Reckless Protector: Isaacson Trilogy Book Three

7

Ulric leaned against the railing of his parents' porch and filled his lungs with the cold winter air. It was where he'd been for the past fifteen minutes or so, ever since returning from taking Gary's corpse to the undertaker in town.

He'd filled out the necessary paperwork and sent a telegram to Chief Deputy Westmoreland in Sparrow's Hallow, informing him of the latest development in the case. Still, even after dragging out the whole process as long as he could, Ulric knew he'd find himself right where he was. Although technically speaking, he hadn't expected to end up on the porch.

The barn was his first choice. However, after only a few minutes within those four walls—bombarded by memories of being alone with Ingrid during the blizzard—he'd sought solace in the only location that would put him close to her and yet far enough away his Berserker wouldn't rumble so loud he couldn't hear himself think.

And thinking was precisely what he was doing because what he wanted to do was escape, which was no longer possible.

It had been within his reach, so close he could taste it, but two simple words from a dying man's lips had pushed it beyond his grasp. Protect her. It was something he would be unable to do if he left right now in search of Anthony Sullivan and any answers the traitor could offer, and sending Ingrid on her lonesome way, as he'd first thought of doing, was definitely out of the question.

Perhaps even more worrying was something else Gary had said. 'You survived.' What was he talking about exactly? Briarwood and The Matron's torturous living conditions? Had Gary come across Ingrid on one of her failed escapes that Elsie had mentioned?

It was a farfetched explanation at best, and the longer he thought about it, the more he was convinced it wasn't right. The problem was that he didn't know how else their paths would have crossed since she'd been locked away for so long.

He rubbed his palms against the rough wood of the porch railing, his stomach full of knots as the questions continued to mount. Who or what did she need protection from, and how long, if ever, would it take to discover the answer? But as necessary as those questions were, another came to mind, and his stomach lurched.

How was he ever going to be rid of her now? He was doomed to live the rest of his life in torment, forever at the mercy of her affections, hoping she would deign to want him as he so desperately wanted her and end his misery.

Ulric let loose a string of curses, clenching his fists against the panic threatening to overwhelm him. What was he going to do? He couldn't be near her without aching to hold her or beg for her to want and accept him.

And he couldn't leave her alone until he knew she wasn't in danger.

It was pathetic.

He was pathetic, which was why he needed to leave before he said or did something that would show how weak her rejection continued to make him. Why did she have such a hold on him? Was there anything he could do that would free him of it?

He might be stuck with her, but there had to be some way to get rid of the longing. Erasmus would know; perhaps he should visit the old man and find out. The only problem was that if he did so, he'd be admitting defeat, and he'd never be able to escape the shame of it for as long as he lived.

The whole situation made him want to throw up. If he'd caught either of his brothers acting the way he was now, he'd have chastised them for acting like weaklings and told them to get a hold of themselves, ignored them altogether, or, if the first two methods failed, punched them in the face until they saw reason.

It was unfair he wasn't able to take his advice. Of course, he could always ask Gunnar or Esmund to punch him in the face, but then they'd know just how weak Ingrid made him.