Chapter Twenty
Connor
Adrian insisted he was fine. Connor knew better.
He’d run over to Glengáill in the early morning, when the dew was on the ground and the kits in the burrows had only started to stir from a lazy sleep.
He’d enjoyed a breakfast of pheasant and was satiated.
For a while. All he had to do now was convince one stubborn Frenchman to lean on him for support.
Connor found Adrian walking around the village.
His posture was too straight, his movements too measured.
The kind of careful that came from wanting to look normal when everything inside was breaking.
The mark shimmered faintly beneath the fabric of his shirt.
But Connor saw it. He always saw it. It was mirrored on his body too, but without the pain Adrian seemed to suffer.
A cluster of villagers approached Adrian near the fountain, their voices anxious, overlapping, clutching shawls and half-formed fears. Adrian lifted a hand to reassure them, forcing a smile. Connor watched from the gatehouse steps, his chest tight.
Adrian had always been composed, elegant even in chaos, but today Connor saw the Frenchman’s shoulders were rigid, his breaths short, his skin too pale against the morning frost. And when one villager reached to touch his arm, Adrian flinched.
Only for a second, but Connor saw it. He was at Adrian’s side before he was fully aware of moving.
“Enough,” Connor said, stepping between Adrian and the crowd with the subtle, immovable force of a stone wall.
The villagers blinked in surprise. “Connor, we were only—”
“He needs air,” Connor said briskly. “Back up.”
They backed up. People always backed up when Connor used that tone.
Adrian exhaled sharply, the sound half frustration, half relief. “I was handling it.”
Connor turned on him instantly. “You were about to fall over.”
Adrian bristled. “I was not.”
“You swayed.”
“I shifted my weight.”
“You looked ready to pass out.”
Adrian stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Connor, I am perfectly capable—”
“No, you’re not.” The words landed like a thrown blade.
Adrian froze. His jaw worked for a moment before he hissed, “I do not need a bloody guard.”
“You’re not getting a guard,” Connor said. “You’re getting me.”
“That’s even worse.”
Connor did not budge. “Too bad.”
Adrian opened his mouth, likely to say something sharp and clever, but the mark pulsed suddenly, visibly, glowing like embers through cloth. His breath hitched.
Connor grabbed his arm. “There. That. That’s why you’re not walking around alone.”
Adrian’s hand flew to his chest, wincing. “It’s a flare.”
“A flare,” Connor repeated flatly. “Adrian, if your heartbeat got any more erratic, I’d be digging a grave.”
Adrian shot him a murderous look. “You’re exceptionally bad at comfort.”
“Good thing I’m not trying to comfort you.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Stopping you from collapsing in the middle of the village.”
Adrian closed his eyes. For a moment, all the fight seemed to drain out of him, leaving him looking unbearably tired. Then he straightened with resolve.
“I’m fine now.” His eyes dared Connor to say anything.
Connor sighed. “So sue me for worrying. Come on. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Adrian nodded. “I am aware. Thank you.” He looked around. “Everyone is staring.”
“Good,” Connor said. “Maybe they’ll stop touching you every five seconds.”
Adrian chuckled.
Connor guided him away from the open space, his hand hovering near Adrian’s lower back, but not touching, though close enough to make sure Adrian would feel the heat of it. Every few steps, the mark pulsed again.
When Adrian stumbled on uneven stone, Connor’s arm was around his waist before Adrian could blink. Adrian stiffened. “Connor. Enough.”
“Just walk,” Connor murmured, his voice rougher than intended. “I’ve got you.”
“You don’t need to—”
“I’m not letting you fall.”
Adrian rolled his eyes. “You’re being absurd.”
“Probably.”
“You’re hovering.”
“Definitely.”
Adrian shot him a glare. “Do you think this helps?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because you’re not lying on the ground unconscious.”
Adrian laughed. “You are insufferable.” He tapped his chest. “It’s me they want.”
“Aye,” Connor said softly. “And I’m not going to let them have you.”
That rare, honest, and unguarded softness seemed to break Adrian. His shoulders sagged for a microsecond then he smiled wryly. “Then I suppose I have to live with it. Please don’t treat me like I’m porcelain. I’m quite able to take care of myself.”
Connor leaned in, his voice dropping to something close to a vow. “I’m not doing it because I need to.”
Adrian frowned. “Then why?”
Connor held his gaze, steady, unflinching, impossible to look away from. “Because you matter.”
The mark pulsed. Adrian inhaled sharply.
Connor’s eyes flicked to the glow under Adrian’s shirt. “There. Even that damned thing agrees.”
Adrian sniffed. “You’re impossible.”
Connor’s thumb brushed Adrian’s sleeve gently. “And you’re pale as death. Come inside before you keel over again.”
“Fine.”
Their footsteps echoed unnervingly on the cobblestones as they reached the outskirts of the village. People peered from windows, hushed and hollow-eyed, clutching candles that guttered in the still air. The strange hum beneath the earth vibrated faintly through Connor’s boots.
He accompanied Adrian back to his fort, maintaining a subtle presence, always watching, ready to catch him.
For once, Adrian didn’t fight him, didn’t pretend the world wasn’t tilting.
Connor Brannigan would burn the valley to the ground before letting anything touch him.