He still thought of her—still thought of Brighíd of the Imbolg, chieftain, warrior, the uncrowned queen of Eire, the fiery woman who’d run roughshod over her father and claimed leadership of her clan instead of her brother, the man who would become known as the Ridden Druid. Brighid and Seamus had been lovers for quite some time by the day he’d left to tend to the arranged marriage he’d saved his brother from. She’d been right, of course, about him not loving her, and he’d been right about her not loving him. But it had been nice while it lasted—comforting, almost easy.
Too easy, maybe. I didn’t deserve her. I don’t even know that Finn did, but I imagine they must have come to love each other.
“Did you love him?” he asked without meaning to, voicing the question that rose every so often when he thought of those halcyon days with Brighid.
Marin startled, looking at him for a moment. “Wh—oh. Do you mean Finn? Did Brighid love Finn?”
Seamus nodded, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks. Hopefully, the darkness would hide it, or she’d pass it off to the morning chill rather than sudden embarrassment.
“I married him all over again, didn’t I?” She reached over and squeezed his arm. “She loved Finn and he was devoted to her—but in some ways, she loved her brother more, and she never forgot about you.”
“Kind of her,” Seamus murmured as he turned away. The sick feeling he hadn’t noticed was there faded. Things like that had been happening with uncomfortable frequency and it left him unnerved. “I’m afraid I—”
“Don’t lie,” Marin said. She smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “There’s no reason for it, not with me. Come on. Let’s finish out here, then we’ll get some hot drinks and you can tell me everything—all the things you’re afraid to say. Someone else needs to know. It might as well be me.”
