Chapter Eighteen
Isla
Rhylen’s words echo in my head, once again reminding me of my place next to him. His for the foreseeable future, his until I could get away, but did I want to? I could no longer deny the horrors committed by a man I thought I knew. A man I thought I loved.
The guilt threatens to swallow me alive at betraying Oliver. Every step I take towards the truth behind Oli’s words makes me realize I never knew him at all. Every story, every adventure, every slip of news he would give me were all lies.
While Rhylen’s words can be harsh, his actions are far different. So far, he’s left me untouched, unharmed, and confused. While Rhylen didn’t tell me everything, he was dead set on showing me instead, letting me choose my own truth. Would Oliver do that?
Everything Oliver said was wrong. Lie after lie hit like blow after blow. This so-called Hood wasn’t the monster of my story no matter how badly I wanted him to be. He was a beautiful lie wrapped up in harsh words.
We walk into a huge welcoming hall. The stone walls are lined with tapestries from the Halstead family.
From their family tree to woven tapestries depicting battles and births, the Halstead’s are proud of their heritage.
Instead of two customary thrones at the head of the hall, there’s a massive table at the front of the room.
Food lines the table. The duke and duchess head toward their seats — Amos at the head and his wife to his right.
Prince Cohen sits at the opposite end. Ewan chooses the seat to his father’s left.
Rhylen pushes a chair out next to Ewan and guides me to it. Argus, the twins, Raia, and Maisie are all seated before Rhylen speaks up. “Early dinner, Amos?”
“Emi thought you boys would be hungry,” Amos chuckles. His wife interrupts him.
“Battle plans are best discussed on a full stomach, now eat. I haven’t seen my boys in months. I know you’re hungry.”
Rhylen smiles kindly at the duchess. I lean in, nudging his shoulders. “I wasn’t sure you knew how to do that,” I whisper softly.
“Ahh, love. Never underestimate me.”
“Maisie, is it?” The duke looks at her. Her cheeks heat at the attention from everyone at the table.
“It is sir,” she nods.
“Ewan was telling me you were separated from your family? For taxes?” Again, she nods. “What’s your father’s name?”
“McGreggor, sir.”
The duke looks at Cohen across the table. There’s an understanding in his gaze. Rhylen looks at both of them. “What is it?”
Cohen clears his throat. “We found Baelur. A few villages over, but it’s swarming with the guard. Captain Cahir has been spotted.” My breath catches in my throat at the mention of Oliver. Rhylen squeezes my knee under the table, causing the air to whoosh out of my lungs.
“And the village?” Rhylen asks. His hand still lingers on my knee.
“Still standing for now. Our spies say they should be moving out in the next few days.”
“Then we move now,” Irric speaks up.
“Too dangerous,” Cohen presses his lips into a firm line. “I can’t get enough men across the border in time to help.”
“Ach,” Argus scoffs. “We don’t need ‘em.”
“Argus has a point. We move in quickly and quietly, at night. We can slip in, grab Baelur and be out before dawn,” Irric argues.
The duke scrutinizes Maisie. It makes me wonder what he knows about the girl once he asked her father’s name. He looks at her as if he knows her. “There’s more than just Baelur this time.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rhylen responds. “We’ll do it. Tonight.” The men nod. The final word from their notorious leader has been spoken. Who is he that he can command a duke and a neighboring prince of all people? He claims he isn’t the rebellion’s leader, but this meeting is showing me otherwise.
The next few hours go by in a flash. We’re shown to our rooms, given fresh clothes to dress in, and shown to the bathing chamber. I seize the opportunity to soak in the tub, granting myself the space I desperately seek from Rhylen.
The past two weeks have been overwhelming. Everything I thought I knew, everything I was told was a lie. It’s a challenge to come to terms with it all.
I sink deeper into the water, willing myself to stay here just a bit longer, but the water grows tepid. A knock at the door draws me out of my thoughts. “Hurry up, we’ve got things to discuss” barks the gruff voice that haunts my thoughts. I groan and sink deeper into the water, covering my head.
The door opens, causing me to shriek as I sit straighter. “What do you think you’re doing!?” I shout.
“You won’t get out of the bath to talk, we can talk in here,” Rhylen replies nonchalantly.
I cover my breasts with my arms and slam my back against the back of the tub, away from him. “Rhylen! Get. Out. I’ll be out in a second.”
“No need to be bashful, love. I’ve seen a naked woman before,” he winks.
I lean forward, looking for anything to throw at him, settling on a bar of soap sitting on the edge of the tub.
I chuck the soap at him, causing him to duck out the door.
His laugh rings out, making my heart clench, a sweet sound I want to hear again. Damn him.
Once the door is shut, I step out of the tub. In haste, I dry off, slip on the dress, and groan. The back of the corset is impossible to tighten and tie.
Damn him. Damn this dress. Damn my scars. Damn everything.
Taking a deep breath, willing my nerves to settle down, I step out of the bathing chambers. Rhylen looks vacantly out the window in deep thought. There’s a quizzical look on his face as he tries to work things out in his head.
I clutch my dress close to my chest and clear my throat. Rhylen turns towards me; his eyebrows shoot to his hairline. He chuckles at the state of my dress. “I need help,” I mumble.
“I beg your pardon,” he teases. My nerves vibrate with horror.
What will he say when he sees my scars? Will he mock me?
Make me feel stupid again over loving a man whose family wishes to destroy me?
He’ll have to see my scars. He’ll ask what’s happened and I’ll have to relive the worst day of my life over again.
“I know you’re rather used to untying them, but are you talented enough to tie it instead?” I tease, hoping to settle my nerves.
Rhylen stalks towards me. My heartbeat hammers against my ribs, wild and unforgiving. I’m quite certain he will hear the rapid thumping if he steps any closer. I turn around, facing my back to him.
In front of me is a long-standing mirror, so I can examine the dress. He pauses; a look of rage fills his face. His hands hover over the scars.
“Who. Did. This. To. You.” He bites out.
We lock eyes in the mirror as he runs a knuckle up my spine, making me shiver. Small bumps spread over my flesh. “Isla,” he growls.
I dip my chin, breaking our gaze. “His family,” I whisper.
“The Captain?”
“The Duke.” I didn’t think it was possible for Rhylen’s eyes to show anymore anger, but they light with an impossible inferno of fury and promises of death.
“And you still love him? You still believe in the best from him? When he was raised by the very people that took a whip to your back? And for what?” With each question, he raises his voice louder and louder. Anger vibrates off him.
“Punishment. They were punishing me for crimes I committed against the crown.” The last sentence tastes foul on my tongue. Rhylen arches a brow, waiting for me to elaborate.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The memory of my papa assaults me one after another. The swing of the blade, the thud of his head.
“Isla,” Rhylen growls.
“They killed him. For something he didn’t do.
For treason.” I fill the void, recounting everything that happened that fateful day.
I tell Rhylen everything. Every detail from the way the air felt sticky, to the sound of metal hitting flesh, to the gut-wrenching screams that made my throat raw.
I recounted every whip and the numbness that filled my body at hearing Philipa’s voice stop her father’s punishment.
“They’re dead, Isla,” he growls. “They’ve sealed their fate by their actions.” I shake my head, but his hands grip my waist as he tugs me closer to him. He stares at me in the mirror. “They’re dead. You’ll get your vengeance, I promise you.”
I shudder at his grip, and my breath catches in my throat.
His words send a flurry of emotions through me— feelings I’m not sure I can admit yet.
Feelings that are battling with reason in my heart.
I try to push the butterflies that swarm in my stomach away at the heat in his eyes and the rage he threatens to spill at the idea of my anguish.
“I don’t know if I could,” I whisper. Thoughts of destroying the very family that ruined my family, that killed my heart, flash in my mind.
“You can, and you will.”
I swallow down the rampant emotions that threaten to spill out, tabling them for another time. “Don’t we have somewhere to be? You’re supposed to be showing me your talents in corset tying,” I remind him, breaking the rising tension in the room. The anger flees his eyes and he smirks.
“Trust me, love. My talents are one thing you’ll never have to question,” his raspy voice caresses my skin.
My heart stutters as the butterflies in my stomach refuse to flee.
How can his touch have me losing every sensibility?
How can his touch feel like everything right in the world? Like this is where I’m supposed to be?
I swallow again. Rhylen slowly glides a finger over a gnarled ridge in my back one last time before he tightens my dress to a comfortable tightness. He looks at me in the mirror. “Ready?”
No words would form, so I simply nod. Rhylen and I study each other in the mirror for a moment. The air is tense around us, once more. Another knock at the door shatters the moment.
Rhylen abruptly turns around, opens the door, and steps aside. Raia and Wyll stand at the entrance, all cleaned up, and glance between the two of us. There’s a questioning look in Raia’s eyes as the devilish twin smiles.