The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

yet, here he was, abusing her to save her. He shut the door and threw the bolt. With men yelling for aid, he ignored them. He was a fool. A blasted fool. “What would happen if I went out of bounds?” Aidan wanted to make sure. He needed to know, if he were to have an easy conscience.

The girl scowled and would not look him in the eye. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Aidan took a deep breath and tried again. “If you’d run off any farther that day or if I had left you lying there, what would have happened?”

The bell tolled again, footsteps thundered down the halls. And yet he stayed, waiting for her answer. When she did not offer one, he approached.

“I want to do the right thing.” When he reached out his hands to take her by the shoulders, Slaíne stumbled away from him. He froze.

“What do it matter?”

“Don’t be petulant.”

Her gaze met his, but there was no spirit in her eyes. When she spoke, it was in monotone, as if she had recited it time and time again before. “The terms of the curse would have been broken beyond mendin’.”

“And the consequences?”

She looked away and shrugged. “No more pain, at least.”

He stiffened. So, it was as he had expected. If he, in his haste, had left her alone and strayed outside the bounds of the curse’s limits, Slaíne would have died. How close he had come to possibly killing her!

For an eternity they stood there, the first sounds of battle clashing outside their window. The seer had been right; Aidan should never have even undone the bolt. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and turned back to the fire. “You’d best find a way to, er, fasten that – your, gown. It needs doing up in the back, I assume.” And hating himself most fiercely, ignoring the Pulls without and the guilt within, Aidan Dismissed the sword, settled back down by the fire and prepared himself for a dreadful daybreak.

Her Pull moved closer then stopped. How did she tread so noiselessly? “That’s it, then?”

“Please, go back to sleep…I mean, if you wish to.”

Slaíne moved back toward the window, and when she spoke, her voice was tighter than a fiddle string. “We’re not going to help them?”

“I’m going to wait this out and see what comes tomorrow.”

She murmured something and clambered back to the fire. For a moment there was a respite from all the shouting and clashing weapons; perhaps the town folk had managed to drive these wraiths, or whatever they might be, away.

She spoke. “I want my sword.”

Aidan Summoned it again and set it on the floor next to him. “There. If that makes you feel safer.”

Slaíne snorted. “I want to help.”

“I know.”

“You want to help.”

He was silent. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Changed my mind, he says. Liar.”

Aidan rolled over into a ray of moonlight. She hadn’t taken the weapon. “Slaíne, this is not our fight.” He hated himself for saying it, but she’d made him realize how hasty he’d been to act.

“You don’t believe that.”

He looked up at her. Slaíne had pulled her dress back up and was holding it closed with one hand behind her back. “Slaíne, you have said it yourself. What if we became separated?”

“Don’t—”

“Please, let me finish. If we became separated, the curse would strike you down. I will not live with that. I’m not stopping you from going down there and fighting.”

“Aye, but you are. Not goin’ is as good as sayin’ I mustn’t.”

Aidan groaned and rolled over again. The world outside had grown eerily quiet. He could no longer feel all the Pulls he had sensed earlier. Perhaps the villagers really had rallied and managed to drive the nuisances away. “Can we not have this conversation? Please?”

“I won’t let them people die, just ’cause of some stupid curse. If’n we don’t help, it’s on me. My fault.”

That brought Aidan to his feet. In a flash he was in front of her, in her space. “Don’t. Ever. Say that.” He was angry. Nay, furious. But not at her; it would never be her fault…never if they lived for another ninety years would it be on her.

She mistook his anger and quick movements and threw up her hands to shield herself. But, as a credit to her bravery, she stood there, ready to take whatever she thought he was about to deal on her.

Realizing his mistake, Aidan put gentle hands on her wrists and pulled her arms away from her face. He attempted a weak smile when she would look at him, and placed a chaste kiss on her brow. “Please, let me worry about blame. Try to rest.” When she didn’t move, he put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to look at him. “They’ll be all right. I can already feel the enemy Pulls retreating.”

Slaíne seemed to drink in his words like a dying plant, her eyes glassy as one mesmerized. Outside, the returning shouts of victory broke the spell, and her gaze moved away again.

Aidan released her and took a few steps back. “Good night, Slaíne.”

She turned her back to him and returned to bed. “’Night, sir.”

Chapter Twelve

The next morning, Aidan awoke feeling as though he had sleepwalked a thousand miles. His sleep had been undisturbed by any dream, for which he was very grateful, but he was weary to the bone. For a moment, he thought of lying back down, but he heard Slaíne moving about, and he knew she would desire to have the room to herself for a while.

After freshening up – as best he could, all things considered – Aidan went downstairs, took care of some personal business, and went to see about ordering his company’s breakfast. Glares met his quick gaze, and the innkeeper’s wife was even less friendly than the previous night. He knew the cause. No surprise, really, he thought. There was whispering, and a few marked-up faces turned away at the sight