by Bree Wolf
“She loves to paint,” John mumbled, a faraway look in his eyes. “I don’t see her that often these days now that she lives with Adelaide and Matthew. But when I come to visit, she always hands me a new painting.” A soft smile tugged on his lips. “I don’t know what to do with them.”
“Ye love her dearly, do ye not?” Deidre whispered, wondering about the conflict she glimpsed in John’s demeanour. He clearly loved the girl, and yet, the way he looked at her spoke of sadness as though he had no right to.
He drew in a long breath. “Yes, I love her. She’s my…she’s my daughter after all.”
Deidre frowned. “Is she?”
What had prompted her to ask this, Deidre couldn’t say; however, the way John’s head whipped around, his eyes wide and staring at her in utter panic, she had not expected, not seen coming. His pulse pounded in his neck, and he turned pale as though ready to faint.
For a long moment, they simply looked at one another, both lost for words, both needing time to accept the revelation of the past minutes. “I willna say a word,” Deidre assured him, reading deepest concern in his eyes. “Ye needna worry. I promise.”
John swallowed hard. Then he nodded. “Thank you.” His hands clenched at his sides. “How did you know?”
Deidre shrugged. “That I canna say.” Again, her gaze drifted to Tillie as Adelaide came to sit beside her, her hands reaching out to help the girl tie a smaller ribbon. They smiled at one another, their blue eyes full of affection. “She’s Adelaide’s, is she not?” Deidre whispered, her voice barely audible.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John’s jaw tense before he turned to look at her, his gaze uncertain as he sought hers. Then his eyes closed and he nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. Still, it seemed as though a heavy burden slid off his shoulders in that moment, and Deidre knew that he’d been carrying this secret with him ever since Tillie had been born.
“D’ye wish to talk about it?” she asked gently.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I mustn’t,” was all he said, and yet, she could see that he desperately needed to.
4
A Woman’s Choice
The march through the snow had felt good, and Alastair welcomed the heaviness that fell over his limbs. The cold stung his face, and yet, his heart beat fast, warming his body and giving him strength. It had been a while since he’d felt this alive.
At least in body if not in heart and soul.
However, the moment they carried the Yule log into the great hall, something cold gripped his heart and squeezed tightly as though wishing to bring him to his knees. He almost lost his step as his gaze was drawn to his wife, seated with the others in front of the warm fire, her soft brown eyes lingering on Beth’s half-brother as he read to his young daughter.
Gritting his teeth, Alastair forced his gaze away, willing himself to concentrate on the conversation between the men, on settling the Yule log in a corner of the room awaiting the Yuletide feast, on the cheering children who ran to their sides as they came through the door, treading snow into the hall.
Still, nothing held his attention for long and as the evening wore on, he found his gaze straying to her again and again. Usually he would have left; however, something dark simmered in his blood, something primal and possessive, and Alastair did not dare abandon her side.
Instead, he watched her, watched her gaze linger on the Englishman, watched the man’s eyes rise and meet hers, a soft smile coming to his lips, matching her own. He saw warmth there and closeness, the first sparks of depth and intimacy as though they’d known each other far longer than a mere few days.
“Ye look ready to murder someone,” Connor observed as he came to stand beside him in a far corner of the hall. “Pray tell, what has our guest done to ye?”
“’Tis nothing!” Alastair hissed, his arms feeling ready to break as he clenched them in front of his chest.
Connor laughed. “Aye, ‘tis nothing.” He shook his head. “If ye want anyone to believe that, then ye need to stop glowering at the poor man.”
Alastair’s teeth ground together painfully as he fought to remain in control, well-aware that his cousin was baiting him.
“Without a wife, I suppose he feels a bit lonely over the holidays,” Connor continued on, leaning his back against the wall beside Alastair, watching him out of the corner of his eye. “I havena had the chance to speak to him much, but he strikes me as a decent man. Henrietta told me that Beth and Adelaide are hoping he’ll find a wife soon. After all, he’s a good catch. He’s inherited his father’s title a few years back and has been working hard to get the estate back up onto its feet. He’ll be more than able to provide for a−”
Alastair spun to glare at his cousin. “Then he ought to look elsewhere and keep his eyes off my wife!”
A slow grin spread over Connor’s face. “Perhaps ye ought to tell him that.” He glanced at Deidre. “And her as well. I’m certain she’d love to hear it.”
Huffing out a breath through gritted teeth, Alastair rested the back of his head against the wall, closing his eyes. His emotions ran rampant, and he knew not how to leash them back in. He knew what he ought to do, and yet, he could not bring himself to move.
To step aside.
To grant her this chance for happiness.
“Ye love her still,” Connor said gently, his large hand settling on Alastair’s shoulder, “and she loves ye. Dunna be a fool and−”
“Oh, does she?” Alastair snapped, knowing that he wasn’t being fair. Still, the way Deidre kept looking at the Englishman turned his stomach and pierced his heart. “To me, it seems she’s already moved on.” His muscles were so tense, they felt ready to snap at any moment. “She’s wise to do so,” he gritted out, the words like ashes in his mouth.
Connor heaved an exasperated sigh. “Ye canna know what happened,” he counselled. “Aye, I agree they seem…close,” a dark growl rose from Alastair’s throat, “for two people who’ve only just met, but ye dunna know why. Perhaps they simply found…common ground.”
Alastair scoffed.
“Aye, we dunna know what happened to the girl’s mother, and Deidre−”
“Lost more than anyone ever should,” Alastair finished for his cousin, his mind reasoning that perhaps the Englishman could comfort Deidre where Alastair had left her alone. She was only right to seek solace elsewhere after he’d denied her his own. She was only doing what he’d told her to do.
He’d told her they weren’t meant for each other.
He’d told her that perhaps the man she’d meet up by the ruins would be better for her.
He’d told her all that and more, not with words but with the way he’d been treating her.
Deidre deserved better. She deserved a man who would stand with her, hold her, comfort her, offer her his strength.
And Alastair could no longer be that man.
Still, the thought that Deidre would give her heart to another, perhaps even the Englishman sitting right here under his roof, nearly brought him to his knees. Perhaps he ought to leave after all. Perhaps then the strain would lessen.
Alastair doubted it very much.
“I canna watch this any longer,” he grumbled, forcing his feet to turn away. Then he marched off, down a dark hallway, his thoughts elsewhere as his legs carried him through the castle. Oddly enough, he soon found himself in front of their chamber, the place they’d shared ever since they’d been married so many years ago.
Memories tugged on his heart, and he pushed open the door.
Stepping inside the large chamber, Alastair allowed his gaze to linger here and there as memories surfaced, memories of times untainted by pain and loss. Unable not to, he closed the door behind him and moved farther into the room, striding across the warm rug in front of the fireplace as his eyes glided from the bed, to the armchairs and back. Here, they’d lived together, only the two of them. They’d laughed and cried, fought and argued and reconciled. They’d read to one another, gazed
into the fire together and listened to the rain as it’d drummed on the windowpanes.
Here, they’d been happy together.
They’d been Deidre and Alastair.
They’d been meant to be.
Always.
But no more. Could he truly let her go? Was he strong enough to set her free?
Hanging his head, Alastair felt the cool glass of the window as his forehead settled against it. It was oddly soothing, and yet, whispered of a cold future without the woman he loved by his side and in his arms.
For how long he simply stood there, forehead resting against the cool glass, Alastair did not know. His thoughts turned to the past, to happier times, and he allowed himself a small reprieve, a moment of pretence in which all was well and forever would be.
And then the door creaked open behind him and the soft scent of roses drifted to his nose.
Alastair closed his eyes, realising his mistake. Aye, he was still angry, with her, with that Englishman, with the world. He wanted to rant and scream and run his fist through the wall, feel the stone crumble under his anger. He wanted to stand tall, to meet her gaze with a defiant one of his own. He wanted to shake her, to lash out at her.
But even more than that he wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her close. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and breathe in the soft scent of her. He wanted to feel her hands brushing over his back, soothing and comforting as they had countless times before. He wanted those deep brown eyes to look into his and know with a single glance the depth of his despair, his longing. He wanted his wife back.
And it took every ounce of strength Alastair could find to maintain the hard edge in his gaze as he turned to look at her.
With her soft brown curls framing her gentle face, Deidre stood in the doorway, a hint of disbelief in her soulful eyes as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.
Truth be told, Alastair had begun to avoid his wife in recent months, unable to bear the burden of being near her and keeping her at arm’s length at the same time. It was easier to simply avoid her altogether. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had returned to their chamber before she’d fallen asleep.
“I’m surprised to see ye,” she whispered as though afraid to chase him away. A small smile touched her lips as she reached back to close the door. “But I’m glad.”
Alastair felt his muscles tense, fighting to keep him where he was, to keep him from reaching for her. “Are ye?” he growled, tapping into his anger instead of his longing for her. It was by far the safer option. “Ye seemed quite content in the hall.”
Her gaze narrowed ever so slightly, a hint of confusion coming to her dark eyes. “’Tis nice to have guests, is it not? Especially during the cold season when one is confined indoors.” She took a step toward him.
Alastair tensed. “Ye seemed to be enjoying the company of a particular gentleman.” The moment the words left his lips, he knew them to be a mistake. Had he not reasoned that it would be best for both of them if he set her free? If he gave her his blessing to move on? To seek happiness?
Her brows drew down, and still she moved closer, her gaze lingering on his face, seeing all he could not say. “Ye speak about John?”
Alastair’s jaw clenched and, for a moment, he feared his teeth would crack under the pressure. Still, to hear her call that man by his given name brought a pain to Alastair’s heart he knew only too well. “Ye seem to have grown close in only a few days.”
Something sparked in her eyes, and the right corner of her mouth twitched. “He’s a nice man, and I admit I enjoy his company.”
Alastair’s hands balled into fists and he hid them behind his back. “I hear he’s looking for a wife.” Physical pain began to surge through his body; still, he fought to stay the course.
The soft smile on his wife’s face deepened. “Any woman would be happy to call him husband.” Again, the corner of her mouth twitched.
Alastair groaned. His insides twisted and turned painfully despite the fact that he knew she was taunting him. He could see it in her eyes, that hint of expectation, of anticipation. She wanted him to lose the battle waging within him. She wanted him to break the shackles he’d forced on himself.
He exhaled a deep breath. She wanted him. He knew that. He could see it in her eyes, and he felt his heart respond, urging him to drop this mask of anger and detachment, and seize her right here and now.
Still, he restrained himself, and a part of him felt as though he would go mad with the tension that held him in an iron vice. “What did Moira write in her letter?” he asked, needing to distract her, to distract himself.
Deidre’s smile faltered. “Moira?” She swallowed before inhaling a long breath, full of disappointment. “I already told ye, did I not? Why would ye ask me again?”
“What exactly did she write?” Alastair pressed, needing to be certain that his sacrifice would lead to happiness for his wife.
With a sigh, Moira turned toward the armoire in the corner and dove into one of the drawers. A moment later, she held an envelope in her hand. “Read for yerself,” she said, holding it out to him.
Unclenching his hand, Alastair stepped forward to receive the item that was to determine their future. His fingers felt the smooth texture of the paper before their tips brushed against Deidre’s warm skin.
Alastair all but jerked the envelope from her hand, his own still tingling with the short contact. He swallowed as his eyes held hers for a moment longer, still amazed after all these years how deeply she affected him.
Then his gaze dropped to the parchment and his insides twisted and turned once more as he read his sister’s words. As he had feared−or hoped?−there was no certainty in her prediction, only the idea of something that might come to pass.
All I can tell you is that on the day marked by the blue flower, you’re to seek out the old ruins and there you will stumble upon a great love.
Alastair closed his eyes, remembering the many times over the past year his wife had gone for a ride. He knew she’d needed time and space to mourn their daughter, to find a way to continue on. And he had understood.
But had her rides been more than the desire for solitude? Had she been looking for something else?
“Ye’ve sought out the ruins often, have ye not?” Alastair asked, his gaze seeking hers once more. “Ye believe what Moira wrote. Ye believe it’ll come to pass, and ye’re waiting for,” his jaw clenched, “the man ye can give yer heart to.”
As he spoke, her eyes widened as understanding slowly found her. Then, however, her gaze narrowed, and he could see a touch of anger curling at the corners of her mouth. “Do ye truly believe that?” she demanded, hands on her hips and fury in her eyes. “Do ye truly mean to say that my love for ye is as fleeting as a summer’s breeze?” Disappointment swirled in her brown eyes as she stared at him. “Is that what ye think?”
Alastair pulled back his shoulders and hardened his heart. “It doesna matter what I think.” He swallowed. “Few things last forever, and perhaps this is a sign that we should never have been. That there is a new chance for ye to find happiness.” He inhaled an agonisingly deep breath. “With someone other than me.”
Shaking her head, Deidre stared at him. “But we’re married,” she stated, her voice once more gaining strength. “I am yer wife, and ye are my husband. There can never be another.”
Alastair fought the warmth her words conjured. “Perhaps not another husband, but another love.”
Her mouth clamped shut, and anger blazed to life in her eyes.
Alastair loved her for it. “Ye need to be reasonable,” he said, forcing each word from his lips. “We’re not meant for each other. We never were. Ye canna deny that. Not now. Not after…” His voice trailed off, unable to speak his daughter’s name out loud.
The look in Deidre’s gaze softened, and she began to move toward him.
Alastair flinched, halting her in her step. “Perhaps there’s truly a higher power,” he push
ed on, needing to say this before his determination crumbled into dust. “Perhaps there’s a different plan for us. Perhaps we ought to have listened to my parents.” He swallowed hard. “Not for my sake, but for yers. Ye canna deny that−”
His voice broke off as she strode toward him, her lips pressed into a thin line and tears misting her eyes. Her cheeks had reddened with the depth of emotions bubbling in her blood, and the moment she drew near, her right hand pulled back and she slapped him hard across the cheek. “Dunna ever say that!” she snapped between sobs. “Ye married me because ye loved me. Have ye forgotten that?”
Blinking back tears, Alastair fought the urge to reach for her, the sting in his cheek only a minor discomfort compared to the way his heart broke in two at the sight of her desperate fury. “I havena forgotten. But perhaps ‘twas not enough.”
“’Twas enough for me!” she told him, adamant in the way she stood before him, her dark brown eyes unwavering, not bearing the slightest hint of doubt or uncertainty. “’Tis enough for me.” She blinked, and a lone tear snaked down her cheek. “But not for ye? Are ye trying to tell me that ye dunna feel for me any longer? That yer heart is mine no more? That ye long for another?”
The absurdity of her words struck him hard in the chest. “All I meant to say is that the path we chose was not the one meant for us. Perhaps we−”
“I dunna care!” His delicate, little wife all but screamed into his face. “I dunna believe in meant-to-be. I dunna believe in fate or destiny. I dunna believe in a higher power. I dunna believe ye were meant for me.” She inhaled a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the agitation burning in her blood. “Perhaps I did once, but no more.”
Even though her words only confirmed what Alastair himself had reasoned, he could not deny the pain it brought to hear her speak them. “Then we’re agreed.”
Deidre scoffed. “We’re far from agreed.” With her eyes on his, she moved closer, her dainty feet closing the remaining distance between them until she stood all but pressed against him, her hands on his chest, her fingers curled into his shirt.
