Home/I confined you, but I have no ill will/ch 73

73.

A confession.

She'd come all this way to do it. Looking at Kite, she felt shy again—the courage she'd gathered melted away.

She touched the necklace Iranna had given her.

"I've never seen that necklace before?"

"Iranna gave it to me—to ward off misfortune."

"A good gift. And the bracelet?"

"Someone else gave it to me."

She couldn't say it was a love charm.

"It's—similar."

"They must like you—maybe for giving them back their name."

"Maybe."

She was speaking, but she didn't know what she was saying. Her heart had been pounding wildly.

Confess—they said to confess.

It had never felt so frightening—not even when she emptied the cookie jar as a child.

"Lord Kite."

She clasped her hands.

"Hm?"

He was drying himself and putting on his shirt—she squeezed her eyes shut at the glimpse of his chest.

"Well—"

"Well?"

"If—"

"If?"

She knew there were urgent matters at hand. The women had pushed her, but maybe now wasn't the right time—yet she didn't want to back down.

She squeezed out her voice.

"Do you like me?"

Silence fell. A droplet from his lashes fell and darkened the earth—she saw it clearly.

That's not what I meant. But it was already done. What had she said? She froze, clutching the charm.

Kite blinked slowly—his blue eyes curved as they looked at her. His smile was so beautiful she was entranced.

"Ibelin."

His voice broke the spell—she spun and ran. She hadn't run this hard since meeting two grizzlies at once.

She ran until she was sure she'd put distance between them.

Panting.

She realized the sound was her own.

"Lady Ibelin?"

Iranna, carrying a basket, tilted her head.

"What happened?"

She looked around—Kite was gone.

"Iranna—I messed up!"

"Oh dear?"

"I—"

Just as she was about to confess, a shadow stretched—it wasn't the weather.

"Ibelin."

Kite's voice—she turned slowly. He'd caught up.

"You can't say that and run away."

Please help me! She prayed, but no help came.

Iranna watched with interest, then excused herself.

"I'll go now—talk slowly."

Don't leave me! Ibelin pleaded with her eyes, but she seemed not to notice and walked away.

"Talk here or elsewhere?"

She shut her eyes.

"...Elsewhere."

She feared being alone with him, but better than being overheard.

They entered their ger. Kite's hair still dripped—he'd run without drying properly. She found a cloth and placed it over his head, patting it dry like she'd done when he was confined.

"Even a Swordmaster needs to dry his hair."

He sat on the rug to make it easier.

"Ibelin."

"...Yes."

"I thought about what you said."

Please don't. She dreaded the next words—but before she could flee, he turned and pulled her by the waist.

"You told me to like you, right?"

She wanted to cry.

"I'd like to—but there's a problem."

"What?"

She asked, resigned—and he smiled like a fox.

"I've liked you for a while."

His firm hand took hers and pressed it to his chest. Beneath her palm, his heart pounded—just like hers.

Realizing that, she sank down.

Their eyes met, sparkling.

"...You like me?"

His whispered answer was yes.

"Since when?"

"Guess."

"Don't make me guess!"

She inhaled deeply—his heart raced, and so did hers.

He really likes me. And I like him. The feeling was clear—she smiled like him.

"I like you."

She pulled him close—still damp, but it didn't matter. Their hearts were connected.

He held her back. When they first met, she'd thought he was crazy—and now she liked him.

Grandfather—I'm sorry.

Before he died, he'd told her to find ordinary happiness—but it seemed her happiness lay with this man, called a mad dog. Maybe she couldn't live ordinarily—but she didn't care.

They held each other for a long time.

Silence grew awkward—but neither had experience with love.

"Should we change positions?"

They sat side by side, holding hands—sweating, but unwilling to let go.

"Back in the capital, let's have a proper engagement ceremony."

"If circumstances allow."

There were still issues to resolve—Draven's scheming, the Nordin tribe.

"I won't have any guests—is that alright?"

"We'll keep it small."

"For a duke's house?"

"Why not?"

Given Kite's reputation, it wouldn't be a problem.

"If you want to invite relatives, tell me."

"No—I don't. Grandfather wasn't lucky with relatives."

Or with children—he'd outlived his own. How painful that must have been. Though Ibelin was there, a child and a grandchild were different.

They talked for a long time. Kite told her about his late mother—how she loved him, though she didn't live long.

"I'll make you happy."

"That's my line."

"Does it matter who says it?"

That evening, no one called them—a basket of food appeared outside the ger. She knew who'd left it.

She decided to ignore her flushed face—there was no time to be embarrassed.

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