Page 44 of I Loved You Then (Far From Home #12)

At length, he leaned back, studying her with that sharp, searching gaze. “Ye’ve something on yer mind, lass,” he said. “Or ye’d nae have come.”

Claire turned the cup between her hands, watching the firelight glint off the rim. The wine was strong on her tongue, but warmed her from the inside out. She spoke quietly, but she hoped not timidly. “Have you given more thought to everything that’s happened?”

“Aye.”

“So...do you think I’m meant to be here? Or...” She swallowed, her eyes flicking to his, “should I go to Braalach?”

His gaze held hers for a long moment before he drained his cup and lowered it to his waist. He sighed and asked his own question rather than answering hers.

“What of yer husband, Claire? Tell me plain—what life did ye leave behind when ye came here?”

Her breath caught, surprised by this as a topic of discussion.

“My husband,” she echoed, stalling a bit, trying to imagine why this was the first thing he asked, first thing he wanted to know, when there was so much else of import to sort out.

She considered her answer, searching for words that wouldn’t sound like blame, like an outright assassination of Jason’s character.

“My marriage wasn’t alive any longer. Jason and I had gone in different directions, long ago—so far apart that I don’t honestly remember when it was good.

I told myself for a long time that his cheating ended it.

But that’s not true, not really. Whatever love we had had been dying slowly for years.

What he did only... showed me what I hadn’t wanted to face.

” She let out a slow breath, meeting his eyes.

“That our marriage had been over for a long time.”

“And ye will or can leave it there?” Ciaran asked casually. “In that other time and place?”

She didn’t answer directly, but said, “It’s the reason we were in Scotland in the first place, to try and salvage the marriage,” she told him.

“One last chance to rekindle...everything. It wasn’t working, and in truth, neither of us was really trying, and I think both of us were okay with that.

I didn’t want to be on vacation with him any more than he did with me.

” She chewed her lip thoughtfully, staring at her bare feet, crossed at the ankles before her, and added.

“But, to be fair, if I did still love Jason, I’d like to think I would have fought like hell to get back home.

” A small, honest laugh shook her. “Or fought at all. I guess me hardly thinking of him, not picturing him at all in any dreams of reuniting with my family said it best—Jason was not going to be part of my future.” Lifting her gaze to Ciaran, she added, “I can’t say I thought it consciously, but maybe it was in the back of my head: I can’t let my dead marriage seven hundred years in the future hold me back from living here. ”

She’d had a short discussion about just that with Ivy weeks ago. Ivy was clearly Team Claire and had questioned, incredulous: What? You’re expected to remain married and faithful to Jason all your life while you’re stuck here?

“And if ye could be or... or are sent back to yer time?”

“I expect divorce would be one of the first things on my agenda.” She wouldn’t be surprised at all if she returned now and learned Jason had already started the proceedings.

She knew he was still in contact with that other woman, was still seeing her.

“Even before we’d come to Scotland, I had begun making plans. ”

Ciaran said nothing more at the moment, asked no other question.

Claire gave voice to other thoughts. “I don’t want to be here.

I didn’t ask to come here. I want home. I want the comforts I grew up with—my mother’s kitchen, my career, the small things that make a life familiar.

I want my family, my friends, a time that makes sense to me.

” She folded her hands around the cup to steady them.

“This place... it’s not mine. It’s fascinating and glorious but also harsh and dangerous, and it’s not where I belong by right.

” She met his watchful eyes. “I’m scared.

After what the woman at the ford said, talking as if she’d set our paths to cross, it occurs to me I might never see home again.

” Her voice softened, practical rather than pleading.

“But it’s hard to give up hope, especially when there’s nothing here.

..to hold me—no family, no clear purpose.

So I feel like I’m in limbo, like I’ve got a foot in two worlds, my life on hold, waiting for something to happen, but then that’s not really any way to live.

I’m too young to spend my life waiting.” She shrugged, then finished, steady and plain.

“Anyway, I think it’s rotten, that a witch—or whatever she was—can just decide your fate, take choices away from you, and then not even tell you what’s going on, what might happen.

Will I remain here? Will I be sent back home? ”

The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, lifting Claire’s gaze.

She found Ciaran still watching her and again sipped her wine, made nervous by his scrutiny.

She lowered her gaze and for a long moment they sat in silence, the air thick with what had been spoken and what had not.

She’d come seeking his thoughts on the matter and had done all the talking, had learned nothing of what he was thinking.

“All right, so maybe I’ll never make sense of the what or why or how,” she said finally, “but what do you think? Should I go to Braalach? Or...am I meant to be here?”

Ciaran’s lips curved in the barest wry smile, though it was shadowed.

“I’ve asked myself the same, lass. Aye, more than once.

But every time I reckon it, I canna find an answer that sits easy.

” He sat up and set his cup aside, and then leaned forward, draping his elbows over his knees, clasping his hands loosely together.

“From the first, I felt ye were set before me for some purpose—why else would ye have the face of another who’d nae left my memory after so many years?

I’ll nae deny, I wondered if ye were meant for me, mayhap.

Yet ye come with shadows—having made vows with another man, the face of another woman, and this talk of time I canna understand. ”

Though appreciative of him finally opening up—and yes, invigorated by his words, meant for me —her pulse raced, sensing a but coming. “And yet?”

“And yet,” he said, his voice roughening, “I canna keep from wanting ye all the same.”

***

Ciaran had meant to stop there. He should have stopped there. But the words kept pressing, pecking at him fiercely, wanting to be made known.

“I should keep my distance from ye, Claire.” His voice was low, rough. “I’ve cautioned myself to do just that, consider ye a guest, seeking refuge, nae more, and let time—or fate, or whatever power set ye before me—see fit to carry ye on yer way. ’Tis what I should do.”

Her eyes did not leave his. Her breath seethed through her nose.

He dragged a hand across his mouth, meaning to say it and be done with it, once and for all.

He couldn’t live, as she wished not to, with his life on hold, waiting.

“But I canna distance myself, Claire. God help me, I canna. From the first I fought it, told myself ye were a burden, a trial, a ghost returned to torment me. But when the witch came to me at the ford—” He broke off, shaking his head.

“Och, lass, I’ve near been glad of it. For it proved ye told nae lies, were nae a madwoman.

If ye be touched by madness for what ye say, then so am I, for I saw her with my own eyes.

Anything is possible, I ken now.” The admission sat heavy between them, but he felt lighter for saying it.

“All this time I’ve clung to excuses, to obstacles that kept me from reaching for ye.

If ye were mad, then I’d have been mad to want ye.

If ye were naught but a shadow of another woman, then I’d be a fool to take ye.

If ye were still bound to a husband, then I’d be a knave to desire ye.

” His voice dropped, the last words nearly a growl.

“But every excuse has fallen, one by one, and still ye’re here. And I am weary of resisting.”

He turned his head, meeting her gaze fully.

For all his solemnity, there was a ridiculous note of bafflement in her face.

“Ye had to ken,” he accused, almost humorously, knowing how obvious it must have been at times. “How could ye nae see I was fighting? How could ye nae have kent?”

Claire’s laugh was half a gasp. “How could I? Ciaran—how could I possibly know what you were thinking? After everything you said and did?”

He blinked, incredulous. “ Jesu , Claire. I kissed ye twice—I couldnae keep from it.”

“Yeah, you kissed me,” she argued, “but then you clammed up, pretended it didn’t happen. You denied any connection between us, said you didn’t recognize me at all. You were cold and indifferent until you had a fever. You completely ignored me after you learned I was married."

“That is nae to be held against me,” he defended, lifting his forefinger, both offended and earnest. “I dinna trespass on another man’s wife.” His brow furrowed. “I told Seoras to hold yer letter to Ivy,” he stated with some heat, more evidence to prove his case. “I dinna want ye to leave.”

“Well, I didn’t know that!” She clapped her hands over her cheeks, the cup wobbling in her lap, forgotten. “Oh, my God—and they say women are difficult to read, to figure out. Are you kidding me?”

His lips twitched, but only because beneath the outrage of her shock, he sensed she was pleased, mayhap more than that.

Claire drew in a breath, her fingers tightening around the cup again.

A nervous laugh slipped out as she held his gaze.

“Oh, wow.” And then a moment of doubt crept in—he saw it in the knitting of her brow.

“But...okay, so it feels like we’re trying to talk ourselves into something—” she paused and lifted her hand, silencing him before he could speak his opposition to that statement.

“Sorry, it feels like we’re giving ourselves permission to.

..move forward. But Ciaran, what if I am taken back to my own time? ”

His answer was automatic since he’d asked himself the very same thing in the last few days.

“And what if ye are nae, and time is wasted while we wait?” He questioned.

“If we step into this, Claire, I’ll nae think of endings.

I’ll nae think of what fate might steal, or what time might demand.

I’ll only think of how to keep ye, day upon day, as long as breath stays in me. ”

“Oh, wow—do they teach you how to talk like that? Like, is there some class on medieval wooing?”

Ciaran grinned wide. “Ye ken I dinna understand half of what ye say sometimes?”

She smirked at this. “It’s probably for the best. But...seriously, would we only be doing this— stepping into this , as you say—to appease the witch? Because she hinted at bringing us together?”

“I wouldnae bow with obedience to some hag’s riddles, or to the games of fate,” he told her.

“It wouldnae hold. I’d have nae part in it.

” He lifted his gaze to hers, steady and unflinching.

“This, inside me, the yearning... it dinna come from a witch. ?Tis nae fate nor the ghost of another woman.” His voice roughened, the words catching in his throat.

“?Tis ye, Claire.” His brows lowered over his eyes.

“But if ye ken it’s fate that will bring ye into my arms, or yer own ghosts, then walk away, Claire. I’ll have nae part of that, either.”

She shook her head, a small and warm smile lighting her features.

“It’s you, Ciaran. Sure, maybe the intrigue started because of him, that ghost, but I didn’t know him, not any more than you knew your ghost. And.

..I was drawn to you long before any witch said she’d brought us together.

” Her smile became slightly teasing. “Actually, I was pretty pissed at you, for kissing me in that pit and then ignoring me. I swear to God, I wanted to smack you upside the head for tormenting me like that.”

Ciaran’s mouth worked, fighting his smile.

Claire let out a slow exhale, her eyes bright once more. “So...now what?”