by Bree Wolf
Tristan and Beth, Lord and Lady Elton, were both tall and fair as was their daughter Ellen, who was about the same age as Bridget. The moment the two girls spotted one another, excited squeals echoed across the courtyard before they embraced each other fiercely, then dashed off to seek out new adventures. Their parents laughed before Connor and Henrietta as well as Connor’s mother Rhona stepped forward to greet the little boy Beth held in her arms, her almost one-year-old son Dane, who’d been born right here in Greystone Castle the year before.
Alastair felt his wife tense beside him, and when he looked down, he found her gaze misted with tears as she looked at the red-cheeked child.
Squealing in fright, Dane turned his head into his mother’s shoulder when Connor approached him, his bear-like stature and thick, black beard frightening the small boy. Still, a moment later, he was already giggling with joy as the Laird of Clan Brunwood did his best to win him over, making funny faces accompanied by odd sounds.
Everyone laughed, embracing one another after the long time apart.
“Who else did ye bring?” Connor enquired, a hint of surprise in his voice, as the door to the other carriage opened and more people filed out into the courtyard.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Beth answered, a gentle smile on her kind face, “but I’ve invited my half-sister Lady Whitworth and her family as well as my half-brother Lord Radcliff and his daughter to join us this year.” After gesturing to her family, Beth turned back to smile at Connor. “I thought the more the merrier.”
Connor laughed, his hand reaching out to pull Henrietta into his arms with an ease that Alastair could not help but envy. “Aye, ye know me well, dear Beth, but if ye dunna mind let’s forget about the lord-and-lady nonsense.” He glanced past her at his surprise guests. “I’ll never remember it.”
Warm smiles met him as he strode forward, greeting each and every one of them, asking their names and giving his own. For despite the fact that Connor Brunwood was not only the Laird of Clan Brunwood, but also held the title of the Marquis of Rodridge, he was a man who did not stand on ceremony. He valued family above all and cherished the bond that came with using another’s given name instead of their title.
Joining in, Alastair and Deidre greeted Matthew and Adelaide, their two-year-old son Jonathan as well as John and his seven-year-old daughter Mathilda, all a bit weary from their long journey, but all excited to be here. They were accompanied by a rather pale-looking governess by the name of Miss Harmon−or Sophie−who seemed a bit short of breath for someone who’d spent the better part of the past few days seated in a carriage.
As the snow kept coming down, greetings were cut short and everyone bustled inside the great hall of Greystone Castle where a fire in the large hearth cast its warm glow over everyone. Hot tea was served as the adults seated themselves near the stone fireplace while the children raced around the room, their little limbs buzzing with energy after being cooped up in the carriage for too long.
With a sigh, Deidre left his side to sit with the women, her gaze straying to the children playing nearby again and again. Alastair knew how she felt for he too felt a stab of pain every time he saw a father pick up his child and plant a kiss on their head. Although he knew it would only bring him sorrow, he could not bring himself not to look at Tristan as he bounced Dane in his arms or to watch how Matthew swung his two-year-old son Jonathan into the air.
Rory would have been almost two years old by now. She would have been able to walk and talk, her auburn curls framing a mischievous face as she chased with the others around the hall. Oh, why couldn’t she be here with them like all the others!
The look in Deidre’s eyes whispered of the same thoughts, and as their gazes met across the room, Alastair wanted nothing more than to draw her into his arms and bury his face in her hair. He wanted to feel her arms come around him, her warm body pressed to his, and mourn that which would never be.
With her.
Together.
“I see ye found her,” Connor observed as he came to stand beside him.
Not bothering to look at his cousin, Alastair merely nodded.
“Where was she?”
Alastair swallowed. “By the old ruins.”
A frown came to Connor’s face as he turned to look at Alastair. “She’s gone there a lot this past year, has she not?”
Alastair’s teeth gritted together. “Aye.”
Connor’s gaze narrowed. “What happened? Are ye all right?”
Knowing his cousin would not walk away unless he received the answer he sought, Alastair sighed. “She told me that,” his mouth felt suddenly dry, “two years ago, Moira sent her a letter.”
“Ah,” was all Connor said.
Shock slammed into Alastair as he stared at his cousin. “Ye knew?”
Gritting his teeth, Connor shrugged, a hint of regret in his eyes. “Henrietta was there when she received it.”
Alastair felt his jaw clench painfully. Apparently, everyone had known but him!
“I’m sorry,” Connor said, putting a hand on Alastair’s shoulder. “We meant no harm, least of all Deidre. She was only worried ‘twould push ye and Moira even farther apart. She meant well.”
Unable to think about his sister then and there, Alastair shrugged off Connor’s hand. “D’ye believe it to be true?” he asked after a while, not certain which answer he hoped to receive.
Connor sighed. “I believe there’s truth in these visions, but I dunna believe they tell the whole story. Ye know better than anyone that Moira has been wrong before, that she misunderstood what she’d seen.”
“And yet,” Alastair began as he turned to meet his friend’s gaze, “’twas yer own mother’s vision which sent ye to England to find Henrietta, was it not? Everything came to pass exactly as she’d seen it, did it not?” The thought that no matter what he did, he would lose his wife’s love to another was utterly crippling!
Connor frowned. “D’ye truly believe yer wife could ever love another?”
“Perhaps she should.”
Connor’s hands grasped his shoulders. “Are ye mad? Deidre loves ye. The lass always has. Why would ye push her away? Ye’re being cruel. Can ye not see how much she needs ye?”
Closing his eyes briefly, Alastair inhaled a deep breath as exhaustion washed over him. “Perhaps we were wrong. Perhaps we were never meant for one another.” He swallowed, staring back into his cousin’s shocked face. “Perhaps she would’ve found happiness with another, had a child that lived.” His heart screamed out in pain. “Perhaps she still can.”
“Ye canna truly believe that!”
In truth, every fibre of his being cried out in protest, but did that truly make it wrong? Was love not supposed to be selfless? If there was a chance for Deidre to find happiness, was he not bound to do what was necessary to ensure she would find it?
“Dunna tell me she goes up there because she’s waiting for Moira’s vision to come true?” Connor said, his dark eyes watchful and full of doubt.
Alastair shrugged. “I dunna know.”
“She’s yer wife!” Connor exclaimed in a strangled whisper, his gaze darting around the room, ensuring that no one was within earshot. “Fight for her!”
Fight for me!
Had Deidre not asked him to do so as well? Aye, she did love him, but was this love wise? So far, it had led them down a painful path, and perhaps now it was time to step off it. His gaze moved across the hall and met Deidre’s, her soft brown eyes glowing in the warm light from the hearth.
A breath shuddered through Alastair’s body at the sight, and deep longing settled in his bones. He knew it well for he’d been fighting it for the better part of a year. Aye, he loved his wife. He always had, but he also feared where that love would lead them.
No longer was he strong enough to see her in pain again. To see her lose another child. To see her body exhausted and broken, slipping away, too weak to go on. More than once, it had been nothing but her iron will that had brought her ba
ck from Death’s door, and Alastair knew he could not allow her to go there again.
It was a battle she’d have to fight on her own.
All he could do was hold her hand, and Alastair knew he could not do so again.
Losing Rory had robbed him of all his strength. He was no longer the man he’d once been.
His muscles tensed as he pushed Connor’s hands off his shoulders. “She’ll be better off without me. Perhaps another can see her happy.” Then he turned and walked away, knowing that the day Deidre gave her heart to another would be the day his own would stop beating.
3
For the Love of a Child
Walking down the wide corridor leading to the great hall, Deidre heard the echo of happy voices, mothers, fathers and their children. Laughter and joy danced through the air, whispering of a jolly Yuletide season shared with family, with loved ones. Always had Deidre loved the cold season, the warmth of the roaring fire in the hearth, the way everyone huddled together, cheeks flushed and eyes glowing.
With a sigh, she stopped in the arched doorway, standing back so that those in the great hall would not see her. Her gaze shifted over Henrietta and Beth sitting near the fireplace, little Dane asleep on the settee beside his mother, before it moved to Connor and Tristan, balancing Bridget and Ellen on their shoulders as they stretched out their little arms to fasten red ribbons and straw stars to the evergreen garlands and boughs hung around the hall. Little Aileen stood a little forlorn beside them, her deep green eyes wide as she watched the proceedings, a hint of longing on her face.
“Mummy, look how pretty!” Ellen called from up on her father’s shoulders as she leaned sideways to point at a red ribbon she’d just tied to a branch.
As her balance shifted, Tristan stumbled to the side to keep them from tumbling over. “Would you sit still?” he growled, his hands grasping his daughter’s legs. “Or we shall trade places!”
Connor’s booming laugh echoed through the great hall. “I wouldna recommend that. Yer little one will snap like kindling.”
Sighing, Tristan grinned as his daughter giggled, her eyes shifting to Bridget, who joined in without further prompting.
Leaning against the stone wall, utter longing grew in Deidre’s heart as she watched the peaceful scene. If only she could join in! If only she could sit with Henrietta and Beth while Alastair was balancing Rory on his shoulders! If only!
They had been so close to finally having the life they’d always dreamed of. So close.
And then it had slipped away in the night, leaving behind nothing but pain and regret.
These days, Deidre no longer knew what to do. Aye, she wanted her husband back, but Alastair seemed determined to keep her at arm’s length. Except for the day he’d found her by the ruins, he never sought her out. They spent their days separately, only ever crossing each other’s path by accident. He rarely spoke to her or even looked at her, his blue eyes cast downward as though he no longer found the strength to care.
At night, he came to their chamber only after he was certain she’d fallen asleep, then rose again in the morning before she woke. Only the lingering warmth on his side of the bed whispered of his presence. Deidre often wondered when the day would come that he simply wouldn’t return but find another bed to sleep in.
It would be the end of their love, their marriage, and yet, Deidre knew not how to prevent it. Every day, she felt him drifting farther away until one day she knew she would no be longer able to reach him.
Nay, she could not wait. She needed to find a way to him now before it was too late. But how? He still loved her. That, Deidre was sure of. Still, she also knew that he could be as thick-headed as a bull once he’d made up his mind, and for some reason, he no longer believed that they belonged together. Never would she have thought that Alastair could lose faith in them!
“Now, don’t ye fret,” Connor chided Bridget as he set her down and picked up little Aileen. “’Tis very unbecoming. Aileen deserves a turn. Now, be a good sister and pass up some of the wee ribbons.”
Pouting, Bridget still did as she was told, and before long, all three girls were laughing and giggling once more, pulling on their fathers’ hair and almost bringing them to their knees. Oh, if only Rory could be here!
For a long while, Deidre simply stood in the doorway, unable to move into the hall as though somehow she did not belong, as though she had no right to join in. Still, watching them all so happy warmed her heart, and she wasn’t certain if she felt happy or sad. Perhaps a bit of both. Perhaps she could no longer find true happiness. Perhaps now that they’d lost Rory, happiness would always come with a bit of sadness.
Perhaps it was right to be so.
Footsteps echoed closer from behind her, and Deidre heard children’s voices travelling down the corridor toward her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw seven-year-old Tillie and her cousin Jonathan race around the corner. The two-year-old boy tripped over his own feet as he tried to keep up with her and fell forward, his nose connecting painfully with the hard stone floor.
A jolt went through Deidre at his wail, and without thought she rushed toward him, pulling him into her arms and mumbling words of comfort.
“What happened?”
Looking up, Deidre found Beth’s half-sister Adelaide standing there, eyes wide, before she knelt down beside them. Reluctantly, Deidre handed the boy to his mother. “He slipped and fell, but I dunna think ‘tis so bad.”
Tillie peeked at his little face. “He’s not even bleeding,” she observed wisely.
Adelaide chuckled, gently rocking her little son. “Ah, if only it were that simple,” she told Tillie with a pointed glance. “The wounds one cannot see are often the worst ones.”
Deidre looked at the young woman, wondering what pain lived in her past that had brought her to that realisation.
Her raven-black hair framed gentle features, and her blue eyes held something wistful as she looked at her little niece. The girl bore a striking resemblance to her; Tillie’s eyes, however, still held the usual glow of innocence, free from the darkness the world often forced on one later in life.
“Beth asked us to join them in the great hall,” Adelaide told Deidre with a grateful smile, “but I’m afraid we’ve gotten a little lost.”
Deidre smiled. “Aye, ‘tis a vast castle.” She winked at Tillie. “But the girls love to go exploring all its nooks and crannies. I’m certain Bridget and Ellen would love for you to join them. Right now, they’re in the great hall,” she pointed down the corridor, “putting up decorations.”
Tillie’s eyes grew wide with joy. “I love decorations,” she exclaimed and then dashed off.
Adelaide smiled as Jonathan looked after his cousin, his eyes drying. “Me go too,” he said pointing, his wide blue eyes turning to his mother.
“Why are we all standing in the hallway?” Adelaide’s husband Matthew asked as he and his brother-in-law John came walking around the corner. He pinched his son’s cheek before sweeping him into his arms. Then he slung an arm around his wife and together they walked down the hallway and into the great hall.
Beside her, John sighed, his head moving from side to side. “They’re nauseatingly happy, are they not?”
Deidre smiled, her gaze shifting from the happy family to the man standing next to her. “Don’t we all long for this kind of happiness?”
Running a hand through his dark hair, John shrugged, his features tense as he drew in a deep breath as though uncertain how to answer. Then his blue eyes turned to her, a hint of pain there that she wouldn’t have expected. “We all long for something,” he whispered as he moved forward.
Deidre followed, surprised when he stopped in the arched doorway where she had already spent the past half hour.
His gaze travelled over the families gathered there, their happy faces turned to one another, and she could not shake the feeling that the man beside her knew well the absence of happiness. Of course, they’d only been introduced a few days ago. Howeve
r, Deidre knew the meaning of pain and regret. She knew what it looked like, and she knew how to see it in those around her.
“Is it Tillie’s mother?” she whispered, wondering if it would help him to speak about whatever it was that rested so heavily on his heart.
His eyes closed, and he rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m her father in name only,” he finally said, his gaze drifting to the little black-haired girl, her nimble fingers working a long straw into a little star. “Adelaide has always taken care of her. I’m no good with children.”
Deidre frowned, wondering about this odd way of replying to her question. She would have expected him to say that he did not wish to speak of Tillie’s mother. However, the way he moved the conversation to himself made her wonder even more what had happened in his past; a past he clearly regretted.
The men rose and reached for their winter coats, Henrietta joining them as they all headed for the door. “They’ll head out to cut the Yule log,” Deidre told him. “Would ye like to accompany them?”
John shook his head and remained where he was. “I’d rather not.”
After the door had closed behind the small group, Beth and Adelaide moved over to the small table where the girls continued to tie small ribbons and fashion stars out of straw. Jonathan and Dane, who’d woken up when the men had bustled out the door, laughing and shouting with anticipation, sat on the rug playing with wooden animals.
“Where is Miss Harmon? Sophie?” Deidre asked, wondering what could be on John’s mind as he stood staring at his little daughter. “I haven’t seen her in the past two days. I hope she is well.”
“Adelaide said it was a minor stomach affliction,” John replied, his gaze never drifting to her. “She told her to remain in bed and rest.”
Deidre nodded, wondering what to do. A part of her didn’t feel right leaving John on his own when there was clearly something troubling him.
While Ellen and Bridget soon lost interest and disappeared on another exploration of the castle, little Aileen trailing in their wake, Tillie remained, her head bent over her work.
