Page 138 of The Pirate Queen

She lets her gaze drift to his chest. She stares at all the endless connected loops of iron in his chainmail vest. They blur and curl around one another, like a pile of newly shorn wool.

“Yes,” she admits. “I stood before a priest once as vows were made to a man I did not love. They were made for me, Richard, not by me. My father spoke them on my behalf because I refused to do so. I had no choice in the matter. My own life was decided between his father and mine. The Gráinne that you knew died that day. I was reborn, later, a different woman entirely. And you should have the right not to be bound to her if you find you do not know or like who she has become. And I—” Grace clears her throat. “I will never be trapped again. Not if my life depends upon it. One year and one day.”

“And if I decide to keep you at the end of that year?”

“The decision will be mine alone. Those are my terms.”

Richard does not agree immediately. She would not trust him if he did. Instead, he releases her. Then crosses to his desk and pours more whiskey. His eyes are unfocused. His head bobs up and down as he thinks. Grace watches his lips form words she cannot hear. He takes a small sip of whiskey, then a big one.

“A trial marriage?” he asks, looking at her sideways.

“Tá.”

Again he thinks, but longer this time. He paces the room. Wears a path between the desk and the large shuttered window. So Grace makes herself comfortable. She settles into a chair by the hearth and watches him silently deliberate.

After another few minutes, she becomes impatient. “I have grown entire people inside my torso in less time than it’s taking you to make this decision.”

The corner of his mouth quirks into a smile. “And if I want a church wedding? Proper? With a priest and all?”

“There will be no wedding. No church,” Grace tells him. “I’ll not stand before MacKenna or any of his ilk ever again. There will be only the marriage itself. No spectacle. We can get right to it, the way our ancestors did, or you can find yourself a different bride.”

He laughs. Waggles a finger at her. “There has only ever been one bride for me.”

“Have we reached an agreement, then?”

“Will there be children?” he asks.

“Do you want more?”

“If you’re the one to bear them.”

“I have not been with—” Grace clears her throat. “Anyone…since I got pregnant with Merrick.”

“Why?”

She tells him the truth. “That night, in Moycullen, when you took Gutty to safety, I turned O’Flaherty from my bed.”

“Why?” There is a deep thrum of anger in his voice, and when she doesn’t answer, Richard looks stricken. His jaw is slack and his hand drops to his thigh, the cup of whiskey listing dangerously to the side. She can see his mind working. “He hit you, didn’t he?”

“Never again after that night. I ended it with your dagger.” She lifts her boot and pats where it always lies nestled within. “I’ve kept it with me ever since.”

Richard stomps toward her, gets close enough that they are pressed together again, and his face hovers over hers, his features a thunderstorm of rage. His breath soaked with the scent of whiskey. “Why didn’t you kill him like I told you? We could have been together these last ten years.”

“Killing him—while I was pregnant, no less—because I wanted you seemed a bad idea.”

“You wanted me?”

Grace snorts. “Don’t feign surprise.”

He offers her a half smile. “I grant that killing your husband would have complicated things greatly.”

“I would have lost my children, for starters. So I did what I could. Asked for a divorce and was promptly denied. Was told the church would not allow it.”

“I should have killed him myself,” Richard says. He scoops her into his arms. Hugs her as if she is water and might slip away at any moment. “So we are to be married, then?”

“I have already suffered a mistake that took half my life and cost me all but my father’s name, my mother’s land, and the children I brought into this world. I’ll not risk the little I have built since. But if you can agree to my terms, then yes, we will be married.”

“Then it would seem that I have one year and one day to prove I am worth keeping.”