Hilfred slammed his hand against the doorframe, making Arista jump. He spun on her, his eyes fierce and wild in a way she had never seen before, and she stepped back.

“Do you know why I saved you?” he shouted, his voice broken and shaking. “Do you? Do you?”

“To—to hand me over and get—”

“No! No! Not now. Back then,” he cried, waving his arm. “Years ago, when the castle was burning. Do you know why I saved you back then?”

She did not speak. She did not move.

“I wasn’t the only one there, you know. There were others. Soldiers, priests, servants, they all just stood watching. They knew you were inside, but not a single person did anything. They just watched the place burn. Bishop Saldur saw me running for the castle and actually ordered me to stop. He said it was too late, that I would die. I believed him. I truly did, but I went in anyway. Do you know why? Do you?” he shouted at her.

She shook her head.

“Because I didn’t care! I didn’t want to live …not if you died.” Tears streamed down his scarred face. “But don’t ask me to be your friend. That is far too cruel a torture. As long as I can maintain a safe distance, as long as … as long as there is a wall between us—even if it’s only one of words—I can tolerate—I can bear it.” Hilfred wiped his eyes with his scarf. “Your father knew what he was doing—oh yes, he knew exactly what he was doing when he appointed me your bodyguard. I would die a thousand times over to protect you. But don’t ask me to be grateful to him for the life he’s given me, for it’s been one of pain. I wish I had died that night so many years ago, or at least in Dahlgren. Then it would be over. I wouldn’t have to look at you. I wouldn’t have to wake up every day wishing I had been born the son of a great knight, or you the daughter of a poor shepherd.”

He covered his eyes and leaned his head against the threshold. Arista did not recall doing it, but somehow she had crossed the room. She took Hilfred’s face in her hands, and rising up on her toes, she kissed his mouth. He did not move, but he trembled. He did not breathe, but he gasped.

“Look at me,” she said, extending her arms to display her stained and torn kirtle. “A shepherd’s daughter would pity me, don’t you think?” She took his hand and kissed it. “Can you ever forgive me?”

He looked at her, confused. “For what?”

“For being so blind.”

CHAPTER 12

SEA WOLVES