Page 149 of Swordheart
“Later.” She turned on her heel. She had to get out of the room right now or she was going to cry and she didn’t want to cry in front of other people. She had her pride.
Really? And what do you possibly have to be proud of?
You’re nothing but a woman past her prime with a dead husband. You can’t take care of yourself. You had to hire a priest to get your own inheritance back from your grasping in-laws.
So you had a lover for the space of a night. So what?
Did you think he truly wanted you? Did you think he wanted anything, except to slake his own thirst?
“But Mistress Halla!” said the scholar, rising to his feet. “I have so many questions!”
“I’m going for a walk,” she said. Her voice betrayed her and she clamped her teeth down on her lip and stalked away.
CHAPTER 48
Silver faded. The sword was drawn. Sarkis materialized in the room, looking for Halla. He needed to say something—tell her something—anything—anything to fix the hurt he had caused her.
You were ready to spit her relatives on your sword for what they’d done. And you are worse than they ever were. She knew what to expect from them.
She trusted you.
Angharad and the Dervish trusted you, too. At least you haven’t left her gutted and trapped in a blade, so there’s that much to be grateful for.
The resignation in her voice had cut him more deeply than her tears. She had sounded as if she had given up. As if she had decided that she did not even deserve to feel anger at her own betrayal.
He wanted her to shout at him, to be furious on her own behalf. He wanted her to believe that she was worth enough to be angry.
I wanted a clean slate between us. I wanted you to know so that it couldn’t hurt us later. I wanted there to be a later.
He had no idea how to fix any of it.
I could fall on my own sword in shame…and then what? She’d be alone for a fortnight while I healed. And the great god knows what would happen to her in that time.
She was too trusting. She would trust the wrong person and end up bleeding in a ditch or worse.
Could they really hurt her any worse than you did?
He had to apologize. He had to find her. He had to make it right.
She… wasn’t in the room. Bartholomew looked at him, fingers wrapped around the hilt, holding the sword a few inches out of the scabbard.
“Where is she?” said Sarkis.
“Halla? I’m sure she’s fine,” said Bartholomew.
“I have to talk to her. Where did she go?” Sarkis turned away.
“It hardly matters,” Bartholomew said. “Her part in this is done.”
“What?”
“Her cousin will take care of her. We have other matters to discuss.”
Sarkis was halfway to the door when the wordcousinstruck him. “What? That clammy-handed worm? What are you talking about?”
Bartholomew rolled his eyes. “For gods’ sake, man, you know the woman. She’s a twit. She needs someone to keep her from wandering off a cliff, and for whatever reason, her cousin wants the job. You did your part, and now you can get on to better things.”
Sarkis saw red.
