How could she ever have imagined herself in love with such a thoughtless brute?
“The truth. I shared with our lady the truth of why I must keep my oath to Eymer.” The whole sordid, painful, embarrassing truth. They’d had a good cry together over it, and then Lady Danielle had promised her everything would work out just fine.
“And what might that truth be?”
“None of yer business, Captain.” Her heart pounded in her chest, the need to feign anger no longer necessary. “And as to tossing Eymer’s tooth into the sea, I expected better of you than that. After the years you claim to have spent at our laird’s home in the north, you of all people should well ken that I’ve no intention of simply tossing anything into the sea.”
Eric didn’t look up to meet her eyes, but the muscle in his jaw tightened in a way she recognized all too well.
She wasn’t the only one who was angry.
With that knowledge, her own anger fled, leaving her once again defenseless.
“Let me show you,” she offered, going to her pack and unrolling it.
She spread the clothing and blankets until she found the treasure she sought, the small wooden boat Eymer had carved, specifically to serve the purpose of being his funeral pyre.
“Here.” She held out the boat for Eric to inspect. “Eymer made it himself. Once I’ve asked Thor’s blessing as he instructed, I’ll light fire to it and set it on its course into the sea, bearing all that is left of Eymer toward the home of his ancestors.”
Eric accepted the vessel from her, holding it carefully in the cradle of his two hands. “The pillow?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“Eymer bade me stitch it with our laird’s symbol upon it. It’s filled with dried herbs to aid in the burning.”
Eric handed it to her and turned back to building the fire.
“It willna work,” he said at last. “‘Tis but a bairn’s toy, too small to prevent the first wave from driving it to shore or swamping it.”
“Mayhap.” She’d worried over that eventuality herself. “But I gave Eymer my oath to see it done, and I’ve no intention of letting him down.”
• • •
How he’d managed to organize their provisions, feed them a meal, and get them both to their rest this night was beyond Eric. Though, as much as he needed it, sleep would be eluding him for quite some time. All he could see when he closed his eyes was the delicate linen pillow Jeanne had sewn, her careful, tiny stitches forming the MacDowylt mark so finely that they might have been drawn on by a monk’s trained hand.
The care required, the painstaking detail, the time involved, all pointed to one unmistakable conclusion.
“You loved Eymer.”
Cloaked in the dark of night, with the low glimmer of their banked fire pit their only light, Eric at last voiced the thought that had eaten at his mind for over a year.
He had loved Jeanne, but she had loved another.
The delay between his comment and her reply stretched out until he began to believe she’d not heard him. Perhaps she slept. Or perhaps it was only the layers of blankets and fur wrapped around her for warmth that prevented her from hearing.
She finally said, “Eymer was a good man. Well deserving of love.”
Unlike him? She hadn’t said those exact words, but he felt the sting as if she had. He had no doubt a declaration of love came easily to her lips. After all, she’d claimed her devotion to him only days before she’d wed Eymer.