lip.
“I know about your father and brother, by the way. About how they died.”
She flinched. “How do you know about that?”
“You talk in your sleep.”
A burst of ice-cold terror ripped through her. If she’d babbled about her father and brother during her sleep, who knew what else she might reveal? Her fingers gripped the inside of the sleeve of her sweater. She was fighting so hard to keep her secret safe and now there was a possibility she could give it up without even knowing it.
He bustled around the kitchen, making tea and toast. “You must hate the Unseelie Court.”
She pushed her hand out the mouth of her sleeve and studied her fingernails. “Were you a part of what happened to my father and brother?” The words came out sounding casual, but she felt anything but that. The memory tightened the muscles of her stomach and made her feel sick.
She worried about Niall’s answer—stupidly. Yet if Niall had played a part on that bloody day, she would be disappointed.
He turned toward her, slice of bread in his hand. “No, Elizabeth, but I’m not surprised it occurred. The Shadow Kingwas a good ruler, but he had no mercy for those who stood against him.”
“A good ruler.” She made a sound of disgust. “They weren’t
standing against him
. They simply didn’t want to dedicate their lives to the Shadow Guard. Last time I checked, Piefferburg wasn’t a dictatorship.”
“Anyone who defied the wishes of Aodh Críostóir Ruadhán O’Dubhuir stood against him.” He paused. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“He wasn’t my brother by blood, but the link was every bit as strong.” She swallowed hard. “Do we have to talk about this?”
The memory of their deaths was still fresh in her mind. Living so far out in the Boundary Lands, her family was all she had. Losing two members that same day had been devastating. Her father and brother had been Pict by genetic origin, extremely powerful warriors by birthright. They’d been commanded by the Unseelie King to join the Shadow Guard. When they’d refused, the king had sent a contingent of soldiers and his personal bodyguard, Barthe, an ogre, to beat them until they agreed.
They never agreed.
“No, we don’t have to talk about it.” He brought the tea and toast over to her and set it on the coffee table in front of her. “Eat. You look pale and tired. The iron sickness is setting in.”
“Do you think?” she snapped at him. Stomach rumbling, she reached out and snagged the edge of the toast, bringing it to her lips to nibble. “Trying to keep me healthy as long as you can?”
“Of course I am. You die and your secret dies with you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “That’s the idea.” Her tone was light to mock him, but she couldn’t keep the note of sadness out of her voice.
He watched her polish off the tea and toast and then ordered her to sleep. That was one command she was more than willing to obey. She stood, took two steps forward, and stumbled. He caught her and she ended up pressed against his solid, warm body. Despite her fatigue, every nerve in her flared to acute awareness of his differences as a man—sculpted, hard muscle, broad shoulders, strong chest and arms.
Niall was the type of man that females responded to on a primal, cavewoman-like level. He had the kind of body that screamed power and raw masculinity—the kind of body that made a woman instinctively think he would protect her against all threats. Of course, Elizabeth knew better.
Niall
was
the threat.
Alarmed by her inappropriate reaction to him, she pushed away, but he just held her firm. “Come on, let me help you to bed. You’re iron sick and awake during the day. It makes you unsteady on your feet.”
She was really too tired to argue or fight. That made her distinctly worried about the immediate future, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that. Not right now. Right now she needed a bed, a blanket, and hours of shut-eye.
After
“I know about your father and brother, by the way. About how they died.”
She flinched. “How do you know about that?”
“You talk in your sleep.”
A burst of ice-cold terror ripped through her. If she’d babbled about her father and brother during her sleep, who knew what else she might reveal? Her fingers gripped the inside of the sleeve of her sweater. She was fighting so hard to keep her secret safe and now there was a possibility she could give it up without even knowing it.
He bustled around the kitchen, making tea and toast. “You must hate the Unseelie Court.”
She pushed her hand out the mouth of her sleeve and studied her fingernails. “Were you a part of what happened to my father and brother?” The words came out sounding casual, but she felt anything but that. The memory tightened the muscles of her stomach and made her feel sick.
She worried about Niall’s answer—stupidly. Yet if Niall had played a part on that bloody day, she would be disappointed.
He turned toward her, slice of bread in his hand. “No, Elizabeth, but I’m not surprised it occurred. The Shadow Kingwas a good ruler, but he had no mercy for those who stood against him.”
“A good ruler.” She made a sound of disgust. “They weren’t
standing against him
. They simply didn’t want to dedicate their lives to the Shadow Guard. Last time I checked, Piefferburg wasn’t a dictatorship.”
“Anyone who defied the wishes of Aodh Críostóir Ruadhán O’Dubhuir stood against him.” He paused. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“He wasn’t my brother by blood, but the link was every bit as strong.” She swallowed hard. “Do we have to talk about this?”
The memory of their deaths was still fresh in her mind. Living so far out in the Boundary Lands, her family was all she had. Losing two members that same day had been devastating. Her father and brother had been Pict by genetic origin, extremely powerful warriors by birthright. They’d been commanded by the Unseelie King to join the Shadow Guard. When they’d refused, the king had sent a contingent of soldiers and his personal bodyguard, Barthe, an ogre, to beat them until they agreed.
They never agreed.
“No, we don’t have to talk about it.” He brought the tea and toast over to her and set it on the coffee table in front of her. “Eat. You look pale and tired. The iron sickness is setting in.”
“Do you think?” she snapped at him. Stomach rumbling, she reached out and snagged the edge of the toast, bringing it to her lips to nibble. “Trying to keep me healthy as long as you can?”
“Of course I am. You die and your secret dies with you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “That’s the idea.” Her tone was light to mock him, but she couldn’t keep the note of sadness out of her voice.
He watched her polish off the tea and toast and then ordered her to sleep. That was one command she was more than willing to obey. She stood, took two steps forward, and stumbled. He caught her and she ended up pressed against his solid, warm body. Despite her fatigue, every nerve in her flared to acute awareness of his differences as a man—sculpted, hard muscle, broad shoulders, strong chest and arms.
Niall was the type of man that females responded to on a primal, cavewoman-like level. He had the kind of body that screamed power and raw masculinity—the kind of body that made a woman instinctively think he would protect her against all threats. Of course, Elizabeth knew better.
Niall
was
the threat.
Alarmed by her inappropriate reaction to him, she pushed away, but he just held her firm. “Come on, let me help you to bed. You’re iron sick and awake during the day. It makes you unsteady on your feet.”
She was really too tired to argue or fight. That made her distinctly worried about the immediate future, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that. Not right now. Right now she needed a bed, a blanket, and hours of shut-eye.
After
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