“But he returned not a day later, to check on you and the dark-eyed weaver. He had learned the secret flaw of the clan line, that if he gave his blood to the river and walked in the water, he could pass undetected. And so he visited frequently, as if there were a cord tying him to that cottage on the hill, pulling him to the east. He was concerned, for you were still very small, and my mum didn’t know much about newborn babes. She had no choice but to bring Senga Campbell into the arrangement, and the healer did all she could to help you grow.
“Senga told Mirin that the Laird and Lady of the East longed for a bairn, but she feared that Lorna Tamerlaine would have complications in her imminent delivery. The healer asked Mirin if she would give you up to them. And while my mum never wanted to surrender you—she had kept you a secret for several weeks—she agreed.
“Soon, Lorna’s labor began. It was long and difficult, and the babe was stillborn. Senga said they all wept in the birthing chamber. They wept and mourned in that hour, and Senga thought the grief would crush them. But then Mirin brought in a bundle of blankets. You wailed until my mother set you in Lorna’s weary arms. You fell silent and content, and my mum says that’s when she knew that you were supposed to belong to them. Those who were gathered in that chamber decided they would hold this secret of your origins and let the clan believe you were Alastair and Lorna’s blood-born daughter.
“You belonged to them, in love and in vows. They didn’t care if your ancestry was of the west. You healed this clan and gave them joy. You brought laughter and life into the once dismal corridors of the castle. You brought hope to the east.
“And my mum … she was at peace, even though she missed you fiercely in the beginning. But little did she know that she would have her own son only eight months later.”
He paused, surprised by how his voice wavered. Adaira raised her hand and laid it against the arch of his cheek, and he knew she was beginning to see him as he saw her. The threads that held them together.
“My father was the Keeper of the Aithwood. It was he who brought you into the east, where he knew you would be safe and loved,” said Jack. It was liberating to speak those forbidden words aloud. The weight slipped from his chest like a stone, and he shivered to feel the space it left behind, waiting to be filled. “From your life came mine. I would not exist if you had been born in the east. I am but a verse inspired by your chorus, and I will follow you until the end, when the isle takes my bones and my name is nothing more than a remembrance on a headstone, next to yours.”
Adaira smiled, tears shining in her eyes. Jack waited for her to break the silence that welled, a bright and heady moment that could morph into anything. He waited, knowing they could claim this day as their own. Fully and unapologetically, with all of its blood, agony, and windswept secrets. The wounds and the scars and the uncertainty of the future.
“Jack,” she said at last, drawing him into her embrace.
Jack breathed her in, hiding his face in the soft, quicksilver waves of her hair.
Adaira invited him to remain with her that night. She sensed no expectations within Jack, only his contentment. Contentment to be in her company, shut away from the spinning world beyond the chamber, if only for a span of a few starlit hours.
She still marveled over his words, words that bound them closer than spoken vows had done.
She opened one of the windows, welcoming a warm summer night into the chamber. For a moment, she could fool herself. Gazing out over the darkened isle, she believed her father still lived, that he could be found in the library by the fire, her mother close beside him with her harp, plucking a waterfall of notes. For a moment, she was Adaira Tamerlaine and she had always belonged to the east.
But the imagining faded into ash when she realized she didn’t want such a life anymore. She wanted the truth. She wanted to feel it brush against her skin, wanted to claim it with her hands. She wanted honesty, even if it felt like claws raking across her soul.
When she turned around, Jack was watching her. A sultry breeze slipped into the chamber, stirring Adaira’s long, unbound hair.
“It feels strange,” she whispered. “To not know which side I belong to.”
“You belong to both,” he replied. “You are the east as you are the west. You are mine as I am yours.”
She walked to meet him in the heart of the room, where the shadows danced on the floor.
Jack eased the knot holding her robe. His deft hand slipped beneath it, touching her faintly at first, reverence in his eyes. His thumb left a trail of gooseflesh on her skin. And then he kissed her with an intensity that shook all holiness from her, sparking a passion she had been longing for, and she knew she had found her match in him as they edged toward the bed. They followed an urgent beat at first, one punctuated with gasps and shed garments and their names tangling together, as if time would expire on them. But then Jack drew slightly away so he could fully behold her on the bed beneath him, his hand fanning over her ribs. His half of the coin caught the light, hanging from a long chain about his neck.