Chapter Twenty-Six
Cara paced the confines of Diarmid’s room. Waiting.
She hated waiting.
She didn’t know Finn terribly well, but he seemed a decent enough fellow not to overreact. Honestly, Cara worried more over Diarmid than herself. She knew that the Fianna were his family and it would destroy him to let them down. Cara didn’t envy him the conversation he was having with Finn right now, and she felt more than a little responsible for it.
Diarmid’s room, and all the rooms that adjoined the halls, were nearly identical. Wattle mats covered the floors, always clean and smooth. Each held a bed, covered in woolen blankets and at least one fur—a testament to Sitric’s immense wealth. A small table, a chest to store belongings, a washing stand with a bowl, and a brazier filled what remained of the modest space. Cozy and minimal, Sitric’s halls put most others to shame with their accommodations.
The floor creaked as Cara turned on her heels once again and paced the other direction at the foot of the bed. She had no way of gauging how long she waited. Every moment felt like an eternity. When the door finally opened, she turned expectantly, her heart racing.
Diarmid’s face was so serious—more so than she’d ever seen him. It made her realize how much she missed the man who teased her and laughed all day long, who had once irritated her endlessly. Right now, she’d give anything to have him back, shameless flirting and all.
“This is my fault,” she said as he shut the door behind him.
He stared at her, silent but not upset. At least not that she could sense. His chestnut eyes blazed, strong and determined. She knew that whatever he said, it was final, a decision he’d reached after great thought.
Cara had every intention of waiting for him to finally speak, but not knowing what he thought, caught in the stillness hovering between them, she could bear it no longer. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
When she had nearly given up, preparing to leave him to his own thoughts until he was ready, he finally spoke—the last words she’d expected to hear.
“I love you.” He didn’t move, didn’t flinch or take a single step as he watched for her reaction. “I’ve tried not to, as it would make all of this infinitely easier. But I don’t think it’s within my control.”
Cara’s head spun as she digested his words. Caught unawares, she found herself facing the very question she’d posed to Niamh earlier that morn. When would she know that she was in love?
More importantly, did she want to be in love? She’d believed that Torna had loved her, he’d even said as much. And look where it had gotten her.
He took a step toward her. “Finn suggested that, if we are serious about this, we should tell Sitric.”
Cara sat on the foot of the bed, wringing her clammy hands together, her mind racing. She felt so many things. She thought so many things. And none of it made sense to her, not one thought or feeling produced anything she could offer up to Diarmid in response.
Another step forward, his gaze unwavering. “I’m prepared to leave, to let you proceed with the betrothal, if that’s what you wish. But I’m also prepared to risk everything for you.”
Her stomach roiled in protest at facing such a decision so soon. She tried taking a deep breath but found her lungs uncooperative. Pressing her hand against her heaving chest, she forced herself to focus.
“I don’t want to marry Sitric.” It was the first thing Cara could put to words, the first full idea after the storm of emotion his statement had caused within her.
Diarmid nodded. “Then we should tell him that.”
“I need more than a fortnight to decide to marry someone,” she said at last, painfully aware that it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
“To marry someone outside of duty, you mean.” She heard the way he tried to hide the hurt in his voice.
Cara took a shaky breath. “That was different,” she whispered. “You, of all people, know that.” She thought he’d been the only one who saw Torna for what he truly was, the first one to tell her she hadn’t made the mistake—Torna had. He closed the final steps between them. “And you, of all people, know that I’m not him.” He lifted his hand to her cheek, caressing it tenderly. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” she breathed, soaking in the warmth of his skin against hers. “I want more time with you before I decide anything. I want you, but it’s all so much, so quickly.”
And she’d wanted Torna, too. Or thought she had. And she’d known him for months, had spoken with him countless times, courted him properly. Only to discover that she hadn’t truly known him at all.
Diarmid was different, aye, but she wasn’t about to dive in too quickly again. After all, he’d never wanted a marriage as far as she could tell—just a string of women he left behind as he carved a path of bedmates across éire. Cara knew him well enough to realize she was more than that to him—but how much more? Could she really trust him not to leave her as well?
His deep, dark eyes searched her face. “You doubt me,” he said.
“I hardly know you,” she replied. “Until this past fortnight, I knew you as a rogue who took a different woman to bed each night and knew nothing of responsibility. I know you better than that now, but not much.” She took his hand off her cheek and held it tightly. “Give me a little more time, stay with me, just as you have been, and I will be ready.”
His soft smile tore at her heart. “I’ve not bedded a woman since we rescued you.”
Had he cared for her even then? Had he truly abstained from his indulgences even before they grew closer? No wonder he seemed so different now—he had changed entirely. “I will tell Sitric in the morn,” she promised, hoping such a final act would show him she meant it.
Diarmid shook his head. “You can’t tell him right before we leave for battle,” he replied. “I will tell him after the raid, so it doesn’t distract him.”
“Diarmid, I should be the one to do it.”
“He was my friend before he was promised to you,” Diarmid insisted. “Please, let me speak with him.”
Cara nodded her agreement. It was the least she could do since she’d no doubt wounded him with her cold response.
He leaned forward, his lips brushing hers. The kiss felt like a warm summer day, unhurried, soaked in sunshine, and full of promise. His soft, insistent pressure against her mouth left her with no doubts as to his intentions.
Come battles or betrothals, Diarmid meant to stay.
And for Cara, that was enough.