CHAPTER 40
I slipped out of bed early while it was still dark. Adwen slept soundly next to me, his steady breathing loud enough that I knew my moving around wouldn’t wake him. I dressed in the same plain green gown I’d worn the day before, reaching for Adwen’s coat before making my way outside.
Everything still lay dark outside the front entry, the rising sun blocked by the enormity of the castle. I kept a hand on its outer wall, feeling my way around to the back side of the castle to where I could see the sun begin its slow rise. The waves were rough but beautiful below the rocks. Stepping toward the rocky hillside, I looked for a decent place to sit and watch the sun climb into the sky.
About fifty yards down, I spotted a large rock with a flat top that I knew would be the perfect viewing spot. The idea of such utter solitude made the risky climb downward seem worth it. I lifted my dress and started the climb, watching my footing carefully in the semi-darkness. I slipped twice, the earth beneath the rocks softer due to the snowstorm. Each time I held my breath, hoping that the small tumble of rocks wouldn’t lead way to a much larger rockslide. In the drier months when the ground beneath the rocks was less saturated, such a climb wouldn’t have been so ill advised, but I didn’t care today.
I needed to breathe, to calm my frazzled nerves and get a grip on the negative energy that seemed to permeate through me with every new breath. I wasn’t a worrier, and true anxiety was a foreign emotion to me, but this morning I felt I would choke if I didn’t stifle the panicky feeling that burned deep inside me. The air, the waves, even the jagged rocks seemed to hold an edge to them that made me nervous. It reminded me of the morning Isobel had fallen, and I had to force the horrible memory from my mind. This morning wasn’t like that day—there was no snow, Isobel was fine, everyone was safe.
More than likely, the uncomfortable feeling came from my guilt at being so cowardly with Adwen. He deserved the truth. If I stayed, it would affect him just as much as it did me. But even after his confession, I still failed to tell him that I could never bear his children.
I wasn’t like my sister—I’d not spent my entire life yearning for children. I didn’t see bassinets and binkies as a part of my future. Until Cooper, I never really thought of myself as a person who particularly liked children. Even still, Cooper was a rare breed of child. They could not all be that likeable.
Horrible pains and heavy bleeding sent me to the doctor my senior year of high school, and tests quickly showed that I had advanced endometriosis. Surgery ensued to help with the cramping, but they told me that pregnancy without the assistance of fertility treatments would be unlikely. It never concerned me until now.
It wasn’t that Adwen’s desire for children suddenly made me want them, but my love for him made the prospect of motherhood far less daunting. And, for the first time in my life, it saddened me to know that it simply wasn’t an option.
I should have told him the moment he mentioned children, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment, not when everything about it was so perfect and passionate. In truth though, I knew that more than anything, I was scared. Scared that it would change things somehow, that his desire to be with me would change if he knew I could never give him children. For someone in his position, it seemed rather important that he have heirs to inherit his lands and responsibilities. I could never give him that.
The waves were angry and loud against the rocks. Despite the roar of the water, I thought I could hear someone calling for me. I sat up and turned my head to listen but all was silent. I leaned back and closed my eyes, putting the noise off to a turn in the wind.
My heart nearly stopped when a hand grasped my shoulder.
“Adwen willna speak to ye for a fortnight if he catches ye out on these rocks.”
Recognizing Orick’s voice, I exhaled in relief and looked up to his friendly wink as he sat down beside me.
“God, you scared me. Did you call for me a moment ago?”
“Aye, I tried to tell ye to come up so I wouldna have to come down for ye, but ye dinna hear me.”
“I sort of did, but then I thought it was the wind.”
“Mm.” Orick closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as he smiled. “I love the smell of the water. Have ye heard of mermaids, lass?”
I nodded. “Yes, in fairytales and such. Why do you ask?”
“They are myths, I suppose, but ’tis a lovely notion I think. To spend one’s days within the ocean…I wouldna mind it. I’ve always felt a calling when near the water.”
“I didn’t know you enjoyed the water so much.”