Page 50 of Bride of Mist
Was he calling her bluff? Did he think she wouldn’t go through with it? Was he testing her mettle?
She ground out a warning. “I mean to.”
He closed his eyes. A stray tear leaked from the edge of his eye and trickled across his temple, disappearing into his hair.
“Iwilldo it,” she insisted. “I’ll kill you.”
When he opened his eyes, they were bleak and empty. “I’m already dead.”
What did he mean? The dagger began to tremble in her hand. She was fast losing control of it.
Then he did something completely unexpected. He seized her wrist, steadying it, guiding the sharp edge of the blade to his throat. “Go on. Kill me.”
Horrified, she tried to pull back. Assassinating him was one thing. But being forced to do so was unthinkable.
“Nay,” she gasped.
“Do it. Ye said ye would. So do it.”
“Nay!” She tried to wrench her wrist away, but he held it fast. “Let go,” she bit out.
She lent both hands to the task, joining them on the hilt, using all her strength to pull the dagger away, afraid if she let up, the blade would recoil and plunge haphazardly into his neck.
“Cease!” she screamed. “I don’t want to kill you.”
The instant the words left her lips, she realized it was the truth. Dispatching him was her duty to the clan. But she didn’t wish to do it.
“Why not?” he groaned bitterly. “Isn’t that what ye do? Kill helpless victims?”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “What are you talking about?”
He shook his head.
The moment to assassinate him had come and gone. She wasn’t going to kill him. Not now. Probably not ever.
Against all her warrior instincts, she loosened her hands around the hilt and let theduandaoclatter uselessly onto the leaves.
He was still clinging to her wrist, but a curious disappointment tarnished his gaze.
A part of him had trulywantedher to kill him.
Why?
His bleary gaze drifted away again as he mindlessly stroked his thumb against the inside of her wrist—back and forth, back and forth.
“’Tis my fault,” he murmured, so softly she almost didn’t hear it.
Was he talking about Creagor? Did he finally understand the act of senseless violence he’d committed? Was it possible he regretted his actions?
“I should ne’er have left them so unprotected,” he said, talking as if to himself. “I should have been there.”
“Where?” she asked.
“I should have gone to the christenin’,” he muttered.
“Christening? What christening?”
“I should have been at Kirkoswald.”
