21. Bea #2
And as he stands there, chest heaving and eyes dark with anger, I realize that even though I should be, I’m not afraid.
I’ve faced threats far more terrifying than him before, and survived.
I don’t care if this is what causes that control of his to finally slip.
I made a promise to myself. To Kenna. And I will not break it.
Brennen’s nostrils flare at my silence. “If you didnae harm her, why not tell the truth? She was seen coming this way. Was sent to you by the village barkeep so you could answer the lass’s question.” He takes a step forward. “She promised she’d return, and she never did.”
I tilt my head. Why would she promise she’d return if that was never her intention? But even more interestingly, why would the barkeep send her here, knowing my legend? I do not have an answer, so I don't even try to give him one, instead pressing my lips together.
The silence that stretches between us is suffocating, but Brennen doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t blink, and I’m certain he’ll stand there all night if he has to.
My body aches, and my mind races. I’m not sure I have the strength, nor the energy, to continue this dance much longer.
He’s too focused. Obsessed, even, with getting an answer.
But maybe if I give him just a hint of truth, something his dàn can confirm, he’ll let it go. Or at least, I can hope he will.
“The woman is safe,” I say, my voice shaking with the admission.
His eyes widen, and I almost laugh. He’d accused me so confidently about knowing what happened to her, and yet, there’s no way his surprise is an act. “What?”
“She’s safe,” I repeat. “Alive and safe. She came here, and I helped her. That’s all you need to know.”
He grips the dagger tighter, crouching before me as he holds my gaze, refusing to let me look away.
“Tell me where she is,” he demands, the words rough as gravel.
“I didn’t hurt her. I helped her,” I say, pushing every bit of conviction I have into my words. How can he not see it on my face or hear it in my voice? I have done nothing to warrant his suspicion, and yet it is sharper than his blade was against my back.
“Can you no see I’m trying to help her, too?” he shouts, and I pause. Could he help her? I do believe he’d want to. But I also can’t be confident that, in trying to help her, he won’t tell someone something he shouldn’t. What if he tells the wrong person, and it gets back to the husband, Hamish?
“If you want to help her, let this go,” I say softly, keeping my voice even. “I won’t tell you where she is, no matter what you do.” I stand, turning away. He reaches out as if to stop me, but pauses, his eyes flicking to the dàn on my ankle. He lifts his dagger.
“Tell me,” he says, and the meaning is clear. Will he actually follow through with his implied threats one of these days? Or are they empty?
Either way, I do not care.
My voice shakes, but I remain firm. “You can beat me bloody, plunge that dagger into my chest to the hilt, but it will change nothing. The woman is safe. And because I want it to stay that way, I’ll not tell you, nor anyone else, where she is.”
“Was she in trouble then? Is that it? Tell me, and I’ll help her!” he shouts, a crack in his constant control. “Tell me or I’ll—”
“What?” I throw my arms out. “Stab me? Do it!”
His fingers flex around the knife, knuckles going white. “There’s no reason you wouldn’t tell me where she is, what she wanted from you, unless you were responsible—”
“I won’t tell you, because it is the only way I can be absolutely certain she remains hidden!
” I scream. It tears out of me, a century of helplessness behind it.
My hands shake, and my breaths heave. It feels good to lose my temper—to let rage replace the endless guilt and shame and hopelessness constantly eating away at my soul.
So I let it burn.
I stand, wading closer to him and jabbing a finger in his direction. “Do you want to know why I won’t tell you?” He scrambles back, eyes flicking to my hand, afraid of my touch. Of another dàn transferring.
Good. Let him be the one afraid for once.
He keeps retreating, stumbling as he tries to keep space between us.
“I won’t tell you because that husband who seems so concerned about his precious wife was beating her to near death!
Is that why he’s worried, you think? So he can find her and finish the job before he’s punished for what he did?
” The words come out raw and wild, and in the back of my mind, I wonder if I finally look as terrifying as I’m said to be, my red hair whipping around my face in the moonlight, my bloody hands reaching out toward him, pure rage in my eyes.
I lower my voice. “I won’t tell you because she came here with more bruises on her body than I’ve ever seen. Because she begged me, begged me, to help her hide, and I promised I would protect her.”
I continue forward, my courage growing by the second.
Damn common ground. Damn this man who cannot see beyond his duty to the Cutter.
“You want to think I’m a monster? Fine. Everyone already does.
They always will. If the only way that woman stays safe is for me to endure whatever torture you have planned to extract that knowledge from me, then pull out your knife.
I will not yield. I have failed too many people. I will not fail her.”
My chest heaves as I hold his stare.
“And what do you suggest I tell Hamish?” he finally asks. “What do you suggest I tell Cailleach when she asks me where the woman has gone?”
“Tell them whatever you like. Tell them I murdered her, for all I care. But hear me when I say, there is nothing you can do to me that will make me change my mind.”
For a long moment, he just stares at me. Not with anger or suspicion, but something different.
“You…” He swallows, looking down at his dàn of truth. “She’s actually safe? You truly helped her?”
“Of course I did.” The anger deflates out of me, and my voice comes out softer.
Quieter. Relief that he’s finally listening floods my body, my shoulders sagging, exhaustion pulling them down.
“I might be a monster, but do you not think it’s possible I’m more than only that?
” I ask, and before he can argue, I dive into the river.
The cold is a shock to my tired body, but it clears my mind. I did what I thought—no—what I knew was right. I protected Kenna the best I could, and so I welcome the chill. The way it makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t in a very long time.
I swim hard and fast until my fingers reach the opposite bank. I climb out and walk until my chain goes taut with a jerk, stopping me mid-step.
I am as far from him as I can be, and through the grace of the Fates, he does not follow me.