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Cath Delaney (dian_cecht) wrote in inpoormerit,

Cathair winced inwardly. He hadn't meant to make her so upset. None of it was her doing, or her fault. He usually kept himself more in check, hid better. The kidnapping had done a number on his desire to even carry on. He'd been ready to give in to whoever had come for him, to give up the game and just deal with the consequences of his actions once and for all. Eden had dealt him more than just a strong blow to the groin, she'd seen past the lies he told everyone. Now this woman from his own country had made jokes about the very thing that had ruined his life and so many others'.

Right now, drowning his mind in whiskey sounded good. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "You couldn't have known. The whole thing, hit certain places harder than others." He meant for people as well as areas. He moved around the bar and retrieved another bottle of whiskey, opening it and pouring them both another glass. "I can't guarantee I'll be any sort of proper company tonight," he admitted. "But drinking alone's never a good idea." He could at least make certain she got back to her cottage in one piece. It was the least he could do after dumping all of that in her lap.

He knocked back about half the glass and leaned over the bar. "There's a lady author by the same name as you," he recalled now. "Wrote a murder mystery. Good book. Sold rather well." There was no way these people would have taken a celebrity of any sort, right? That was just a bad idea if they were trying to keep the kidnapping's a secret.

It was just idle chitchat for now. Something else to talk about.