72. Bea
BEA
Isnuggle against Brennen's chest, feeling truly safe for the first time in a century. Longer, even, but I cannot fully relax into the feeling. Too much has happened. Too much has been revealed.
Soairse’s death. The Cutter’s actions.
Brennen's fingers trail up and down my arms as we lie in silence, his breaths deep and even. His hand stops, and I wonder if he fell asleep.
I hope he did.
Maybe in his dreams, he can rest from the horror of losing his sister.
“Where's your mind gone?” he asks, his deep timbre rumbling through my body.
I kiss the sprinkling of hair on his broad, muscular chest. “It's here with you,” I say, and somehow, I feel his answering smile. He pulls me closer, resting his chin on top of my head.
“Where’s your mind?” I ask, holding him tighter.
He sighs. “With you as well. But also with my family. With…” he trails off, and my heart aches for him.
“Marsaili. You can say her name. It will not break me,” I say, pressing another kiss to his chest.
“No. I wasnae thinking about her. Marsaili would want me to be happy. And this thing between us, it’s…
I cannae describe it. It’s different from what I’ve felt before.
” He squeezes me a little tighter. “I just dinnae ken how I served the woman who has taken so much from me. Years of my life wasted on vengeance against the wrong person. Your freedom. And I dinnae understand how Saoirse is—” He stops, unable to continue, and he takes a deep breath.
“When Cailleach sent me here, she held my siblings' strings and said, ‘Such long threads.’ She should have had a full life. If she’d ended it early, you would have had a vision. You should have been able to stop it.”
I close my eyes, holding back a wince. There’s no cruelty in his words, but he’s right, I should have been able to stop it.
“I wish I could have. But it was Athair’s fire that killed her.
I saw it. Someone saw us touching, and Cailleach is punishing you for it.
” My voice comes out choked, the guilt so heavy it almost crushes me, but I take a deep breath.
This isn’t either of our faults. The blame belongs to one person, and one person only.
“If the visions come from Cailleach, severing threads independent of the Weaver and the Measurer,” I continue, “maybe that explains it. If Cailleach convinced her sister to change her measurement, the clothes would come as they always do. Or it could be that this was always her fate. Maybe her thread wasn’t as long as the others.
Maybe this was always going to be her time, no matter what we did. ”
He exhales, and even though I know it’s not the truth, I hope Brennen thinks it could be. If the thought of this death being fated at her weaving brings him even a sliver of comfort, if it lifts a fraction of the blame I'm certain he will carry for the rest of his life, I will hope he believes it.
“We have to find a way to free you, Bea. Cailleach willnae rest until you're dead, and I’ll no allow that to happen. I willnae lose anyone else.” His voice goes tight, and my heart aches from the pain I feel radiating from him.
I sit up, grabbing Brennen’s hand, my heart racing and hope flickering in my chest. “I already know how to break the curse,” I say.
“You—” His eyes widen in shock. “What do you mean, you ken how to break it?” he asks.
I shake my head, a plan forming in my mind. “There’s a spell that can undo it. I’ve been gathering the pieces for as long as I’ve been sentenced here,” I say.
Brennen sits up. “You ken how to break the curse…” he says, his tone one of complete disbelief.
“I didn’t tell you because I wanted to do it on my own terms. I wanted to atone by finding each piece myself, but I have nothing to atone for.
I dinnae believe Am Breitheamh would send me to suffering only for removing Molly’s clothes.
” I swallow, a hint of fear trickling into my belly.
“I’m not positive it will work if you’re the one to gather the items, but it’s our only choice. ”
“You know how to break the curse,” he says again, but this time, the smallest smile graces his lips, and my stomach squeezes tight.
I nod. “Every curse must have a counter. There was a note left for me the day I was sentenced here.” I close my eyes and picture the words I’ve read a thousand times.
“Gather the pieces of a life completed—a vessel that carries breath, a name given in love, a piece of home and hearth, a promise broken, and an ending mourned. Bind them in tartan. Seal them in true faith and a changed heart, and send them into the After. I’ve been trying to find them.
It was my penance, to struggle day after day, always searching.
I wanted to show the Three how much I wanted forgiveness.
Maybe if you bring them to me, we can still break the curse. I can still be free.”
His eyes flash with horror. “No,” he growls, gripping my hands. “You cannae go to the After. You have to live, Bea. Stay here with me. The rest of your life will be nothing like the century of endless torment you've endured. I'll help you—”
I shake my head. “Of course I’ll stay. I'll help you stop Cailleach. I'll help save your family.”
He squeezes my hands tighter. “And after?” he asks.
I take a second to think about my answer, because I’ve never had a reason to believe anything other than a peaceful end was possible. Rest is all I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. To escape the evils of this world, the wickedness of it, and find peace.
“What if—” I swallow, my doubts bubbling up unbidden. I clear my throat, keeping my voice light. “So much could happen. We’ve never left this river. What if all this passes, and you don't, well… What if things change for you? You've already had your one great love.”
I try to smile, to show him I wouldn’t blame him, but it feels wrong on my lips. I wish I could say his heart was only mine to claim, but it cannot be. Not when it’s buried in the ground with the woman he already promised to spend his life with.
His voice is soft as he grabs my chin, lifting it to meet his gaze.
“Just because I loved someone before, it doesnae mean I cannae love again.
I wanted you, even before I knew it. Even when I shouldn't have. I wanted you, even when I was sworn to kill you. I wanted you even when it wounded me. When it threatened to decimate me. When I despised myself for it. Me wanting you, loving you—”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and my breath hitches. “It willnae change. This feeling,” he places my hand over his heart. “It’s deeper than anything I imagined. I feel as if you’re a part of me. We'll have a life together, mo ghràidh. A happy one. I’ll make sure of it. ”
The sadness in my smile fades as his words wrap around me, squeezing tight. Loving you. Could it really be true, that after all this suffering, something good has found me? Something so pure? I sniffle, holding back tears. “Then aye. I think I'd like to stay with you. Very much.”
He leans his forehead against mine, his breath whooshing out in relief as he cups my cheek. “Mo chridhe,” he whispers against my lips, and my soul soars as he kisses me, deep and firm, pushing any doubts from my mind that I am who he wants.
He finally pulls away, chest heaving. “What items are you missing?” he asks, and I almost laugh at his need for control. To form a plan here and now. I think I would, if we weren’t in so much danger.
“A name given in love, and a promise broken,” I say. “I’ll need more tartan, as well.”
Brennen meets my eyes, cupping my cheek. His eyes soften. “I can find you those things. I can give you one of them now, mo chridhe,” he says, standing and walking to his desk. The broad muscles of his back flex, his kilt swishing as he bends forward to pick something up.
His eyes are determined as he returns, kneeling before me. He presses a kiss to my brow, pushing something rough into my hands. I trace the object with my fingers before I look at it, smooth wood with soft ridges and angular edges.
I open my hand and flip it over, my heart skipping a beat when I realize what I’m holding.
It’s a bird, no bigger than the size of a plum, wings tipped up and feathers wide as it soars high above the clouds. A skylark.
My eyes fill with tears. “When did you do this?”
Brennen shakes his head. “I didnae even realize the bird had changed, at first. It was subtle. A shorter beak. Wings spread out. And somewhere along the line, the carving became something else entirely. Morphed from a robin to this,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.
He grabs his carving knife, flipping it over and digging the tip into the belly of the bird.
Slowly, he carves a B. An E. I can’t see the last letter through the tears, but I know what it is without a single doubt.
He finishes, pressing it once again into my hands.
A name given in love.
A lump forms in my throat as I stare at the bird, twisting it in my fingers.
Could it really be true? That when he’d said the word before, it hadn’t just been a slip of the tongue, and this man really, truly loves me?
I want to believe it. More, even, than I want to break the curse.
More than I want to be free. And I think I do.
He’s shown me, with his actions, words, and body.
My answering kiss is soft. Lingering, and he pushes me back, proving to me that he means every word.