Eoin looked around in search of his gloves. They were just out of reach, having fallen under the table. He wiggled, hoping Seonaid would move. Fearchar snapped up the gloves. Eoin’s mouth opened, a frustrated click and hiss escaping his teeth.
” ‘old up there, doc. Wha’ was that?” Fearchar stepped back a pace. Eoin’s cheeks turned a brilliant scarlet as more tears ran from his face. He covered his eyes with his arms, his hands clenched and trembling. Seonaid reached for his hands, more concerned then scared of the man. He recoiled from her touch, trying to hide his hands under his sides. He turned his face from them. He couldn’t tell what their motivation was in breaching his barriers.
Seonaid studied the distraught man. He had lean features that could only be considered heart achingly beautiful. His nose was long and straight, perched above quivering lips. His high cheekbones looked foreign compared to the men she had seen on the isle.
Fearchar pulled up a chair to the side of the bed and motioned for Seonaid to sit in the other one. She eased off of Eoin and settled down, keeping her movements slow so as not to startle the man. Eoin curled into a ball away from them, pressing himself as close as possible to the rock wall. He cradled his mask in his hands. Studying the stained blue of his fingers, he waited out the shaking in his shoulders.
“Eoin?” Fearchar tried to get his attention.
He hunched around himself. He was cornered. It was the dead of winter. This was their house. He fought through the constriction in his chest as his brain dashed to find a way out.
“You’re hair is quite long,” Seonaid sought a neutral topic, noting the braided bun at the back of his head.
He flinched at the words. They had not been what he was expecting. He had anticipated Fearchar’s knife put to his side. He reached back for his hood to cover his hair. Seonaid intercepted him, grabbing his hand. “Don’t kill me, please,” the tenor voice again rattled around in her head. She let go of his hand and the voice stopped.
“Eoin?” Seonaid pressed him. He refused to turn to her. “Fearchar?” She looked up to her husband, not sure what to make of the situation. “Is it an elf, Fear?” she asked.
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