Page 4 of Irish Reign

“There’s no reason to suff?—”

“How long until I can see?” I cut him off. He should understand. In my line of business, weakness kills.

I get the vague impression that he’s shaking his head. “If you rest? And wear dark glasses? Seventy-two hours.”

“And when I do neither?”

He sighs. “An extra day or two. Corneas heal quickly.”

“So I’ll be better by week-end.” I cough a little as I say it. My throat feels like it did when ten-year-old Madden and I stole two packs of Da’s Marlboros and dared each other to see who could smoke them fastest.

Madden… Fucking shitehawk.

“Rest will help that cough too. Prop yourself on pillows if you have trouble breathing.” He closes his heavy bag with a grunt. “Call me if your eyes get worse. Or if you decide you want the pain meds.”

“Seamus will see you out,” I tell him, climbing to my feet. I can hear my quartermaster talking in the next room, his voice low and steady. “And could you send Samantha in?”

“As your doctor, I strongly advise you to avoid sexual relations for the next forty-eight hours.”

I grimace. “Send her in, please.”

I’d like nothing more than to give Samantha a ride, searing eye pain or not. But we have something more important to discuss.

She closes the door behind her. I can’t see her fingers on the knob, but I know precisely how she moves. I can picture her checking the latch with one quick tug, making sure we won’t be interrupted. “What did the doctor say?” she asks.

“I can only be saved by regular blowjobs, every hour on the hour.”

“Braiden—” She sighs in mock exasperation. At least, I hope it’s mock.

In any case, her sigh has told me exactly where she’s standing. I get a hand around the back of her neck, same as I did outside the burning Thornfield.

Despite doctor’s orders, I regret having given her the key to her collar. If she still wore her emerald, I could order her to her knees.

Instead, I tug her over to the side of the bed. We sit, chaste as missionaries, as I ask, “How’s Aiofe?”

“She’s sleeping in the other suite. Seamus’ wife is with her.”

“How much does she know?”

“She saw Birte fall.”

I wince as the old scar on my forearm begins to throb, the itching burn I’ve lived with for nearly thirty years. Before I can dig at it with my nails, Samantha says, “It’s not your fault.”

“I tried to get up to the third floor. The entire staircase was on fire. Half the steps had already burned away.”

“It’s not your fault,” she repeats. “You had no way of predicting Birte would do that.”

Seven years of guilt feels like a load of iron ore across my shoulders. “I wish I knew what set her off last night.”

“Oh my God…” Samantha breathes. “You didn’t see…”

“What?” And when she hesitates: “What didn’t I see,piscín?”

My pet name for her—kitten—breaks down her defenses. “Your annulment. Birte put it under the bedroom door while we were sleeping.”

I left the document in my office. Birte must have crept out of her attic room during the night. She must have found the official paper on my desk.

I don’t know if the stabbing pain I feel is from my eyes or my smoke-ravaged throat or if it’s pure guilt. I made a mess of Birte’s life for years. I should have found a way to set her free sooner than I did. I should have brought in the doctors she needed, her and Aiofe both.

---