“I didn’t say you were, Kiernan. I just wish you’d be honest with me!”
He looks over at me, his eyes doubtful, and holds my gaze for a long moment. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes.”
The word is barely out before his mouth is on mine. He slips one arm beneath my legs, lifting me off the branch, while the other curves around my back, pressing my body against his. Kiernan groans softly and shifts the pressure away from his injured leg when my weight is added to his, but he doesn’t let me go. He just leans his shoulders against the limb and pulls me tighter, the kiss deepening.
The rational voice inside my brain clears its throat and whispers Trey’s name. Brain and body are clearly not speaking the same language, however. My hands, instead of pushing away, clutch tighter for just a second—one grips the collar of his shirt, and the other holds the back of his neck, my fingers laced through his hair.
And then the rational voice realizes that polite insistence simply isn’t going to cut it and screams loudly enough that my body has no choice but to listen.
Kiernan senses the change in me and breaks off the kiss. I start to turn away, but he doesn’t release me. His hand slides up to the back of my head, and he turns my face around to his so that I have no choice but to look him in the eyes.
“That was me being honest, Kate. That is what I want to do every second I’m near you.” His voice softens, and he leans forward, pressing his lips against my neck. “And that was you being honest, too, before you decided to put your mask back on.”
I start to speak, but he shakes his head. “I’m not saying you don’t care about Trey. I know you do. You might even be in love with him, although I don’t like thinking about that possibility. All I’m saying is you have feelings for me, too. And don’t give me any crap about my inflated ego. I’ve seen you in love with me before, and I still see something of that in your eyes. I’ve tried to tell myself it’s just wishful thinking, but it’s not. If you want to keep pretending, I won’t stop you, but please don’t lecture me about honesty unless you’re willing to stop lying to me and to yourself.”
Kiernan slides me down to the ground, and I take several steps away. It’s not that I don’t trust him. I’m pretty sure he’s made his point. But I’ve put mind and soul under far too much stress for one day, and I’d rather keep a little distance between us.
Because I know that he’s right. I care for him more than I should, more than I want to, and way more than is fair to Trey. That’s the not-so-simple truth, and I’ve known it since we kissed on the Wooded Island, even if I didn’t want to admit it.
“While we’re being honest, love,” he says, “this leg is bloody killing me. Can we finish this conversation inside?”
I nod and follow him back into the cabin. Kiernan hobbles over to the couch and sits at one end, propping his leg on a large ottoman. He has on his get-back-to-business face, and I’m not even slightly inclined to argue. I sit down on the far end of the couch and turn to face him, trying to get my brain back into some semblance of order.
Kiernan tugs a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket, wincing slightly when he moves the injured leg. “This is a list of the coordinates you should watch—times I’ve located so far where Saul shows up. I still need to finish watching inside the church itself, but, yeah, it’s him. I watched the location above the well first, and he clearly drops a vial of something into the water. It was night, and I couldn’t see much, other than the fact that he was wearing gloves and some sort of mask over his nose and mouth. He looks a little younger than he did at the Expo, but that could just be because he’s clean shaven and in normal clothes rather than the rich-bloke costume he wore at the Fair. He talks to Martha in front of the chapel for a long time. She had that same look as when she was staring at me. They seriously need to introduce that kid to some boys closer to her own age.”
A shadow passes over his face, and I’m pretty sure he’s just remembered that no one will be introducing Martha to anybody. “And Saul—I mean, I can’t hear what he says, but his expression. God, it made me want to jump in and knock his stupid head off, because he’s . . . what? . . . thirty? She can’t be more than thirteen.”
She’s probably closer to fifteen, but the point is still more than valid.
He pulls in a deep breath and says, “I’m sorry, Kate. Okay? Not for kissing you. I’m not one bit sorry about that, though I’ll try not to do it again without your permission. I’ll try.” He gives me a fleeting smile and then goes on. “What I meant is I’m sorry we didn’t discuss Copenhagen first. I was just so damned angry at you—”
“Why? What did I do that you’re pissed at me?”
He starts to speak, then stops, leaning back against the sofa and rubbing his temples for a few seconds before he continues. “Maybe it’s not fair. But you left here the other day with hardly a word about what happened at Six Bridges. You insisted that we immediately go to 1938, and then once we were finished, you rushed off. Like the situation was entirely my fault, like you blamed me for bringing it to your attention.”
“Kiernan, no. I was tired and upset. I wanted to go home. As a matter of fact, I’m still tired and upset. That was only a few hours ago for me. I was reporting back to Connor and Katherine when they mentioned Copenhagen and said you’d been shot. That you were lucky you weren’t killed. I was worried about you, okay? And pissed that you didn’t tell me what you were doing, that you could have been killed and it would have been my fault.”
His eyebrows go up. “Why would it be your fault? You don’t control my decisions, Kate. I should have discussed it with you, but I’d have retrieved Moehler’s key from Copenhagen whether it got the Cyrist Fighters’ stamp of approval or not.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t even be involved with this if I hadn’t taken you back to Estero and . . .”
My voice trails off, but it’s out, and I suspect he caught it, too. I never took him to Estero. That was Other-Kate. When did I start thinking of the things she did as my responsibility?
He watches my face for a minute. I assume he’s going to gloat, having so often pointed out that I am she and she is me. But his eyes are sad, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, barely a whisper.
“Do you think so little of me, Kate?”
Okay. What did I miss? I just shake my head, confused.
“Do you think I’d have just stood by and watched Saul wipe out countless innocents? Or, hell, countless people? I don’t care if they’re innocent or not. Do you think it doesn’t twist my gut to walk among those people at Six Bridges and know they’re all going to die at Saul’s hand? That I could physically stop it, but . . .” He shakes his head. “Or maybe you just think I’m so bloody stupid I’d never have caught on and would’ve followed Cyrist orders to kill—”
“Stop it! You know I don’t think any of that.”
“Then why say that me getting hurt is your fault, Kate? I’d have been fighting them with or without you. It was just a matter of time.”
We’re both silent for a minute, and then he sighs. “I know this isn’t fair to you, but you’re the only person I can talk to about any of this. You have your dad, Connor, and Katherine, who all know what’s goin’ on, right? And most likely Trey as well, ’cause I’d bet the farm—now that I have one to bet—that he’s where you headed when you left here in such a rush.”
The answer is on my face, so I don’t say anything. And I’m just thinking he doesn’t have the right to guilt-trip me about this when he says, “I’m not out to make you feel bad. You were upset, and it’s only natural you’d seek out comfort. It’s just . . .”
“You needed comfort, too.”
“Yeah. I’m not asking you to hold my hand and tuck me into bed at night, not that I’ll argue if you find yourself so inclined. But we’re partners until this is over, and I’d like to think that you at least consider me a friend—oh, Kate, don’t cry, okay? You look like a shamed pup, and I never want to make you feel that way. If you cry, I’ll end up crying, too.”