“She lied to me.” The words were hard and cold. Like the deadweight in his chest that had once beat just for the sound of her laugh, the brightness of her eyes.

No more.

“To protect herself,” Brodrick said forcefully.

“She should have known that no matter what, I would have protected her from any—”

“Kane. She was terrified.”

“Saeran—Alice, or whoever she is—would have—”

“Kane. Brodrick. Silence, please. You’ve been doing nothing but arguing for the past hour,” Connor snapped from the other side of the bed. Saeran was the only thing separating Kane and Brodrick. The men had been saying the same thing for the last fortnight, ever since they had brought Saeran to the inn.

“I canna believe ye’ plan to just—” Brodrick continued, up until Kane slashed an angry hand through the air. The man’s jaw ticked.

“Out.”

“Kane—”

“I said out.”

Brodrick didn’t speak as he stormed to the door. Connor stared at Kane, then the unconscious Saeran, then slowly got to his feet. Weary lines of fatigue were etched on all three faces. No one had been able to sleep—including the clansmen that had been in the battle party with him.

Kane understood completely.

“Ye ken,” Brodrick said quietly as he paused just on the inside of the door. “I can’t help but wonder. If yer planning on leaving her, why are you still here?” He left quietly.

Kane ignored him.

Her face was pale, strained. In the past fortnight, her condition hadn’t become better. In fact, the longer he stared at her, the more he began to fear it was worse. Kane knelt down, touching her forehead with a trembling hand. She was so warm. Feverish. It felt no warmer than it had a week ago.

Kane sat next to her, forgoing the chair. This was the last time he would see her. The last time he would let himself gaze at her. After she recovered, he would be gone, and Connor would be left to tell the liar of Kane’s departure.

She was not to contact him. Not to come after him. After Connor left her here, she was not to talk to anyone. No one knew of this—he knew how much of a problem it would cause between his men and he. They were all, in a way, attached to the lass who had feigned being a lad.

His lips tightened at the reminder. God, how could he have been so stupid? Saeran had done a terrible job of acting like a lad—she had done literally nothing to convince him she was what she was not. The signs had been there—the fragility, the meekness, how she had shied away from all things unlady-like. The only thing stopping him from noticing her true identity had been the dirt. The damn dirt.

How could she have eluded him for so long? His hands clenched. Her voice had not been overly deep—as he compared the two voices she had used with him, he realized they were almost the same. “Saeran’s” voice had been low and quiet, whereas “Alice” spoke with her heart. Her features had been too feminine for a lad—not even Connor had such delicate features.

He should have noticed it sooner, but he had been too busy with his infatuation of Alice, too distracted by her more than anything else.

How ironic, that the woman he loved was the same lad he had ignored, for the very reason that Kane couldn’t think of anything except Saeran. He cursed, dragging a hand through his hair.

He loved her. Kane loved her like nothing he had before—and he was leaving her, forcing them apart. Saeran was nothing but a danger to him. She didn’t love him. If she had, she wouldn’t have lied to him. His love was one-sided, and being alone was better than knowing she would lie to him again.

Nay. Saeran would no’ get a chance to lie to him again.

A small whimper drew his gaze to the bed. His heart dropped to his stomach. He hated this part of the fever—the nightmares, the hallucinations. He reached for the bowl of water and cloth, getting the thing wet then pressing it to her forehead. It didn’t do anything for her in reality, but by the easing of the lines around her eyes, he knew she took comfort in it.

When her stirring subsided, he called for one of the maids. She knew without asking what to do. A tub and buckets of water were brought up and was placed in front of the fire. Summer was turning into fall, and the Highlands were becoming chilly. He didn’t want Saeran uncomfortable, and Mabel said it was best to use heat to draw out the heat.

He would trust the Macleod lass on that only because his Saeran was ill and he had no clue how to take care of her. Whenever Kane became sick, he focused on something else until it had passed. With Saeran and how delicate a woman she was, he was…uncertain. Terrified. She was sick because he had been too blind to notice that she was not what she appeared.

Once the maids had left, he checked the water to make sure it would be comfortable for her, then gently set about undressing her. He made sure to keep his eyes averted. She was sick and weak—he would be a bastard to take advantage of that just to see the perfection of her body.

His hands trembled as he lifted her back off the bed, one hand holding her neck so that it didn’t roll, and the other pulling the shift away from her body. She made a small sound in the back of her throat, and he quickly set her down, watching her, waiting for her to start thrashing.

She didn’t.

All he heard from her was soft, even breaths. Kane mentally prepared himself to bring her to the bath, like he did every other night that she took one, and stared at her. Not her body, but her. The woman that he didn’t know, not truly.

He could think he knew the Saeran laying in front of him, but he didn’t. He knew an Alice, and he knew a Saeran—but not the person that was in between them, the true woman he thought he knew.

He had fallen in love with Alice.

Her strength and fire. Her passion. Her kindness. That was what and who he had fallen for. Saeran, the woman laying before him, was not that Alice, as much as he tried to tell himself otherwise. It just…didn’t make sense to him. Kane shook his head at his thoughts.

There was no use thinking about it. As soon as she awoke and recovered from her fever, he would be gone. No longer would he make a fool of himself over her. No longer would he watch as she lied to him.

He tried to stay angry. Betrayed. Furious.

All he felt was guilt. Over everything. The lies, her deception, his own stupidity. Kane forced himself to be tender with her as he lifted her from the bed. It didn’t take as much effort as he had thought. The anger he felt towards her was…empty.

Saeran turned her head into the crook of his neck. Hot breath washed over his neck and he grunted, moving quickly to get her into the tub. The second her feet touched the water, she made a sound.

Kane ignored it. She had been without a bath for a day. This was needed. It would help her recover and would soothe her pains. But as he lowered her farther into the tub, her distress grew, until he was holding her half out of the water with her arms strangling his neck.

“No,” she said, her voice muffled by his neck. “Hot—too hot. Burning.”

Kane took a slow breath. He wanted nothing more than to set her on the bed, but she needed the bath. She was giving the tell-tale signs of having another episode. Firmly, heart twisting, he plied her arms from around his neck and let her slide even further into the tub.

“No,” she cried. Frail arms reached for him again. Like they always did. Whenever she was distressed, she moved. Not toward Connor, not toward Brodrick, but to him. She was always reaching for him.

“Lass,” he said softly, taking her hands. “Lass, listen to me. Ye’ need to calm down—”

“No, it’s burning me—burning my skin.” The mantra was the same as always. The second something hot touched her skin, she began crying, whimpering, that something was burning her alive. He smoothed his hand over her forehead, heart breaking. God, he’d done this to her. This was his fault, and he had no clue how to take care of her.

“It’s not, love. It’s just warm water. Shh,” he murmured, nearly weeping with relief when she seemed to settle down. He took her shoulders, sliding her deeper into the water, until her breasts were completely submerged. The tips of her hair were damp. He waited with baited breath, praying to the Lord that she wouldn’t have an episode.

After several moments in silence, he relaxed enough to reach for the same cloth he’d used on her before. The only sound in the room was the softly crackling fire.

Nothing from Saeran. His stomach tightened.

This could have been avoided. He could have chosen to keep Gwen as his mistress. He could have proposed to Blaine with no subterfuge. He could have let his water nymph slip through his fingers the first night he saw her. He could have done the dutiful thing with her, ignored his selfish needs, and let her go.

But no. He’d ruined her, nearly killed her.

Kneeling beside her, he dipped the cloth into the water and began swiping it over her face, wringing it on top of her hair. He lost himself in caring for her, pushing his self-loathing to the darkest part of his heart. It wasn’t until she was completely soaked in the water, her blonde hair dark and plastered to her head, that he began rubbing her shoulders. He paid close attention to the wound on her abdomen, careful to look just at that. It was not as deep as they had anticipated, but the sword had been coated with something deadly enough to nearly kill her.

He waited for her to move, to cry.

Still, nothing. Worry began to sit heavily in his gut. She was never this still when she was in the tub. She was never this quiet.

“Al—Saeran?” he murmured, scanning her face. It was oddly…relaxed. No signs of strain or pain, she appeared to be sleeping. Her chest moved in even breaths, the only sign she gave to let him know she was not dying on him.

“It’s not burning,” she whispered. It was the most lucid sentence she had said in the past fortnight. Nothing was slurred or muffled. It was just the gentle roll of words off the tip of her tongue. “I don’t see the fire anymore.”

“What fire?” he asked, sliding his hands up the nape of her neck. She leaned into his touch, head tilting like she was drawn to the sound of his voice.

He swallowed thickly.

“The fire in my stomach. It’s always there. Guilt. It eats…and burns…my strength. Thoughts.”

Kane had no clue what she was talking about, but something in her voice made him tense. There was so much despondency in her voice that he felt it to the center of his soul.

“I’m not human,” she whispered. In his hand, her neck muscles tensed.

“Saeran,” he said roughly. “Yer as much a human as I am, love. Donna fash yerself with—”

“No. I’m not—I can’t be. Humans…would worry. Over family. Life. Aren’t I right? I would…worry about Blaine when she said…”

Why was she talking about Blaine at a time like this? he thought, staring down at her.

“Said what, love,” he murmured. Talking was good for her, wasn’t it? The only thing she had done as of yet was whimper and cry. Talking must be an improvement, he thought, desperate to believe he was correct.

“We’re not family. She said…we’re not. And I didn’t care—humans would care. They would die in the fire.” Her legs bent, knees peaking above the surface of the water. She curled forward, arms around her knees. Her eyes remained closed. Her voice stayed quiet.

Kane could only watch her.

“Maybe she made them die…in the fire. Burnt alive.”

“Saeran, what are you talking about?” He felt like he should know. It was something the king had told him, warned him of.

“My parents. I’m not human. They…are. Humans burn.”

It hit him like a boulder. Her parents had died in a fire. The hallucinations were stemmed from guilt—for not dying with them?

Kane almost vomited. Quicker than he had time to think, he was pulling her out of the tub and wrapping her in a blanket. She didn’t fight him, didn’t speak. Her eyes stayed closed.

“Saeran,” he said firmly, once she was set on the bed and covered in the same shift she’d been in before. He had to ask Mabel for another one soon. “Saeran, open yer damn eyes and look at me.”

She did neither. Like a statue, she sat there, head lowered.

His stomach roiled and he could have shaken her. “Saeran, damnit.” She wasn’t trying to fight the fever. She was letting it overcome her will, her strength. She was letting it kill her—she wanted it to kill her.

Helpless frustration made him angry. How dare she do this to him—how dare she give up and leave him.

His father. His mother. His brother. His sister. Everyone had left him—and she was daring to leave him as well.

He tried everything he could think of to make her eyes open. Threats, warnings, promises, bribes. Anything. It wasn’t until he had promised her his eternal life that he let his frustration free and did the only thing he could think of—he kissed her.

Taking her jaw into his hand, he lifted her head and pressed his lips to hers. The plea didn’t need to be spoken with the kiss—it was an unspoken appeal for her to come around, for her to wake up and fight.

She was just as unresponsive as before. Cursing and hating himself, he began to pull away from her. He couldn’t stay in here—he couldn’t watch the woman he loved give up, couldn’t watch her do that to herself. It was going to kill him more surely than his enemies would.

Pain and memories stabbed at him. His father had died before his eyes. His mother had been driven to insanity before his eyes. His brother had been stolen from him before his eyes. His sister had been murdered before his eyes.

He refused to watch Saeran die before his eyes. She didn’t care—if she had, she would have stayed with him. Would have realized that he needed her to be alive. Out of everyone that had come into his life since his family had been torn apart, she meant the most to him—and that didn’t matter to her in the most.

He stormed to the door. His eyes stung, but he ignored it. He refused to acknowledge anything at this point. A brawl—a good, bloody, murderous brawl was what he needed.

Kane was throwing open the door when he heard the soft rustle.

“Kane.”

Thin, weak arms wrapped around his waist from behind. He felt her cheek against his back.

And then he just…broke down. Great, heaving sobs left his chest before he could do anything to stop them.