He didn’t move other than to open his eyes. “If I must.”
“It would be best.” Scooping my hands beneath his shoulders, I lifted him the best I could.
Julian sighed and dug an elbow into the grass to push up. We were sitting close together, almost too close as he peered at me through sooty lashes. “I assume I’ve been forgiven.”
The events from the riverbank seemed ages ago. My bruised torso said otherwise, but Julian’s near death had managed to deflate most of my anger. Even so, I leveled him with a stern look. “I’m willing to consider it, so long as you promise never to use your gift or your strength against me again.”
He ran a hand over his chin in thought. “Are you prepared to make a similar promise?”
I choked on a breath. “Are you serious? When was the last time I tied you to a tree?” Or the first time for that matter.
“You made me angry, and I reacted without thinking.” He turned his palm to me, the one I’d healed after burning him less than a week ago. “You of all people should understand how easily these mistakes happen.”
“I already apologized for hurting you.”
“As did I at the riverbank.” A sardonic curve crept over his mouth. “I begged your forgiveness while on my knees if memory serves.”
I despised the way he twisted the truth to cast himself in a better light. “You’ve forgotten the part about almost killing me if Miss Rose hadn’t intervened.”
One shoulder rose and fell in a show of nonchalance. “Tit for tat.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He fisted his hand, then opened it again. “The night you marked my palm, your fire reached the crest of my shoulder. What do you think would have happened if it had touched my heart?”
Words failed me...because I knew such a shock could have killed him.
“Did you wish me dead?”
I shook my head. “Never.”
“Then we are the same. We both succumbed to our anger and temporarily lost control of our power.”
He had conveniently omitted his role of aggressor in both instances, but I was done arguing the finer points. “So now we’re even? Is that what you want to hear?”
Julian tilted his head to the side, frank appraisal glittering in his eyes. “You know what I want to hear, Selah.” His gaze dipped to my lips, evoking the taste of strawberries.
My cheeks warmed at the memory of our kiss. “We are not discussing this again.”
“Why do you insist on ignoring the truth? Our temperaments and gifts are so perfectly matched, it’s as though we’ve been made for each other.”
Lifting my chin, I met his challenge. “I found my match in Lord Fitzalan and have agreed to be his wife. If we’re to remain friends, you have to give up any ideas of our marrying. Otherwise we shall be strangers once Nora is safe.”
Julian turned thoughtful, and tension rippled through me as I awaited his response. “Agreed,” he said at last.
My shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank goodness—”
“Just as soon as you tell me how an Irish lass can truly love an English lord after all they’ve done to Ireland. Is it his royal title that’s caught your eye?”
My mouth fell open with an indignant huff. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing while a thieving English lord squats on my family’s lands.” Title indeed! The Kilbrids had a longstanding hatred of the peerage, and no doubt my brother Sean would have killed me for marrying one of them if he hadn’t already died in the West Indies.
Julian appeared amused at my outburst. I glared at him, astounded by the hypocrisy. “I’m not sure what you’re running on about as the Strouds are no less English and titled than the Fitzalans. You might as well be arguing against yourself for all the sense it makes.”
“What if I wasn’t?”
I waved the thought away. “There’s no point arguing hypotheticals.”
He opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. I considered the discussion over, and was about to stand, when Julian started again.
“Only my father was English, and you know how I feel about the late Lord Stroud, may he rot in hell.”
“Lord Fitzalan isn’t particularly fond of his own father either. And his mother came from Germany.”
Annoyance spread over Julian’s face. Propping one hand in the grass, he shifted his weight forward. “Is there anything I can offer to tilt the odds in my favor?”
I scoffed at his use of words. “You make me sound like prize to be won.”
“What if I restored your family lands in Ireland?”
“William of Orange made sure my father’s line could never return.” Not that it mattered, as my heart belonged wholly to Henry. His face appeared in my mind, the impish smile and green eyes flecked with gold. I missed him so much, at times I could hardly breathe for the constant pressure in my chest.
“But what if I found a way to do it,” Julian persisted. “Would you think of me differently then?”