations, plans that have been set for twenty-five years. Now, suddenly, I find myself uncertain about those plans. I do not want you to hate me, but I swore vengeance against Jax de Velt and I must see that through.”
The mercenary, the killer, the warlord was fighting against something stronger than all of the armies and all of the hatred in the world. He was fighting against love, something that was creeping into his heart. He was so very afraid of it and so very confused. Allaston could see that confusion in everything about him. Sympathetically, she impulsively leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek.
“Mayhap that vengeance could take the form of something else,” she whispered. “You do not have to kill a man in order to seek vengeance.”
He felt the kiss lingering on his cheek as if she was still touching him. It was warm and wonderful. He looked up at her. “How could I possibly accomplish that?”
Allaston’s green eyes twinkled. “By marrying his daughter who was meant for the cloister.”
He looked at her a moment before breaking down in a weak grin. “I am already going to do that,” he said. “That will not be any of measure of vengeance against him.”
“Untrue. He will consider it a great insult against him.”
Bretton chuckled again and shook his head. “Mayhap, but not enough of an insult.”
She looked stricken. “It is not enough to marry me?”
He lifted his eyes, looking at her. “It will be everything, I think,” he said, resignation in his tone. “But my vengeance against your father….”
Allaston could see that he was weakening his stance slightly and she leapt on the opportunity to expand the gap. “Mayhap if he gives you more properties, that will help ease your sense of conquest and vengeance against him,” she suggested helpfully. “And… and if he were to apologize, Bretton… would you accept? I told you that the man he is now is much different from the man he was those years ago. The man he is now, the man I know, would feel badly for depriving a young boy of his parents. I am sure he would feel badly to know how you have suffered since then. Won’t you at least consider these things as an alternative to such vengeance?”
He was looking at her seriously. “You truly believe that an apology will right all wrongs?” he asked. “I will not consider it. I cannot.”
“Then what will right the wrongs?”
“His death.”
“Then what happens after you kill him?” she asked. “We have had this conversation before, too. Will it instantly make you ahappy man? Will it cause your father to rise from the dead? It will do neither of those things. But something will result from it, I assure you– my hatred of you. If you are willing to risk that, then there is nothing more I can say.”
He just sat there, looking at her. He was torn and indecisive.Damn her!She had made him that way. She was tearing away at his resolve. For lack of a response that she hadn’t heard before, because he too was growing weary of their circular conversations, he reached over to the table against the wall and grasped a folded linen rag that was on top of it. Dipping it in the warm, scented water, he wiped it over his face. Perhaps cleaning up would make him think more clearly as his clear-cut vengeance against Jax de Velt was growing less clear-cut by the minute and it was all Allaston’s fault. She made him think about something other than revenge. She made him think about her.
Allaston sensed his conflict and she was glad, glad that she was causing him to reconsider killing her father. She could only pray that she could sway him enough. Too many times had they argued about this, fought even, but this was the first time she started seeing any progress. He was weakening. As she watched him wash his face, lost in thought, she patted him on the shoulder to gain his attention.
“Will you please hand me that drying linen over on the table?” she asked, pointing to it as he turned around to see what she meant. “I would be grateful.”
Silently, his mind wracked with confusion from their conversation, Bretton reached over to grab the linen, but the moment he did so, the door to the room opened and the innkeeper’s wife entered, shutting the door swiftly behind her. She nearly tripped over Bretton, sitting on the floor.
“God’s Bones!” she cried, catching herself from falling. “Forgive me, my lord. I didn’t see ye!”
Bretton waved the woman off as he rose to his feet. He noticed she had something in her hands. “What is that?”
The old woman held up some kind of garment made from unbleached linen. “A robe for my lady,” she said, pointing to Allaston, still in the bath. “I will take her clothes with me and clean them. I will leave them outside yer door so she will have something clean to wear come morning.”
Bretton took the robe from the woman, handing her Allaston’s dark blue dress and shift in exchange. “Make sure her clothes are ready before dawn,” he told the woman. “We are leaving before sunrise.”
The old woman took the garments. “Will ye be wanting a meal?”
