CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN #2
“You weren’t there,” Deckard said, more to Hewitt than Rafferty.
“The night of our marriage, I saw the fear in her eyes. Every time I touched her, even if it was as innocent as a kiss on the hand or a brush of my fingers, she would flinch. I wasn’t about to force myself on her.
Not when she was so clearly afraid of intimacy. ”
The twitter of robins filled the marshes around them. In the distance, their small camp awaited with Auden tending a fire. Rafferty drew his horse up short, stopping them. He met Deckard’s gaze with the most serious expression he’d ever worn.
“But,” the weasel said, “she’s not afraid of it now.”
A sad smile crept over Deckard’s face. He glanced at Hewitt. A familiar tension filled his chest, as though his lungs wouldn’t expand to take in air—like his heart refused to beat.
“Yes, she is,” he said solemnly.
Rafferty scratched his head, baffled. “But you love her?”
“Yes.”
“And she loves you?”
“No.”
Hewitt grumbled his dissent, but Deckard ignored him.
Rafferty heaved a large sigh. “May I just say,” he set a hand to his chest, “I’m glad I’m not one for monogamous relationships.”
“You can say it,” Deckard replied. “But it makes you a loveless, deplorable scoundrel.”
“I’d rather be a scoundrel than experience the hell you’re all going through.”
“All of us?” Deckard repeated, sure that he and Evylin didn’t constitute that grand a description.
“All of you,” Rafferty confirmed. “I know you’re boring and dull, but no one is blind enough to miss the lovelorn disasters plaguing our band.”
“Pretend I am that blind,” Deckard said.
Rafferty shrugged casually. “Where do I begin? Well, of course, there are you and Evie. We’ve all been perfectly aware that you two are besotted with one another, but with Hewitt gone, clearly trouble has found its way into paradise.”
Deckard didn’t bother correcting Rafferty’s presumptions of Evylin’s feelings.
“Then,” the man continued, “there’s poor little Loxley and his adoration for the fiery highlady.”
“Ah, yes.” Deckard nodded. “He told me about that.”
“Did he?” Rafferty raised his brow. “Interesting. The kid never bothered to mention it to Thommy or me, but it’s been pretty obvious from the start.
Problem is, the lady has it just as bad, but she’s wasted too much time making him think she likes Thom, and now Ethenn won’t believe she likes him even if she were to hike her skirt—”
“What are you talking about?” Deckard interrupted, uninterested in hearing the conclusion to the euphemism.
“Ethenn likes Ilain,” Rafferty said as though explaining to a child.
“Ilain likes Ethenn. But as she announced to the whole troop, Ilain needs to marry a Warrior. As Ethenn’s magical status wasn’t known until a week back, she had to deter him to keep their feelings from developing past infatuation. Thus, her flirtations with Thommy.”
Deckard frowned. “But now she knows that Ethenn’s a Warrior.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rafferty said. “Whether or not she likes Thom, she’s worked too hard to make sure Ethenn thinks she doesn’t like him.
Now, if she tells him the truth, it’ll just sound like she’s trying to bag a Warrior.
Personally, I wouldn’t care so much about that in his shoes.
I’d imagine an affair with Ilain Calder would set a man’s britches—”
“Rafferty.”
“Right.” Rafferty leaned against the front of his saddle. “Anyway, the problem now is, Ethenn thinks Ilain likes Thom and that Thommy’s stringing the highlady along.”
“Children,” Hewitt muttered.
Rafferty kept going, unaware of the ghost’s complaints. “Over the past month, Ethenn’s been getting more and more upset with Thom in defense of his ladylove.”
Deckard drew a hand along his jaw, trying to process the complexities of Rafferty’s explanation. “If their regard is false, why wouldn’t Thom just tell Ethenn?” he asked out of pure curiosity.
“’Cause he’s an idiot.”
Deckard shook his head. “You’ve lost me.”
Rafferty drew back, studying Deckard with his light gray gaze. His mouth opened, then shut as though judging his next words. “I can’t tell if you know or not,” he remarked, frowning. “Surely, you know. It’s obvious.”
A sneaking suspicion tingled at the base of Deckard’s skull. “Know what?”
Rafferty tapped his fingers against his saddle. “I could have sworn you knew. What with how testy you two have gotten, I thought you must have figured it out.”
“Rafferty, tell me.”
“Now, don’t kill the messenger, all right? I told him to move on.”
“Move on from what?”
“Well, Thom is a talker,” Rafferty noted. “Mostly when he’s had one too many ales, but also when he’s irritable. Which is most of the time. And as I’m the one who’s mostly around, I’m the one he’s mostly talked to.”
“Rafferty.” Deckard’s prompting took on a hostile tone.
The man tipped his chin up. “So you do know?”
“Just tell me what Thom has told you.”
“Thom said he’s in love with Evylin.”
The candid delivery sparked a blaze hotter than the sun within Deckard’s chest. His teeth clenched, and he glared into the forest as though he would see his brother standing there, guilty as charged. Instead, his eyes landed on Hewitt, the ghost returning his glare with a fury that matched his own.
Deckard turned back to Rafferty, enraged. “Does he plan to tell her?” he demanded.
Rafferty lifted his hands placatingly. “I don’t know.”
“He’s my brother,” Deckard spat. “She’s my wife!”
“Well, yeah,” Rafferty replied flippantly. “He knows that.”
“Then why would he—?”
“Why are you asking me?” Rafferty interrupted.
“Look, I’m not here to defend him. He’s an ass.
I’ve told him that. The thing is: He admits it too.
He hasn’t said anything because he knows how you feel about her, and because .
. . Well, he thought you two had—” He made a crude hand gesture, then shrugged.
Regret after regret filled Deckard’s mind.
He’d known. The whole time, ever since Hewitt’s arrangement in Whickam Village, Deckard had suspected his brother’s interest. Thom had spent hours trying to convince Deckard not to marry Evylin.
He’d begged him, saying that he didn’t want Deckard throwing his life away on a woman he’d just met.
Even then, Deckard knew the words rang false, the arguments a lie.
Why hadn’t Thom told him outright? If he’d had feelings for Evylin, why hadn’t he spoken up? Why not ask to marry Evylin himself? Thom had to know that if he’d asked, Deckard would have waited to make the agreement. If Deckard had known of his brother’s feelings, he would have hesitated.
So why hadn’t Thom been honest?
The answer came to Deckard with something awfully close to shame.
Regardless of Thom’s feelings, Deckard would have married Evylin anyway.
Despite the short three days of their acquaintance, his infatuation had grown too deep to give her over to his brother.
Perhaps he could have relinquished her to another man, one who would take her away, where Deckard would never see her again.
But to allow his brother to marry the woman he’d already begun to feel affection for? That would have been too much.
Thom would have known the choice he would make. He didn’t speak up because he knew that Deckard wouldn’t be selfless enough to let her go.
Suddenly, Deckard remembered all the occasions Thom had advised him during their travels.
Despite his feelings, Thom had encouraged Deckard to invest in his marriage, to befriend Evylin, and to try to fall in love with her.
However inappropriate Thom’s feelings were, he’d not acted on them.
Instead, he’d done what he could to support his brother in spite of them.
For the first time, Deckard questioned if he was at fault for this misunderstanding.
He’d suspected Thom’s interest in Evylin, but he hadn’t pressed for the truth because he knew if there was a woman between them, the right thing to do would be for both of them to walk away.
Since he didn’t want to walk away from Evylin, he never asked.