My mate’s meaty fists clenched. Maybe he would hit me. At least the pain would rid me of this numbness.
“Fer once in yer life, can ye think about someone else? How do ye think a dead human is going to affect his business? When the Airren authorities find out—”
“What are they going to do? Kill me?” I snorted, shifting a bottle of wine from behind the bar.
Ruairi dropped to the stool and took one of my empty glasses for himself.
“I don’t want company.”
“And I don’t want a drunken eejit as my best mate, yet here we are.”
He slammed the glass down in front of me. I filled it to the brim.
“The magistrate has kindly agreed to annul our handfasting. I’ll sober up then.”Dammit. Why couldn’t she give me a year? It was a feckin’year. Less, since we were wed three days ago.
“Handfasting?” Ruairi’s drink stilled halfway to his mouth. “Lad, yer not handfasted. Yer proper married.”
“No. Rían did the thing with the things.” I gestured toward my hand.
“Ribbons.”
“Right. Ribbons.”
“He could’ve wrapped ye both in ribbons and it wouldn’t have made a blind bit of difference to the vows.”
Vows? I’d been in such a panic I couldn’t remember what I’d promised.
Snippets came flooding back and . . .Shit.
Dammit.
The process for annulling a proper marriage would take a lot longer and require more paperwork, if they agreed to do it at all.
“Have ye tried explaining to Keelynn about—”
Explaining? What good had that done? I’d explained my reasons for keeping secrets—which were pretty feckin’ solid—and the woman moved in with another feckin’ man.
I dragged my dagger from my belt and tossed it across the table. “Kill me now.”
Ruairi sent it right back. “And give Rían cause to end me? Not a hope.”
“I’ll give you a royal pardon.”
“Won’t do me much good in the underworld.”
Feck it anyway. I’d just have to find someone else. Then this cursed reminder tattooed on my finger would be gone, and Keelynn would be free and . . .
My gaze landed on Marina. It’d only be a matter of time before the authorities showed.
At least dead, I’d get a respite from all this shite.
* * *
Four hours—and one tongue lashing from Lorcan—later and I was still sitting at this feckin’ table waiting for someone to murder me.
I heard the whispers. People knew Marina. Knew her situation. No one seemed to care beyond being the first to taste a juicy bit of gossip. Wouldn’t be long now. Surely someone would take offense at the dead body curled around my boots.
I smelled Keelynn before I saw her: lavender and sunshine.