Page 78 of Bargaining with the Devil

She shook her head. “Nothing. Everything.” Her laugh was more of a sob. “I don’t know. I hate remembering. I hate feeling like this. I hate feeling. It was easier when I didn’t feel anything.”

“’Tis s good thing to feel again, a ghrá, even though ’tis hard.”

“Perhaps. But it’s painful.”

“’Tis the burden we carry, every one of us on this earth. Facing pain and living on anyway.”

She didn’t want to talk about that anymore. She pushed herself up on her elbows to look at him. “Did you sleep at all?” She touched beside his eyes. The weariness there . . . Surely it was greater even than it had been in the morning?

“Nay. I’ve been thinking.”

Not restful thoughts; his muscles were tense. “Was it . . .” She was almost afraid to ask. “Is it to do with what I told you earlier?”

“Nay. Or rather, ’tis possibly a little to do with it, because I’m thinking mayhap Compton got off far too easy in that London alley, ending it on Blackmore’s knife. But ’tis more to do with my actions earlier today. And other thoughts I’ve been having, have been brought into relief lately. ’Tis more to do with me than you.”

She didn’t like how grave he was. “What other thoughts?”

He traced two fingers along her hairline, soft. “Mayhap it’s been seeing your sister and Blackmore with their daughter. Holding Rachel. Mayhap it’s planning to go home, knowing I’ll meet my little niece and nephew for the first time. Mayhap I’m just at an age where I’m thinking more about my parentage. My sire, such as he was, and how I never had a father other than Dónall tolerating me for Mam’s sake.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. His eyes were far away.

With difficulty she waited out his silence, trying to tamp down the unease in her gut.

“I didn’t think too much about fatherhood as a younger man. Preventing it, sure, when I got old enough to be more responsible with my cock. And then I thought of it, fatherhood, and liked the idea, but it still felt distant. ‘’Tis a thing for the future,’ I always told myself, and truly, ’twas. But now, a bit older than that . . . Well, I also think I could manage without children of my own, especially with all the nieces and nephews to spoil that my sisters will be working on. So if I found myself loving a woman without much prospect of children.”

Blood surged, frantically trying to energize her sluggish limbs. He’d been thinking about these things while holding her, while she slept in his arms after she’d hurled words at him about trust.

And— Are you saying you love me?

“There’s plenty a man and woman can get up to, still prevents the possibility of a babe, and sure, ’tis just as pleasurable, but here’s the thing, a stór. I don’t want just part of you forever where that goes. And one of these times and soon, my control is going to slip. It nearly did earlier. God knows I’ve been tryin’ to hang on to it, a mhuirnín, for both our sakes, but I’m not infallible. ’Tis getting harder every time I touch you. And I don’t want to live out my life fighting against what I want when I’m with—” His voice broke. “With you. Fighting what we both want, aye? But when I slip up, which I will eventually, it risks you. I don’t want to risk you, a ghrá.”

How are we here? No longer in the abstract. And yet they were, and that made sense in some way even though they’d not spoken of it at all . . . but it doesn’t even matter because it’s pointless.

Pointless.

Her heart was beating so rapidly she was dizzy. He was pulling away, distancing himself. That’s what this was. “But if I’m unlikely ever to have a child . . .”

“Unlikely doesn’t mean impossible, aye?”

She assumed—and even hoped—but she couldn’t know for sure. There was no refuting that. “Yes.”

Pointless.

“I’ll not have any child of mine grow up fatherless, if that should happen.” He sighed, the sound plumbed from the depths of his soul. “So if we can’t come to terms on it, I’d best be gone. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I understand, all right. Her mind was reeling. He’d leave, not because she couldn’t have children, but because should she conceive, their child would grow up without benefit of his name.

You’ll leave because I won’t marry you . . . but I can’t marry you. I can’t marry.

Or she wouldn’t marry, but it was all the same. He knew that.

Neither of them could change the other’s mind.

So neither of us has a choice.

“Yes.” She forced the word out. “I understand you. And . . .” She had to look away. Couldn’t see whatever was in his sea-colored eyes. “I’m sorry.”

So insubstantial, those words. But they were all she had.

He exhaled audibly. “I’m sorry for it too, a rúnsearc. But I understand it. I do. I understand your reasons, and I’d never want to force your hand.”