“Are you telling me I don’t already distract you? That we doona distract each other?”
Iris looked away.
“Is it your past?” Padraig pressed.
She turned her face to look at him again. “Yes.”
True.
“I doona care,” Padraig said with a gentle smile. “I already know, and I doona care.”
Iris swallowed. “You know what?”
“I know about the abbey, and why you were there,” he said.
Her heart pounded in her chest. “I don’t think you do.”
“Nay, I do,” he insisted. “And I doona care about your station. Whether I win Darlyrede House or nae, nae matter the pretty manners you’ve taught me, I’m still the same man I was when I first arrived here. And nae matter what happens, I want you to know that I intend to make you mine. I wish to take care of you.”
Iris felt her eyes welling with tears. “This isn’t Caedmaray, Padraig. It doesn’t work that way here. And you don’t know me as you think you do.”
“I know you in the only way that matters,” he insisted yet again. “I know your heart.”
She pulled her hands away. “I have to speak to Lucan.”
Padraig frowned. “Why? Asking his permission, are you?”
Iris shook her head and then looked both ways down the corridor. “No. The masked man in the wood, he told me he killed Euphemia Hargrave. I need to tell Lucan alone.”
“I doona understand,” Padraig said. “You doona wish me present when you’re discussing things that concern Darlyrede?”
“I have to ask him about your father,” Iris said. “And I don’t want to further upset you. I need you to have faith that—”
Padraig’s brows raised. “Am I some wee bairn now, that needs your sheltering?”
“No,” she insisted. “But I know how you loved him and—”
“Love him,” Padraig corrected. “I still love him. He’s nae dead.”
“You are so quick to defend him,” Iris reasoned. “I just need—”
“What does any of this have to do with you any matter?” he demanded. “You serve Caris Hargrave, and you were to train me up to be a proper Englishman. What does anything my father did or didna do have to do with you?” He looked at her closely for a long moment. “Searrach warned me that you were keeping a secret. I’m wondering now if she wasna right. If I’m playing right into your hands. Have you been lying to me?”
Oh, God help me, Iris prayed silently.
Tell the truth as often as you can, she reminded herself.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Yes?” he repeated incredulously. “Yes, you’ve been lying to me?”
She nodded briefly.
Padraig’s handsome face was a mask of confusion. “About what?”
Iris took a deep breath. “Come with me to see Lucan.”
Padraig’s frown deepened.
Iris couldn’t stand the pain that his wary confusion was causing her. Whether Lucan liked it or not, Padraig was going to learn the truth about her that night. He might hate her afterward, she knew.
And so Iris did the only thing she could think of in that moment. She reached out for him and kissed him again, pressing her lips against his with all the hope she felt in her heart while the tears pressed painfully against her eyelids. Hope that Padraig would listen and understand. Hope that he would forgive her. Perhaps even still consider loving her when it was over.
She pulled away and leaned her forehead against his. “No matter what happens after tonight,” she whispered, “I’ve never lied about how I feel about you.”
This time it was Padraig who stepped away from her. “Let’s get it over with, then.”
Chapter 15
Iris followed Padraig through the corridors of Darlyrede House to the courtyard, and then once more toward the chapel. The atmosphere was tense—news of the assault in the clearing had spread quickly, and everyone they passed fixed them with curious stares, whispering to their companions. Indeed, the very stones of the keep seemed to be murmuring.
It was only through sheer determination that Iris managed to place one foot in front of the other, nearly skipping to keep up with Padraig’s long strides. Her entire body felt jumpy, as if she’d been struck by lightning, in anticipation of what was to occur.
Lucan was still lying on the same cot when they entered the darkened antechamber of Father Kettering’s domain. He had one forearm across his eyes, and his left foot was propped up, wrapped in thick bandages. He raised his arm slightly to see who had entered and then took it away altogether, rising to one elbow while Iris barred the door behind her.
“What is it?” he asked, at once alert. His expectant gaze went to Padraig’s and then followed Iris as she went to the doorway leading to the chapel proper and secured the barrier.
“We’re going to tell him,” Iris said, stopping at her brother’s bedside and turning to face the Scotsman, clasping her hands together tightly to stop her nervous fidgeting. “Now.”
She saw Lucan collapse back to the cot in her periphery. He sighed. “We don’t yet know—”
“We do,” Iris interrupted. “At least, I do. Lucan, Thomas Annesley lied to you.”
“What?” Lucan said.
Padraig spoke in the same moment. “Lied to him about what?”
Iris looked at each man in turn and then settled on Padraig. “Your father told Lucan that the reason it was unthinkable that he could kill Cordelia Hargrave was that she carried his child. They were to be married the next day, and the unborn babe would have been Thomas Annesley’s heir—the security of his and Cordelia’s future at Darlyrede. No one save he and Cordelia knew for certain about the child, although there were rumors.”
“What?” Padraig breathed incredulously.
“Beryl,” Lucan warned pointedly. “You assume too much on rumor.”
“I assume nothing,” Iris returned crisply. “It was you who relayed the information to me, Lucan. I’m certain you recall.”
Padraig regarded her warily now, and Iris was caught between saying what she must as quickly as possible to get it over with and ordering her words so that the sting of
