Page 58 of Faithless Vows

“No,” he says softly. “You crossed an ocean because you still haven’t grasped that what you want ceased to matter the day you shamed her.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing. Now the whole room’s watching. Conor reaches for the bottle on the table and pours himself another drink. Declan doesn’t take his eyes offme while Eamon leans back in his chair, watching like he’s waiting to see how much worse I’ll make this for myself.

But I didn’t come this far to stop now. “Alannah is my wife.”

Malachy sighs like he’s disappointed and stands. He crosses the room at an unhurried pace and stops in front of me. “She is not yours,” he says, pinching my chin between two fingers and forcing my head up. Up close, I can smell the whiskey on his breath. “You were given the chance to be her husband. You treated that like it gave you the right to do as you pleased.” His grip tightens before he lets go. “You are not worthy of my granddaughter.”

I pull against the ropes again. “Does Alannah know you’re trying to end our marriage?” I ask. “She’s a good Catholic girl. She knows what vows mean.”

One side of his mouth lifts. “You really don’t know when to shut your gob, do you?” His fist slams into my ribs. Pain tears through my side, and I fold forward, the breath knocked clean out of me. The chair jerks under the force. He steps back before I’ve even managed to drag air back into my lungs. “That,” Malachy says mildly to the room, “was for the question.”

I spit blood onto the stone at his feet and drag in another breath that burns through my ribs. “You hit like an old man—”

Conor is on me before the last word’s properly out. He buries a fist in my stomach, then another into the same bruised ribs Malachy just worked over. The world narrows to pain and the scrape of the chair beneath me across the stone as the blows drive through me.

“Enough,” Malachy says.

Conor stops at once and steps back. I sit there breathing hard, head bowed, every inhale ragged.

Malachy crouches in front of me. “It’s important,” he says quietly, “that you understand the mercy of what’s being offered.” He reaches into his coat, draws out theenvelope, and presses its edge against my chest. “Sign them, and you go back to Boston alive.”

I raise my head slowly. “If I don’t?”

He smiles like he expected nothing else. “Then we continue.”

Malachy straightens, turns from me, and walks back to the table. He takes his seat beside Conor, lifts his drink, and flicks a glance toward Declan. “Declan.”

The younger man steps forward.

“See if the boy’s got another answer in him.”

Declan grins as he comes toward me. “Got him, Finn?” he mutters, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes. Finn pushes back his chair and comes around behind me. As Declan closes in, Finn grabs a fistful of my hair and jerks my head back, holding me there.

The first punch crashes straight into my face. My head snaps back against Finn’s grip. White light bursts behind my eyes, and the chair shudders beneath me. Declan laughs under his breath and drives another punch into my mouth before I can even blink the stars out of my vision.

Over Declan’s shoulder, I see the tables—men drinking, cards sliding across the wood. Not one of them even looks my way.

Finn snarls into my ear from behind. “You’ll never touch her again.”

I laugh through the blood in my mouth. “We’ll see.”

Declan’s fist crashes into my ribs. Another buries itself in my stomach, but Finn holds me upright, leaving me no way to double over to protect myself.

When Malachy finally says, “That’ll do,” the room stills immediately. Finn’s hand leaves my hair, and my head drops forward, my chin hitting my chest. Declan steps back. I’m still breathing. Barely. Each breath scrapes through my chest like shards of glass.

Malachy takes another drink before he looks at me again. “Have you reconsidered?”

I laugh, and I hate myself a little for how broken it sounds. “No.”

A few of the men at the tables shake their heads. Malachy studies me for a moment. “Pride’s a terrible thing in a fool.” He nods toward the back of the room. “Put him in the cellar for the night. The cold might help him think. Maybe by morning he’ll remember how to sign his own name.”

Declan steps forward and cuts the ropes from my legs first, then the ones pinning my arms. Blood surges back into my limbs in a hot, brutal rush, and before I can do more than shift, he and Finn haul me upright, one on either side. Pain tears through my ribs as they lift me. They sling my arms over their shoulders and start dragging me across the room.

I stare down at the floor as they carry me, the toes of my boots dragging over the flagstone, catching and scraping against the stone. I wrench against them, trying to plant my feet and stop them. Declan drives a fist into my gut, knocking the wind out of me.

“Careful,” Malachy calls from somewhere behind us. “Don’t want him breaking before we get the ink on the paper.”

They tighten their grip on me and drag me faster toward the back of the room. As we pass the tables, I hear Eamon say, “My lad would’ve done right by her.”