But Guaire heard. He frowned. "Nay. Talorc does not want you hurt. The clan will
need time to adjust to the knowledge that you have been hiding the truth about yourself. If
you want my opinion, most of the Sinclairs will understand, even the Chrechte. Only those
who saw how much you hurt our laird with your deception will hold it against you."
"I did not mean to hurt him."
Guaire sighed and leaned against the door. "I believe you."
"He won't."
"I have never seen him so happy." Guaire looked away from her, though she could
still read his lips. "I did not believe he would ever grow to trust an Englishwoman. Not
even if she was his wife."
"I destroyed that trust." Desolation blanketed her. Would he ever call her his angel
again?
"Aye."
"I did not want to be sent away."
"He would not send you away, no matter what. You are his true mate."
"I do not think Talorc considers me his friend any longer."
"Unfortunately, I think you are right."
Talorc's fury was only a thin mask for pain so deep it would buckle his knees if he
let it. His wife, the paragon of virtue he claimed as his sacred mate, the woman he had
come so close to admitting love to, was a liar. A coward.
Osgard made a sound of disgust echoed among the other warriors at the table. "I
guess you canna expect anything better from an Englishwoman."
"I expected better," Talorc gritted out.
Just as his father had with Tamara. Talorc had spent years proving himself to his
clan, protecting them and being so careful not to share in his father's act of criminal
stupidity.
To discover he had been deceived just as neatly by a woman he had grown to trust
hurt more than Talorc would ever admit out loud.
Without a word, Niall pressed a cup of mead in front of Talorc and without another
word, Talorc drank it.