He saw the uncertainty in her eyes and the fear. But he didn’t want her to build him up as a hero. Feann deserved to die for what he’d done. There would be no mercy, no turning back now.
She studied him with a sombre gaze. ‘If we are wedded, Feann will not harm you.’
Alarr didn’t believe that for a moment. ‘If Feann already slaughtered my family and my bride, he would not hesitate to have me killed.’
‘He would protect you for my sake,’ she said quietly. There was an edge of desperation in her tone. ‘If we visit Killcobar together, I could talk to Feann. We could reach an agreement.’
He wanted to argue that Feann cared only for himself. Such a man would not listen to reason or agree to a corp-dire payment. The king hadn’t even bothered to search for his foster daughter. But if Alarr revealed that, it would only hurt her feelings. Breanne held loyalty to a man who deserved none of it.
His mood hardened at the thought. Every time he thought of that day, of the blood and death, it ignited the fury inside him, stoking the flames of vengeance. ‘I will never forget what he did.’
‘I understand,’ she murmured. ‘But surely there is a way to compensate you for your loss. According to the law—’
‘The law will not bring back my father. Or Gilla.’ He pulled back from her and met her gaze squarely. He could never be swayed from this course. He needed her to understand that, but more than that, he needed distance between them. Her soft heart was weakening his resolve. The closer he grew to Breanne, the more he doubted his decisions. It was better to shut down any thoughts of marriage.
‘There can be no wedding between us. Not now or ever.’
She closed her eyes as if his words were a physical blow. ‘I know you do not want me as your bride. But so many lives could be saved. Including your own.’
He cared naught for his life. What good was he to anyone now? He could barely fight, and he never wanted to see a look of fear or loathing on Breanne’s face if he was unable to defend her. He had barely managed to save her from Oisin the first time.
He could not allow her to sacrifice her own future for his, nor could he imagine another wedding—not even to a woman he desired so badly. The memories of bloodshed would never leave him, and he could not even consider marriage. He didn’t deserve happiness after his first bride had died before he could save her. The gods had punished him by allowing him to live as less than a man with visible scars to remind him of his failure.
But he refused to accept that life. Better to die avenging those who had lost their lives than to go on with his.
Breanne was far too good for someone like him. He had to cut her off and make her despise him. It was the only way to protect her from being hurt. And so, he delivered the cutting blow.
‘You are only a slave to me, Breanne. It’s all you’ve ever been.’ Alarr stood from the pallet, turning away so he would not see her reaction. ‘I bought you to get close to Feann. And then, I always intended to kill him.’
He did not stay to hear her answer, nor did he want to see her face. He wanted to sever all ties between them and cause her to hate him. Only then, would it be easier to leave her behind and enact his plans for vengeance.
Outside, the night air was cool, a welcome contrast from the heat of his skin. Alarr strode across the fortress, the gates flanked by torches. Guards stood at intervals, and he nodded in greeting. He knew not where he was going—only that he needed to escape the confines of the longhouse.
You did what was necessary, his conscience reminded him. You had to let her go.
And yet, he loathed himself for what he’d said—even knowing that there was no other choice but to hurt her.
As he passed a shadowed corner, he heard a soft laugh. There, he spied Caragh seated upon a low stool, Styr kneeling before her. The leader was washing her feet, and the act grew intimate when his wife’s laugh turned into a low intake of breath. Alarr kept walking, pretending as if he hadn’t seen them. But the image struck hard within him, of what it would be like to spend each day with a woman he cared about...of what it would be like to touch her and hear her sigh with desire.
The closest he had ever come to it was when he’d touched Breanne.
Chapter Five
In the morning, Breanne awakened and stared at the partition, feeling humiliated and broken.
‘You are only a slave to me, Breanne. It’s all you’ve ever been.’
Alarr’s words had cut her to the bone, reminding her that she was worth nothing to him. She wanted to weep, but there were no tears, only the aching anguish within her. Not only from his refusal, but it was also because she felt abandoned by everyone.
No one wanted her. Not her foster family, not her betrothed husband, and not the man who had saved her. The shame burned within her that she had dared to offer him marriage.
It didn’t matter. Alarr had made his point clear. There would be nothing between them. His intent was to use her and discard her.
But that didn’t mean she would stand aside and let that happen. She had other ways of getting home, and she had no intention of becoming Alarr’s pawn in a game of death.
She stood from her pallet and walked through the longhouse, searching for Caragh. The young woman was nowhere to be found, but she saw Styr instead. The leader was speaking with
