Page 160 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

“Yours,” she echoes, pushing herself down, taking me impossibly deeper, and it breaks me.

I slide out, plunging into her again, steady and deep, my whole body buzzing as if magic is wrapping around us, binding us closer. As if our joining doesn't need the Fates to bless it, because we are creating the magic ourselves. Magic that belongs to only us.

Bea moves with me, panting and moaning as I whisper in her ear. Apologies and praises. Devotion and longing. And when her walls begin to tighten once more, her lips parting and her head thrown back as she finds her release, I lose myself within her.

I have said enough. My vow to avenge her is clear. My regrets and love have been spoken.

So now, with my body, I make a different sort of vow to this woman.

I will worship her.

I will take care of her.

I will protect her.

And as I spill myself within her, our climax coming as one, I force myself, for just a moment, to forget everything that came before this, the pain and suffering of my past, and allow myself to live and love again.

72

BEA

Isnuggle against Brennen's chest, feeling truly safe for the first time in a century. Longer, even, but I cannot fully relax into the feeling. Too much has happened. Too much has been revealed.

Soairse’s death. The Cutter’s actions.

Brennen's fingers trail up and down my arms as we lie in silence, his breaths deep and even. His hand stops, and I wonder if he fell asleep.

I hope he did.

Maybe in his dreams, he can rest from the horror of losing his sister.

“Where's your mind gone?” he asks, his deep timbre rumbling through my body.

I kiss the sprinkling of hair on his broad, muscular chest. “It's here with you,” I say, and somehow, I feel his answering smile. He pulls me closer, resting his chin on top of my head.

“Where’s your mind?” I ask, holding him tighter.

He sighs. “With you as well. But also with my family. With…” he trails off, and my heart aches for him.

“Marsaili. You can say her name. It will not break me,” I say, pressing another kiss to his chest.

“No. I wasnae thinking about her. Marsaili would want me to be happy. And this thing between us, it’s… I cannae describe it. It’s different from what I’ve felt before.” He squeezes me a little tighter. “I just dinnae ken how I served the woman who has taken so much from me. Years of my life wasted on vengeance against the wrong person. Your freedom. And I dinnae understand how Saoirse is—” He stops, unable to continue, and he takes a deep breath. “When Cailleach sent me here, she held my siblings' strings and said, ‘Such long threads.’ She should have had a full life. If she’d ended it early, you would have had a vision. You should have been able to stop it.”

I close my eyes, holding back a wince. There’s no cruelty in his words, but he’s right, I should have been able to stop it. “I wish I could have. But it was Athair’s fire that killed her. I saw it. Someone saw us touching, and Cailleach is punishing you for it.” My voice comes out choked, the guilt so heavy it almost crushes me, but I take a deep breath. This isn’t either of our faults. The blame belongs to one person, and one person only.

“If the visions come from Cailleach, severing threads independent of the Weaver and the Measurer,” I continue, “maybe that explains it. If Cailleach convinced her sister to change her measurement, the clothes would come as they always do. Or it could be that this was always her fate. Maybe her thread wasn’t as long as the others. Maybe this was always going to be her time, no matter what we did.”

He exhales, and even though I know it’s not the truth, I hope Brennen thinks it could be. If the thought of this death being fated at her weaving brings him even a sliver of comfort, if it lifts a fraction of the blame I'm certain he will carry for the rest of his life, I will hope he believes it.

“We have to find a way to free you, Bea. Cailleach willnae rest until you're dead, and I’ll no allow that to happen. I willnae lose anyone else.” His voice goes tight, and my heart aches from the pain I feel radiating from him.

I sit up, grabbing Brennen’s hand, my heart racing and hope flickering in my chest. “I already know how to break the curse,” I say.

“You—” His eyes widen in shock. “What do you mean, you ken how to break it?” he asks.

I shake my head, a plan forming in my mind. “There’s a spell that can undo it. I’ve been gathering the pieces for as long as I’ve been sentenced here,” I say.

Brennen sits up. “You ken how to break the curse…” he says, his tone one of complete disbelief.