Chapter 7
Eoin wasn't sure how much time he spent there, just holding Breana in his arms and letting her cry, occasionally whispering words of comfort or stroking her hair.
She clung to him desperately, and he never once tried to pull away, resolved to spend the whole night like this if he had to.
He remembered the pain she was feeling. He knew how torn she must be.
At last, though, at some point in the darkest part of the night, Breana's sobs ceased, and her breathing slowed to a more steady, rhythmic pattern.
Her body slumped against his, and he soon realized that she had cried herself to sleep.
Eoin stayed where he was for a few minutes, reluctant to let her go and even more wary of disturbing her.
But soon, his back began to ache from the position he was holding, and he had to concede that the way she was sleeping would make her wake up with her own aches and pains.
It felt better than Eoin wanted to admit, to be holding Breana in his arms. When she'd first arrived at Darach Castle as his father's unwilling bride, he'd thought of her as nothing more than Maeve's sister, another lost girl to protect.
But she'd visited him a few times in the dungeons, stealing away to witness the man she'd heard had helped her sister escape, and they'd built a quiet understanding.
He'd been drawn to her from their first conversation, to her warmth and her gentleness, and she had stirred his heart in a way decidedly different from the sisterly manner in which he felt for Maeve.
Eoin shifted very slowly, moving at a snail's pace as he tried to gently untangle her without disturbing her much-needed slumber.
He remembered once, a few weeks after the forced wedding and what would turn out to be a few days before the rebels descended upon Darach Castle to reclaim it, his father coming down to brag about his new obedient wife.
Kyle had taunted Eoin about how his disobedience had not paid off; an O'Sullivan daughter was still here, and now Kyle, not Malcolm, was fully in control.
He'd bragged about how he would one day beget a 'better' child upon the O'Sullivan girl, though he was enjoying cavorting with his various lovers and breaking down the girl emotionally as she felt her worthlessness as a wife.
Only when she was completely broken, Kyle had promised, would he fully claim her, to avoid the mistakes that Malcolm had made with her spirited sister.
Eoin boiled with rage at the memory. He'd hated his father at that moment, hated every inch of the man who had already caused so much pain and suffering.
He still felt that hatred now, but as he extricated himself from Breana and managed to lay her down more comfortably on the bed, it was accompanied by a flood of pride, too.
Because Breana hadn't broken. She had never given Kyle the satisfaction of full subjugation, and as such, despite being forced to say vows, she had always been free.
He moved the pillow more comfortably under Breana's head, tucking a stray strand of her hair away from her face.
She mumbled and rolled over in her sleep, but otherwise did not stir.
Eoin smiled slightly, reaching for the blanket and pulling it up over her shoulders, making sure that she was protected and warm.
Eoin watched her sleep for a moment more, then stood, walking over to the small dresser on the other side of the room.
There was an old, slightly cracked mirror there, damaged but kept very clean.
He saw his own blue eyes staring back at him, so different from the cruel gaze of his father, and he was eternally thankful that he at least did not look like the man.
Yes, he'd hated Kyle Darach. He'd hated all of them and everything they stood for, but his father had earned a special place of loathing in Eoin's heart.
It had hurt more because he'd once loved his father, when he was young and naive and believed his lies.
Only after Mary died, and he saw Kyle's true indifference to the loss of his own daughter, had his eyes truly been opened.
Eoin had been young, but the event had spurred him into really understanding what was going on in the world around him: the callousness of Malcolm Darach, the cruel calculation of men like his father, and the overall tyranny of the False King.
But it hadn't all been simple. He'd been obedient, still, in a way.
He'd taken on the job as captain of the guard for the chieftain of the Darach clan.
He'd tried to use his position for good, discovering and eventually allying with Ann and the other White Sparrows, culminating in breaking Maeve free and starting the chain of events that had led to him joining the rebellion.
But the fact was that his father had still been his family, and part of Eoin had hung onto the idea of him until the very end.
When Cailean had killed Kyle Darach, he'd done Eoin a favor—done the world a favor—but Eoin could admit to himself here and now that it had still hurt.
He had no mother, no sister left, and though he had hated Kyle, a small part of him had always hoped for a kind of closure that could now never be.
Realistically, he would have never gotten it; Kyle had been cruel and manipulative, and Eoin knew it.
But knowing that he was dead and gone from the world forever had been a struggle which, if he was honest, he still hadn't fully come to terms with.
He glanced back at Breana and sighed. Yes, he understood her pain, and he felt it deep in his heart.
He tried to imagine how it would have been if, after Kyle had been killed, Mary had still been alive.
Would Eoin have been able to be brave enough to leave her behind, if he'd had to, for the greater good of the rebellion?
He honestly didn't think so. The fact that Breana was forced into making this impossible decision regarding Nessa flooded him with a mix of sympathy and admiration for the sleeping woman.
Part of him was exhausted after their journey so far, and that part longed to climb into the bed and fall asleep.
His heart stirred in agreement, thinking of the warmth and comfort that would come from resting next to Breana, feeling her warmth close to him as he surrendered to sleep, finding a true moment of peace in all of the chaos of his life.
But a restlessness clawed at his heart even through his tiredness.
He kept hearing Breana's sobs in his mind, and he knew that, even if he did feel as warm, as safe, as his mind was imagining, he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway.
And besides all of that, he would not impose himself upon her rest; he wanted her to have as much space as she needed without him assuming that he could take up her space.
She'd had enough men in her life taking over her personal choices, and he would not be one of them.
So, he resolved, he would not sleep tonight.
He sat on the little wooden stool that he dragged over from the corner of the room and placed it in front of the door.
He knew they were likely not in too much danger here, but there was always a chance, and it was not one he was willing to take.
Instead, he'd stay awake and watch over Breana, guarding her and protecting her from whatever dangers he could while she slept and fought the war going on inside her heart.
It was the least he could do.
Soft sunlight filtered through the smudged windows, and Breana's eyes flickered open. It took her a moment to realize where she was, and once she had, she lay still and quiet in the bed for a moment to gather her thoughts.
It had been a fitful sleep, full of dreams and memories, both good and bad.
Her heart still ached with a confusing mix of emotions regarding the news she'd learned the night before about her father.
Her thoughts fluttered to Nessa for a moment, but she forcefully dragged them away.
For now, she could not dwell on her youngest sister.
She could not allow herself to break down again as she had the night before. Not now—not when she had a job to do.
Stretching, Breana slowly sat up in the bed, surprised to find a blanket around her.
It slipped off as she sat, and she realized with a rush of affectionate gratitude that Eoin must have placed it over her to keep her warm the night before.
A small, tired smile played on her face, and her gaze landed on him a moment later.
He was sitting in an awkward position on a wooden stool in front of the door, his head bent, and he dozed with his head against his chest. She doubted he was fully asleep; it was clear that he had been awake all night, probably determined to guard her.
That made her sore heart pulse with a healing warmth, and she hesitated before speaking, not wanting to disturb the little bit of rest that he was getting.
Eventually, though, Breana grudgingly accepted that they could not stay in this bubble of peace.
They had a job to do. Strangely, she did not feel embarrassed by her tears the night before and how Eoin had comforted her; all she felt was an almost overwhelming draw to the man who had obviously dedicated himself to keeping her safe.
"Ye'll hurt yer neck if ye sit like that for too long," she said quietly.
Eoin started, jerking awake so suddenly that he almost fell off the stool.
His head snapped up, his eyes alert in an instant, but he relaxed when he realized who had spoken.
She saw the tell-tale dark rings under those blue eyes that told her she'd been right; he'd probably slept for no more than a very short time.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Did I fall asleep? Sorry. I didnae mean tae; I was intendin' tae—"