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Aftershocks spiraled through her, blind tremors of ecstasy that faded to be replaced by another and another as she fell.
His body flexed against hers. The muscles in his neck stood out, his arms hardened around her. He shuddered, groaned, and laid his head on her shoulder. They remained that way for long moments as their breathing slowed, their pulses quieted. A breeze from the open window pebbled her damp flesh, but she was too tired to move.
Conor never spoke, and though he shifted his weight off of her, he kept his face averted, his thoughts shielded.
From far-off, a dinner gong sounded.
She sank further into the bed. Closed her eyes. Like she thought, this was going to be hell.
Conor sat motionless, his gaze trained on the glowing embers of a dying fire, an untouched tumbler of whisky at his elbow. The heavy shadows of the study wrapped round him like a winding sheet, but he made no move to toss on another log or light a candle. He enjoyed the dark. Found comfort in it.
The door opened behind him, throwing a slice of dim, flickery light across his shoulder. “Wedding jitters?” His father’s arrival banished the ghosts, ripped through Conor’s shrouded thoughts with the perceptive edge of familiarity.
Conor thought of Ellery, upstairs asleep. An ache started low in his chest, burned up his throat, clamped his skull in a vise-like grip. Why now? Why had he found this precious gift now, only to have it snatched away? He focused back on the fire. Asking these same questions over and over for hours had gotten him nowhere. Call it fate. Irony. Cosmic humor.
“She’ll make a good Bligh, Conor,” his father said. “Strong. Clever. And with a sense of humor if I’m not mistaken.”
“She hasn’t had much chance to use it these last days.” Mikhal honored Conor’s need for darkness. Snuffing out his candle, he eased himself into a chair. Sighed. “No. Joy has been lacking, but we?
??ll make up for it. Tomorrow, no glum faces. It’s a celebration.” He locked Conor in a steady penetrating stare, his tone serious. “Your mother tells me what you plan.”
Conor stiffened. “I told her not to speak of it to anyone.”
“I’m not anyone. I’m her husband. And you are my son. She shouldn’t have to bear this knowledge alone.”
“It’s the only chance I have to meet and match Asher.” Conor braced for an argument that didn’t come.
“Have you told Ellery what you’ve decided?” His father’s shrewd gaze was relentless.
Conor’s breath came quicker. The tightness in his chest spread to his whole body.
“Ellery will mourn me as dead and move on. You must never tell her otherwise. It would bind her when freedom would serve her better.”
“She doesn’t strike me as the kind you need to shelter from the facts.”
His hands gripped the arms of his chair. “Promise me, Father,” he leaned forward, the words coming in almost a hiss of breath, “promise me she shall never know. I don’t want her to wait for a husband,” he paused, “or fear a beast.”
As if he’d used up all his energy in that one long stare-down, his father sagged back against the cushions. Looked to the fire. “I’ll say nothing.”
First Ysbel. Soon it would be him. His parents would lose both children in a span of years. And both deaths could be laid at his feet. They may not blame him for Ysbel’s murder, but that didn’t mean he’d absolved himself. His mother had been pale but calm as he’d explained his plans. His father, too, seemed drained of any emotion. As if they’d passed the point where heartache and sorrow could touch them. It was a relief, even if it was surprising.
“You see why I must do this?”
His father’s gaze flicked up, the fire mirrored in his solemn eyes. “We knew when you joined the ranks of amhas-draoi that your life was no longer ours. We did our grieving then. Your mother and I trust your judgment in matters of magic and war.” He gave a tired smile. “It is only in matters of the heart we feel you may need some guidance.”
The silence between them was grave, but peaceful. There was no more to be said. His father knew how Conor felt. And though he’d lost faith in the last year, Conor had always known the steadfastness of his father’s love.
So when Mikhal spoke, it startled Conor back from his thoughts. “Do you wish for a child between you?”
He took a moment to shake off the fog of waking dreams. “In my head, I pray that she remains barren. A new man may think twice before saddling himself with a dead man’s whelp.”
“And your heart?”
“That’s easy. I want her to have a child so in years to come when memory has faded the sharp edges of her anguish, she might remember me.”
“She’ll do that regardless.”
Conor thought of the time he’d wasted holding himself back from her. Of the sorrow and grief she’d experience in the days ahead. Of everything he’d put her through from the moment he’d burst into her life, soaked and half-dead.
