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He sighed then. Raking a hand through his wet hair, he cast a gaze out over the water that flowed swiftly past. “It’s not a pretty tale.”
“I’m sure I can handle it.” She frowned then. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth from the start?”
Silence swelled between them, and he had to fight the urge to break eye contact with her again. Cods. He wasn’t enjoying being humbled like this, although he’d had it coming.
“I should have told you … but something made me hold back.” He favored her with a half-smile. “I suppose your opinion of me mattered.”
That admission gave him pause. That was new for him. He wasn’t one to bow to others’ expectations, and he wasn’t ashamed of trying to kill Niall, but even in the first days of their acquaintance, he’d wanted Ailsa to think well of him.
“So, what did happen?”
Catching the edge to her voice, he decided not to bandy words. “I knew there would be trouble when Niall took the crown.” Aye, he remembered the glee on his brother’s face as he’d sat in his uncle’s chair for the first time upon the high seat. “He’d been king just a few turns when I discovered he’d been meeting with Artair of Baldeen. They’d discussed declaring independence for both their kingdoms from Duncrag. No longer would they be overkings … no longer would they bend the knee to Queen Lara.” Darach kept his gaze on the river. “I confronted him about it. Things turned ugly fast. One moment, we were arguing … the next, we were swinging punches at each other. And then, Niall was on his back on the floor, and I was throttling him.”
He broke off then, remembering how his brother’s face had turned purple, how he’d struggled, panic flaring in his blue eyes.
“Would you have killed him?” Ailsa asked.
Darach cut his gaze back to her. She was looking at him once more, although her expression was shuttered.
He nodded. “Without question. He was about to drag us all down into the dirt.” He hesitated then, discomfort rising. “Although I’d be lying if I said ambition hadn’t played a part.” His skin prickled at this admission. He wasn’t casting himself in a good light. “Luckily for Niall, his personal guard found us and intervened. I’d hurt him badly though. He was barely conscious when I left his alcove.”
Ailsa raised an eyebrow. “You stayed on in the broch … after that?”
Darach rubbed at his clean-shaven jaw. “You’re right, I should have left Braewall after that night,” he said with a mirthless smile. “I was an idiot to stay, but I couldn’t go. He wasn’t going to drive me from my home. But afterward, I was forced to leave … when Niall’s warriors attacked me in an ale-hall.”
Ailsa surveyed him for a few moments before shaking her head. “You should have just told me.”
“I should have.” He stopped then. Cods. He wanted to say more, but the words lodged in his throat. It wasn’t easy for him to express his feelings at the best of times, and this woman had a way of throwing him off balance.
And so, he let the silence lie—let her think he was a man of poor character.
Ailsa pulled the fur around her shoulders closer. He marked a bruise on one of her wrists and stilled. It was yellow and slightly mottled, not new. Had the guards at the fort been rough with her?
“I want to talk to you … about something else,” she said finally. “About me.”
“Aye?” He tensed then, wariness creeping over him. He didn’t like the seriousness on her face.
“Kayla admitted how I’d come to live with her, all those years ago,” she went on. “She’d just left the Isle of Arryn and was traveling south to Braewall.” Ailsa hesitated then, swallowing. “One night, a bavaan approached her with a swaddled babe in her arms … me.”
Darach’s breathing caught. Oh shit.
It was hard not to take a step back from her. However, he locked his muscles in place, forcing himself to stay where he was. He wouldn’t let her down again—not over this.
“I’m half bavaan, Darach,” she plowed ahead. “My father was a druid … a sacrificer. They lay together … and after they coupled, she killed him.” She was watching him closely now, as if waiting for him to recoil. “His seed quickened all the same … and she bore a daughter. Me. My mother didn’t want to keep me with her sisters, so she gave me away.”
She broke off then, her chest rising and falling sharply.
Darach stared back at her, marking how rigidly she held herself—just how much telling him this had cost her.
“Kayla should have told you long before now,” he said after a beat.
Ailsa looked away then, at the water racing past. “I thought so too … now, I’m not so sure. I thought knowing would bring relief, and maybe it did initially. The way I fight … the things I feel … I have the answer. Instead” —her mouth tightened— “I just feel worse.” She cut her gaze back to him. “Now, I keep wondering what’s really me. Is the Marav stronger … or the bavaan?” She sucked in a deep breath. “And if they’re always fighting each other … who am I?”
12: WHOEVER YOU CHOOSE TO BE
AILSA FORCED HERSELF to drag her attention away from the river.
She couldn’t be a coward about this.
