Page 153 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

We kneel together in silence for a long time, our breaths syncing, his chest warm against my back. In the heavy sorrow, there's the smallest hint of peace.

Carving the lamb changed nothing. Brennen’s sister is still gone, and nothing will ever fill that hole. But at least he’s not alone. This man, who shoulders the heaviest of weights. Who carries the burdens of those he loves. Who holds himself to the highest standard. He has allowed me a glimpse of vulnerability that, even a week ago, I would never have believed.

And even though I could not save her, I have hope my steadiness can be a tourniquet. Something to slow the flow of blood from the wound left behind when you lose someone you love.

After what feels like hours, Brennen finally speaks. “I cannae stay here,” he says, his voice rumbling through his chest into my back. The words sting, but I do not let my shoulders fall. I will not add to his sorrow. “My family will need me.”

“I understand,” I say, but my voice falters. After what he lost, I should be grateful he came back to say goodbye. “You don't have to explain.”

He turns me around, cupping my cheek. He searches my eyes for a long moment.

“Aye. I do. Because I want to take you with me.”

My mouth opens in shock, my breath hitching. Take me with him?

“I’ve thought it through from every angle. I willnae leave you here when the Cutter may come for you. When others may, as well. Even if they cannae kill you, they can hurt you. We’ll find my family and flee. Destroy our dedication dàn. Find a ceatharnaich group and join their cause. But Bea,” his eyes are sad as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I know you never meant to hurt anyone. But I willnae be able to live with myself if I help you escape and the curse comes for your mind, and I dinnae think you could either. If you find yourself lost to the madness once more and kill someone else, even if you dinnae mean to.”

Shame burns through my blood, the hope his confession brought evaporating in seconds. “You'll leave me here, then?”

My control fractures, desperation seeping into my voice. It's always my past that haunts me. My mistakes. And I will never, ever escape them, even if I atone. Even if I would do anything to take it all back.

He brings his other hand up so that he’s cradling my head, swiping his thumb across my cheek. “No,” he says, fervor in his tone unlike anything I’ve ever heard. “I said I willnae leave you, and I meant it. Nothing you could say would change how I feel about you. There isnae a single word you could utter that would cause me to see you as anything more than the woman I know you to be. My beautiful, strong, and unbelievably kind lark. But to keep everyone safe, I have to make a plan, and to do that,” he searches my face, desperation etched into the lines around his eyes, “I need you to remember what happened the night they died. I need you to remember what happened, every detail, so I can find a way to keep it from repeating. Can you understand that?”

The screams come all at once, clanging around in my skull, and an agonizing headache accompanies the shrill sound. I close my eyes.

“No.” I try to pull away, but he doesn’t allow it. “Stop! I've tried to remember. You know I've tried!” Panic rises up my throat, choking me. Drowning me. I can feel the heat of blood trickling from my nostrils, and the pain in my head grows indescribably worse.

“I know, Bea.” He slides his hand down, gently grabbing me around my forearm. My eyes open wide as he tightens his grip. “I'm sorry,” he says, his voice shaking, and fear grips my heart.

“No—” I rasp, my vision tunneling. Panic rises within me, a pandemonium of screams and terror.

Brennen’s eyes glisten. He’s holding back tears, I realize. This strong, confident man who always has such tight control of his emotions is breaking, and it nearly destroys me.

“Mo chridhe, I have to do this. I have to know if it will happen again. I have to find a way to keep everyone safe. My family. The people of my village. You.” He closes his eyes in a wince, as if the thought of harm befalling me causes him physical pain.

Even through my panic, I see it. The weight of the entire realm settling on his shoulders. The marrow-deep responsibility—his absolute need—to do what’s right for everyone, even when it’s impossible. Because the truth is, even if he will not admit it, I cannot exist within his world. Not when I’m not certain anyone would ever truly be safe around me outside this glen.

I want to pull away. To turn and run, because he can’t ask this of me. I may have said I wanted to know why I did it, and part of me does, but really, my lack of memory has been a gift. The only way I’ve survived the past six years. What if I remember how it came to be for my hands to end those poor lives, and I learn it wasn’t the curse at all? What if I learn that I really am the monster everyone believes me to be?

“Please don't," I beg. A rough, pained whisper.

He scrunches his eyes closed, his lips twisting into a grimace as if he can’t bear to watch what he’s about to do. The pain he knows it will cause me.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he rasps, then takes a slow, shaky inhale. “Tell me, Washwoman, the answer I seek.” The curse’s hooks dig into my skin instantly, and I gasp at the abrupt prickle of pain. Brennen’s lips twitch in a silent apology as he opens his eyes. “Why did you kill them, Bea?”

70

BEA

SIX YEARS AGO

My entire body aches as I sneak through the trees, my shoulders relaxing a fraction as the sun slips beneath the horizon. In the darkness, I’m safer. Less likely to be seen. I’m not sure where I’m going as I flee. Where I’ll be able to escape the Cutter, but at least wherever I hide, I’ll no longer be at that Fates’ damned river.

The sound of shoes crunching on stone in the distance stops me in my tracks, and I duck behind a thick tree. I peek around it to where a lantern light flickers in the distance, illuminating a sturdy cairn of stones that appears to mark the edge of a small village. It’s tall, rising to at least the height of my shoulders, and the lichen growing along it tells me it has been there a very long time.

I squint into the night at the two people leaning against it, sharing a kiss. I cannot make out their features, but even so, my heart aches at the sight. The taller one, a man, reaches out to caress the woman’s cheek, and she places her hand on top of his. My own palm tingles, as if my soul wishes I could be the one experiencing such an embrace.