Chapter 22

Eleanor slowly turned back to Conaan, whose expression was largely unreadable, his chest slightly heaving.

"Is it true?"

He let out a small, shaky breath. "My father was always of ill health."

"But is it true that he didn't recover because of me?" A tear escaped her eyes, and he clasped his hand behind him so he wouldn't run to wipe those tears away.

"It is not true. He died of natural causes. You had nothing to do with it." His eyes seemed to avoid her for the most part, his hands uncharacteristically still.

She stepped forward to him, her lips slowly parting. His eyes followed her movements, then held her gaze in place.

"How can you even take me back? How can you not hate me more than you do right now?"

Conaan released his hands from behind him, then passed one through his hair. His head felt a little light, and he felt a little weak. But most of all, he felt a bit of resentment. Directed more at himself. He resented himself for the slow fingers