When he spoke, his words were hedged. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”
Clare wanted to feel a measure of relief, but the tension pouring from him pressed a weight against her chest. “Did he hurt your mother?”
“Not physically.” They drifted to a stop. Bennick turned to her, his voice dropping even though no one was near them. “My mother was the youngest daughter of a respected commander in the king’s army. My father was one of his soldiers, and when he proposed marriage to my mother, she and her father accepted the match. Immediately after, my father was made a captain.” The implication that Dennith Markam had married Lady Gweneth for a promotion was strong in Bennick’s hard words.
The sounds of the training field swam around them; grunts, yells, the clacking of wooden swords—they were distant, nearly nonexistent, as Bennick rubbed the back of his neck and continued. “She was sixteen when they married. He was nineteen. A year into their marriage, he received a transfer to Iden’s city guard. They moved here, but he thought to further his career by accepting another position at an outpost in Sarvin, near Ryden’s border. It was too far for my mother to go.” He hesitated. “She’d miscarried and wasn’t well. For years, she stayed in Iden and he lived on the northern border. He returned every several months, never gone more than a year at a time, but it was hard on my mother. Her health declined. A few years after their marriage, I was born. My mother begged my father to take a position at the castle so he could be with us permanently, but he was close to another promotion and didn’t want to risk losing it.
“He didn’t become the city guard commander until I was eight. I saw him before then, of course, when he was on leave. I always tried to impress him. I craved his attention and praise.” Bennick released a long exhale. “When I was fourteen, I returned home unexpectedly from the military academy, on special leave. My mother was away, visiting her family. I came to my father’s office in the prison and found him with a woman.”
Clare’s stomach dropped.
Bennick’s body coiled; even his voice tensed. “I yelled at him, demanded answers—like any explanation would help. He admitted she wasn’t his first mistress. He said he missed my mother while stationed away all those years.” A muscle in his jaw popped as he shifted his stance. “I lost all respect for him. He’d been my hero, and in that moment, I hated him. I still hate him.” He shook his head, snorting a rough laugh. “I hit him. Hard. When I tried to leave, he begged me not to tell my mother about his mistress.”
Clare blanched. “How could he expect you to keep such a secret?”
“Sometimes I wish I had.” Bennick rubbed his brow with spread fingers. “When my mother returned home, I told her about the woman in the prison and the others he’d mentioned.” A tendon in his neck pulled taut. “She attacked my father as soon as he came into the room. She screamed at him and clawed his face, and he just stood there.” He swallowed, gaze falling. “She was never the same after that.”
“You were only trying to protect her.”
“But telling her wasn’t a mercy. She wasn’t just heartbroken. The truth destroyed her. She always had delicate health, but now she’s nearly bedridden and any confrontation reminds her of that day, so she avoids every fight. She’s scared to be around my father because her instincts scream to fight him, but she freezes at the thought. She rearranged my old room and set out all my old toys—like that makes everything go back to how it was before.”
Clare touched his arm, hoping to ease the pain that tightened his features. “You can’t blame yourself for what your father did.”
“I know.” He shoved a hand through his hair and gripped the back of his neck. “Sometimes the guilt sinks back in, though. I shattered her world.”
“No,” she said firmly. “Your father did.”
His jaw remained hard but gratitude flickered in his eyes. He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Now that you know every sordid detail about my family, do you think we can still go forward as friends?”
Clare smiled gently. “Of course.” It was a chance to end the conversation, but they didn’t resume walking. Their hands had found each other, calloused fingertips pressed together, her skin brown and his light. “You’re nothing like your father,” she told him softly.
He tipped his head, like he agreed but couldn’t bring himself to say it.
She pursed her lips, scuffing her foot lightly against the grass. “Soldiers have always frightened me,” she admitted softly. “My father followed Ivar Carrigan in the civil war.”
Understanding swept over Bennick’s face. He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She swallowed. “Watching the soldiers drag him out . . . that will never leave me. Every time I see a uniform, that moment comes back. But when I saw you for the first time and you smiled at me . . . You were different from the very beginning.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You didn’t always like me.”
“No.” A smile tugged her lips. “I was angry with you. But I didn’t understand the truth—that you’re a goodman.”Her cheeks warmed and she ducked her head. She hesitated, even though she knew Bennick wouldn’t judge her for her admission. “When the carriage was attacked, you stopped me from running. And I’m grateful you did. Escape wasn’t really possible. Newlan would never have let me go. You saved me again in that moment, and I didn’t even know it.” Her grip tightened on his hand and she peeked up at him. “I’m right where I want to be.”
He stared at her. She wasn’t sure what he’d say—if she’d been too bold. She
