Rise (24 page)

A WEEK PASSED BEFORE
Alistair sought Ember’s company. In those seven days, Ember became increasingly convinced that she’d traveled backward through time. Had it not been for the sight of the steep highland slopes that she could spy from Agnes’s, and now her own, window or the fact that Ember and her sister had grown into women and were no longer young girls, Ember could have been convinced that she was again at her father’s estate, living out the life that she’d known most days of her childhood. Even her dresses were familiar. On Ember’s first morning after her return to Tearmunn, all the chests her father had insisted accompany Ember to the keep had appeared.

Ember wasn’t happy at how quickly she remembered why she’d hated the days spent cooped up in her father’s manor. Since their movements were restricted, Agnes had suggested that they embroider clothing for her unborn child. Wanting to please her sister, Ember assented before she recalled how much she despised working with a needle and thread.

When enough of her fingers were bleeding from tiny, invisible needle pricks, Ember gave up. Her embroidery sat in her lap, unfinished, while Agnes chatted or sang sweet songs. Ember gazed out the window, knowing she must be in this room, in this keep, but wishing she were not. After the first clandestine night visit, Ember had no further contact with Cian or Father Michael. Though she offered Agnes placid smiles, Ember’s thoughts more often than not were of Barrow. Sometimes she closed her eyes, trying to remember what it was like to pass the night in his arms, waking to the scent of his skin on hers. She captured brief glimpses of his face in her dreams—the softness of his lips and the rough stroke of stubble on his jaw, the color of his eyes as dark as the winter sea, the strength of his hands.

Knowing she couldn’t lose herself in the fantasies of elsewhere, Ember tried to keep her attention on Agnes. Surprisingly, given the circumstances, Agnes blossomed with her pregnancy. The sickness that had plagued her early on had passed, and while her belly grew, so did the glow in her cheeks. Though Ember was happy to see her sister well, Agnes’s condition raised troubling questions. Alistair had offered to care for her now, but when did his hospitality come to an end? Would he provide for her child as well? Would Agnes live forever at Tearmunn?

Even if such an arrangement had been made, Ember knew it wasn’t viable. Tearmunn could never be a safe place for either Agnes or Ember. Not so long as Eira ruled and Bosque stood at her side. Because of this, Ember set herself another task. Not only must she find a way into Alistair’s good graces, but she also needed a way out of Tearmunn for Agnes.

Ember pondered these two problems while Agnes embroidered the hem of a minuscule shirt. Both sisters looked up when the door opened. Agnes’s maid curtsied and stepped aside. When Alistair walked in, Ember jumped to her feet, smoothing her pale blue gown. Bosque followed Alistair through the door, but Ember managed to keep a pleasant smile on her face.

Agnes set her embroidery aside and rose with much more dignity and grace than Ember had shown. Since it was her room and she was the elder sister, Ember deferred to Agnes, leaving her to greet their visitors.

“Good morning, Lord Hart and Lord Mar.” She curtsied, and Ember mimicked her sister’s action.

Alistair gave a brief nod. “Good morning, Agnes. I hope you are well?”

“I am, Alistair.” Agnes blushed when she beamed at him, picking up her nearly finished shirt. “Look at what we’ve made.”

Ember offered Alistair a wry smile. “My sister is being too generous with her use of
we.
”

“I’m sure she is,” Alistair answered, barely looking at Ember.

The smile vanished from Ember’s face as quickly as if Alistair had slapped her. She didn’t understand. Joking had always been their way, and his brusque manner was strange. Ember was surprised at how deeply it stung her.

Bosque came forward, leaning down to examine the hem. “How lovely. You must have delicate hands to create such fine needlework.”

Agnes curtsied again. “You’re very kind, Lord Mar.”

“I hate to trouble you, Agnes, but I’d like to ask for a bit of time alone with your sister.” Alistair didn’t look at Ember, though he was speaking about her.

Under any other circumstances, Ember would have shouted at Alistair until his ears were red for treating her thus. But now she felt helpless; she could do nothing but stand quietly while plans were made about her. Her nightmares offered more kindness than this.

“Of course.” Agnes put the shirt down, but clearly didn’t know what to do with herself.

Bosque offered her his arm. “I thought I could take you for a walk around the grounds. The day is fine, and some air would do you good.”

Agnes smiled up at the tall man as though he were the sun itself. Ember wanted to stomp her feet and scream. Wooden and miserable, she watched Bosque lead her sister from the room. Before he passed through the door, Bosque cast a glance back at Ember, one corner of his mouth curving up in a way that made Ember’s legs quake. She dropped back into her chair, feeling cold and breathless.

“Are you ill, Lady Morrow?” Alistair hadn’t moved from where he stood.

“No.” Ember sat up, pretending she wasn’t as unsettled as she felt. “I slept poorly, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Alistair made a show of looking the chamber over. “Perhaps you require a separate room.”

Ember chewed her lip. A room of her own would give her privacy, both for attempting to win Alistair and for sneaking out in the night if need be. But she was also instinctively protective of Agnes and reluctant to create distance between them.

“I’ve shared a room with Agnes all my life,” Ember told him. “You needn’t make special arrangements for me now.”

“No arrangements would be needed,” Alistair replied. “We have an empty room that you may use if you like.”

“I—” Again caught off guard by Alistair’s cold demeanor, Ember struggled for a new approach to their conversation.

“And you might consider that when you shared a room with Agnes, you were both girls,” Alistair continued. “If you haven’t noticed, your sister is a woman with child, and you… well, I can’t say what you are.”

Ember blanched, completely unsure of herself. The man speaking to her now was nothing like the Alistair she’d known. Gone was the teasing boy who’d taught her to fight with a sword.

Alistair gave her a tired look. “You’ll still have ample time to spend in Agnes’s company, but you’ll conduct yourself as a woman of your station should—at least on the surface of things.”

“If you think it best—” Ember began, but then she could no longer help herself. A sob welled from the very pit of her stomach, bringing with it tears that required no playacting to summon. “Why are you acting like this?”

She felt exactly like the petulant little girl Alistair accused her of being.

Stiffly, Alistair said, “Ember, collect yourself. You’re better than this.”

That only made Ember sob again. Not only was she confused, she was mortified by her own unexpected outburst.

With a noise of disgust, Alistair finally broke from his watchful pose and came to her. Grabbing her arms, he forcefully lifted her to her feet.

“Stop, Ember.” Alistair gave her a light shake. “You shame yourself with this display.”

Ember couldn’t halt her tears, but she choked back another sob. Through her blurred vision, she met Alistair’s sky-blue eyes and found them judging her.

He held on to her arm with one hand while the other took her chin. His thumb raked tear tracks from her right cheek. Shaking his head in disappointment, Alistair frowned. “Why did you come back?”

Ember stared at him, her eyes brimming. “I thought you wanted—”

“When have you ever cared about what I want?” Alistair snapped.

“I was wrong.” Ember had begun to tremble all over. “I didn’t know.”

Alistair’s arm slid around her back, gripping her tight at the waist and hip. “Where did you go?”

“To La Marche.” Ember tried to focus, to recall the story she needed to tell. Her mind was drowning in tears and cruel words. She could barely sense the room around them. All she could see was the piercing blue of Alistair’s gaze.

Alistair’s lip curled, haughty. “Why?”

“You told me… you said…” Ember was shaking so badly that she couldn’t stand up. She didn’t need to, as Alistair was now holding her against him.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might have regretted what mercies I offered you that night?” Alistair hissed into her ear. “Did a single thought cross your mind other than what would make your life the easiest? What you wanted?”

“Stop.” Ember grasped Alistair’s shirt, clinging to him. “Please.”

“Tell me why you left the others.” Alistair spoke in a low, harsh voice. “Are they dead?”

Ember’s throat closed. Her head was spinning. What was she supposed to say? What should have befallen her companions? What story would keep them safe?

“Or did they leave you behind?” The sweetness of Alistair’s question was like venom. “Did you prove too great a burden, the maid who held back such great knights of Conatus?”

Shutting her eyes, still burning from her tears, Ember said, “I left them.”

Was that wrong? Should she have told Alistair they’d perished, drowned? Barrow’s face glared at her, accusing. Ember buried her head against Alistair’s shoulder.

“You’re lying.” Alistair’s lips were at her ear, hot and unrelenting. “Tell me the truth.”

Ember twisted her hands in his shirt, pulling her body closer to his. “I left them.”

“Why?”

His face was warm against hers, and Ember didn’t know how they’d come to be so close. She couldn’t be sure of anything, except that if she let him go, she would fall.

“Because I was wrong to leave,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Alistair laughed, his breath beating against her neck. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I’m here now.” Each word Ember spoke felt more pathetic than the last.

“You’re here for Agnes,” Alistair told her. “Which is the one noble act you’ve accomplished since you first set foot in Conatus. I can honor that.” His fingers lifted her chin. “But you are not here for me.”

Ember opened her mouth, but her protest died in her throat. She’d failed. Failed before she ever made the decision to return. Alistair despised her.

More tears stung as they gathered at the corners of her eyes, and Ember hated herself for it. She let her eyelids close in defeat. A moment later, she felt Alistair’s lips on hers. The sudden warmth and silken touch of his mouth provoked an instinctive reaction from Ember; her hands released his shirt, sliding around his neck to pull him closer still. When his tongue slipped into her mouth, she didn’t fight him, desperately needing a reprieve from his hostility. Seeking any sign that he still wanted her, she was not ready to face what it would mean if he didn’t.

Alistair broke off the kiss suddenly. Ember’s eyes were still closed when he pushed her back into her seat. He left the room without speaking or looking back at her.

Ember sat, gripping the arms of the chair. Her body still trembled as waves of heat and cold coursed through her. She stared at the door, terrified by the fact that she had no idea what had just happened.

ALISTAIR HAD KNOWN THE
encounter would be a struggle, but it had been more trying than he’d imagined. He hadn’t planned to kiss Ember, or more accurately, he had planned to avoid kissing her. In his first real interaction with Ember since her return, Alistair had hoped to show her only disdain.

Temptation had proved too great. The kiss had been provoked not because Ember had been molded against him, nor because he watched the way her breasts rose and fell with each short breath she took. It was her desperation that had pushed him over the edge. The way she’d held on to him as if her life depended on it.

In some ways, Alistair supposed, Ember’s life did depend on him. But the way she had needed him to give her something. The smallest token that she remained of some worth to him. Ember had always been defiant. To see her quaking with fear made him feel stronger, more alive. And more determined.

Though he hungered for more of Ember, Alistair knew that giving in to his desire meant he would have to keep himself away from her again. At least for a length of days that would leave her ill at ease. He needed her to be unsure of him.