Caitriona followed Nicolas into the great room and took a seat at the table across from Duncan. He looked angry—and hurt. She folded her hands in her lap refusing to look him in the eye. She wished she could have had one more day before she’d have to confront him. The memories she had of him were few, and always tied to other people. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Sean strode into the great room and seeing her, took a knee. She sighed and closed her eyes. Another relationship lost to the cause, she thought, bitterly. He stood and tipped his hat, taking a seat at the table next to Duncan. Sean poured himself a glass of whiskey. Caitriona watched as he took a sip of the amber liquid and, after ensuring the taste was agreeable, tipped back the rest of the glass, winking at her as he set the empty glass on the table. He pushed his chair back and stretched his long, muscular legs out in front of him. Despite the nervous tension in the room, a smile stretched across her face at his easygoing nature.

Maeve entered the room next, using her cane to help steady her as she made her way to the table. She shook her head, aware that everyone was watching her.

What is this a fucking convention? Caitriona thought irritably. Maeve sat next to her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before hanging her cane from her chair.

“I want tae speak with Catie alone,” Duncan broke the silence. She blinked, watching as he all but commanded the room. She could tell he was used to getting his way. This time would likely be no different.

“Settle down, warrior,” Maeve said in her gravelly voice. “This is Caitriona’s story and her tale to tell. She deserves to be surrounded by those she loves.” She reached over and squeezed Caitriona’s hand again. “Go ahead, child. Tell us what happened to you before Jon found you.”

“I don’t remember,” she said. It wasn’t entirely true. She remembered bits and pieces. But truth be told, she was afraid to remember. Her body was covered in scars and bruises and while Maeve’s doctor had healed the worst of her wounds, she was certain there were scars beneath the surface that would likely take years to heal. She didn’t care. In fact, she didn’t care if she never remembered.

She fidgeted nervously, the dark, brooding man who sat across from her imposing and strong. She knew he was important. Nicolas had told her as much. She also knew she was central to his war. But there was something else. The air crackled between them. She might not remember him, but her body did. She pulled her bottom lip under her teeth and bit hard. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by the man who sat staring at her.

“Catie, do you remember being outside the tunnels?” Sean asked.

She nodded. “Some,” she whispered.

“How did you end up at the tunnels? Do you remember how you got there?”

Maeve reached across the table and patted Caitriona’s arm. She closed her eyes as flashes of memory surfaced. She shook her head trying to sort through the memories that were disjointed and incomplete. She pressed her hands to her temple, ignoring the looks the men gave each other.

She felt Nicolas’ gentle push against her mind and her eyes flew open.

“Let me in,” he said, pushing harder.

She shook her head and pushed her chair back, intending to leave, but Duncan reached across the table and grabbed her wrist, making it clear she wasn’t going anywhere. The electrical charge danced between them and she shivered despite the heat in the room from the fire.

“Are you forcing me to stay?” she questioned.

“Aye,” he growled, without apology. “Why did ye do it, Catie?”

“Do what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, sincerely.

Nicolas pushed again and she struggled to keep her shields in place. “Let me in, Katerine. I can sort through the memories with your help.”

“Maybe I don’t want to remember,” she replied. She closed her eyes against the dark shadows that were trying to surface. “I think I did something horrible,” she whispered. She opened her eyes and stared at Duncan, the dark storm brewing beneath his eyes.

“Sometimes we do the wrong things for the right reasons,” Maeve said, patting her hand. “Let your handler help you, child.”

“A coward dies a thousand deaths, a hero dies but one,” Caitriona mumbled.

“What was that, sweet girl?” Maeve asked.

“Just something my father used to say.”

“Katerine,” Nicolas implored.

She felt him push and this time she removed her shields and let him in.

He inhaled suddenly and closed his eyes. She could feel him nudging and exploring. The entire experience made her exhausted and set her on edge.

It didn’t take long before images of Hawkins flooded her mind. She saw herself in his office, her black gown ripped from her body. He held a knife in his hand and was cutting her shoulder, each swipe a reminder of the pain she had endured. She whimpered, but Nicolas continued, helping her unwrap the memories that hid in the shadows.

She gasped when she saw Hawkins naked. He was pawing at her exposed breasts, her restraints giving him easy access to every part of her body. With his free hand, he stroked himself to hardness, enjoying the fear that laced her eyes. When he pinched her nipples to bleeding, he thrust his fingers in her vagina, pulling them out and sucking on them as she screamed with rage and terror. She watched in horror as his erection grew stiff with unspent excitement.

Caitriona flinched as the memories became more intense, the tears that flowed down her cheeks a harbinger of the memories she was reliving. Nicolas reached for her, providing comfort but also enhancing the link. She knew he wasn’t going to let her run from the memories.

She flinched again as she relived her assault. Hawkins pulled her against him and fumbled with his cock, his lecherous jeer a reminder of what he was capable of. His hand spread her vagina wide and then he thrust. Her eyes flew open and she scrambled out of the chair, putting as much distance between herself and her entourage.

Nicolas severed the link and was on his feet in an instant.

“That didn’t happen,” she whispered. “I don’t remember that. It’s not true.”

“What is it?” Duncan growled, jumping to his feet and looking between Nicolas and Caitriona.

She shook her head, tears coursing down her cheeks. “No!” she screamed as the memories came unchecked. She sunk to the ground, clutching her hand between her head. She wrapped her arms around her middle, rocking back and forth.

This couldn’t be, she thought. Hawkins had raped her. The thought sickened her. She felt the bile rise in her throat and turned her head just in time to heave. She wanted to die. She closed her eyes trying to push the horrible memory from her mind.

Duncan knelt next to her, reaching for her. She flinched, not wanting his touch, not deserving his touch. She had betrayed him and her own betrayal had led to her rape. Of that, she was certain. She deserved nothing less than this. Duncan tried to pull her into his arms but she pushed away from him, her entire body tensing at the contact. He stared at her and then looked at Nicolas. “What is it, LaFelle?” he asked. “What did she see?”

Nicolas shook his head.

Caitriona continued sobbing, tears coursing down her cheeks. She was vaguely aware of Maeve standing over her and handing a drink to Nicolas, who knelt and pushed the beverage to her lips. She turned her head, but he pressed the glass to her lips again.

“Katerine.” His voice was firm. “I want you to drink this. It will make you feel better.”

“No,” she choked. “All of you, please, just go away.”

Duncan tried to pick her up from the floor again and she screamed. He stepped back, the hurt and confusion on his face causing her to look away. More memories assaulted her in a wash of pain and heartache: Her negotiations with Hawkins, the visions she had of Danika and Duncan, her betrayal of him. She wanted to die.

Seeing the dagger tucked into the belt that hung around Duncan’s waist, she got to her feet and pulled the knife, slashing deep across her left wrist. Blood flowed over her wrist and onto the floor. Duncan wrestled the knife from her grip while the others stared on helplessly.

Nicolas ripped part of his shirt and wrapped it around her wrist, staunching the flow of blood. She fought him, struggling to tear the bandage from her arm as he pinned her arms between their bodies.

“Let me die,” she whispered, rocking back on her heels.

“Not on my watch, Katerine,” her handler whispered, scooping her into his arms. He carried her from the great room, covering the ground quickly to her bed chambers, Duncan following. Nicolas deposited her on the oversized bed, smoothing the hair from her tear-stained and swollen face. He kissed her forehead before pulling the covers across her.

The weight of the blankets surfaced the memories again and she kicked them off in a fit of hysterics. Nicolas brought the glass once more to her lips. “Katerine, don’t force me to hold you down. Drink this,” he said, his voice sharp with worry.

She locked her eyes with his. He opened his mind and entered her’s easily. Caitriona didn’t care. She could feel him wrapping her in his energy, but none of it registered. She only saw the image of Hawkins raping her, over and over like a bad video that had been set on auto replay.

She took the glass he offered her and downed the contents. What did it matter? She deserved anything they did to her and that included trapping her within her own hell. Within minutes, her eyes began to droop and she could feel the heaviness of sleep coming to claim her.

Nicolas eased her back against the pillows and once again he pulled the blankets across her body. This time, she merely laid there and closed her eyes. She didn’t care. She was blissfully unaware of her surroundings and realized they must have put a large dose of laudanum in the drink. What did it matter? she thought bitterly. Hawkins had won.