When this is all over…
If we win…
If Cillian and I can salvage some sort of future together after the battle is done…
I have to remember to tell him how much that gesture means to me.
That he let me stand on my own when it mattered the most.
But for now, I’ve got something to say to the asshole standing outside my window. “I’m not your wife, Tristan!” I tell him, loud enough so that my voice echoes too. “I never was.”
His lips bull back to reveal his bared teeth. “I think you’ll find the Republic of Ireland disagrees.”
I laugh, mostly because I know that it’ll piss him off to see me cackle in his face.
“A real man doesn’t need a piece of paper to claim ownership of his wife, Tristan,” I tell him. “You never got that, did you? You can control me, force yourself on me, beat me… That doesn’t make me your wife. It makes me your prisoner.”
“Call yourself whatever you want,” Tristan rumbles, still loud enough for me to hear. “At the end of the day, you’re still mine.”
“I belong only to the man I give myself to,” I tell him. “And I never gave myself to you.”
I’ve known him long enough to be able to tell when he’s starting to lose it. His face seems to cave in on itself. His eyes get smaller, beadier. Even his coloring changes.
He looks darker somehow. Like an oncoming storm roiling on the horizon.
“You’re going to regret this, you fucking slut!” he roars. “Maybe I’ll kill the boy first and make you watch.”
Cillian’s hand wraps around my wrist and gently, he pulls me closer to him. I’m pretty certain that Tristan can see us together now, but I can’t be sure. Nor do I give a fuck.
Then Cillian steps up to the window again. “You have no one but yourself to blame, Tristan,” he says. “You couldn’t make her happy. So she found someone who could.”
“Come down here, you little fucker,” Tristan thunders, “and say that to my face!”
Cillian glances at me. “That’s my cue.”
“No!” I plead, grabbing his hand.
He’s already got one foot on the short staircase that leads down to the main door. “Saoirse, stop. You know I have to do this.”
I shake my head, trying to keep the tears from falling. I need to be strong for him.
“TEN!” Tristan’s voice booms into the castle through the cracked-open window.
I’m faltering, but in this moment, I’d give anything to keep him in here with me. Behind these walls. All mine and intact. Safe and whole and loving me.
“I know… I just…”
He takes a step toward me and rests his forehead against mine.
His men are amassing by the main doors, ready to accompany him out there. It’s little comfort to me. They’re evenly matched at the moment, but how long will it stay that way?
“NINE!”
I have no faith that Tristan will fight fair, either. He’s a dirty, rotten bastard to the core, and he’s brought a crew of dirty, rotten bastards with him.
“Hey,” Cillian says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Saoirse.”
“What?”