Chapter 30
Two days had passed since Dominik woke in his bed, recovering from an injury and utterly thrown about by his wife’s behavior.
Yesterday during the afternoon, Rose’s parents had arrived, making such a fuss, and she had spoken to them privately in his study for several hours.
That night at dinner, none of the three spoke more than a handful of words.
Afterward, the elders had retired to a guest bedchamber, and Rose had gone to her room, locking herself inside without another word.
Dominik was no fool, and his stomach had been churning with worry ever since.
This isnae right. Something is happening, and I daenae enjoy nae being privy to it. I daenae enjoy any of this one bit.
And then a knock at his door threw Dominik out of his thoughts, his attention flying to the sound.
It was still somewhat early in the morning, and Dominik had been allowing himself to move more slowly because of his wound.
He stood, called out to whoever bothered him that it would be but a moment, and then hissed as he crossed the wood floor to the door.
Opening the panel, Dominik was surprised to see Rose standing in the hallway outside his bedroom. His heart thumped in his chest, and he took immediate note of the strict nature of her posture and the poorly hidden solemnity of her countenance.
“Good morning, Rose.”
She ducked her head before facing him once more. “Good morning. I would like to speak with you if you might spare me a moment.”
“Of course.” Dominik stepped into the room, gesturing with his arm in an open arch.
Rose walked past him, the sweet fragrance of her perfume hitting him like a blow during battle.
He closed the door as Rose stopped in the center of the room, not near the windows or table, not near the bed, but utterly confined to the exact middle point of the space.
“How fares your recovery?” Rose’s voice was soft, nowhere near the direct tone he had heard from her before. Dominik circled her, standing before his wife with his arms crossed over his chest.
“I am well, as I have continued to say. But I cannae believe that ye have come here to discuss me injury.”
“No,” Rose admitted, her hands held tightly in front of her as her stare hit the floor. “I suppose you are right.”
There was a pregnant pause, the thickness of which he would have to hack through with a hatchet like a strong oak. This was wrong. Nothing about the situation gave him comfort or relief, and Dominik cursed silently, his mind already spinning with one terrible thought after the other.
“Lass, if ye mean to keep me waiting like this, should I consider—”
“I plan to return to England with my parents. I will reside with them while the Crown deliberates on how to handle the situation with Lord Egerton. Once it is resolved…I will secure a domicile for myself, and I will hold you free of responsibility or charge if you wish to pursue an annulment.”
Dominik couldn’t feel his feet beneath him, his head immediately spinning and boiling hot as his heart rate shot through the ceiling and beyond. Where was he? What had happened? Rose had said…
“What?” Brow furrowing, Dominik’s arms fell to his sides, and he couldn’t stop the shake of his head. “I daenae understand what ye’re saying. Why would ye be leaving?”
Rose’s stoic expression cracked, and she shifted backward on her feet, brow creasing together in a similar manner.
His words were clearly not those she had expected to hear from him, and frankly, Dominik surprised himself.
He knew that gracious acceptance was what was called for.
The Laird was sure that if he were an Englishman, his frustration, even irritation, at Rose’s words would be held back behind a serene facade.
“Dominik, I…I feel it is best. There is much unease and uncertainty surrounding the Crown’s decision regarding the situation with Lord Egerton. Returning to England with my parents will provide the room necessary to breathe and deliberate.”
As if her original words were not enough, Dominik felt the wind knocked from his lungs as if he’d been kicked by a horse. Rose wanted to leave. That was the truth behind her excuses. Rose did not want to be here in the keep—with him.
The need to fall apart into something that could not feel these horrid emotions struck him. He wished to sprint from the room and end this conversation at once.
Dominik was…devastated.
It struck him in a way he could not wholly comprehend. He was upset —heartbroken, even— and that was utterly ridiculous. Why should it matter that Rose wished to leave? Their arrangement was one of pragmatism. They did not…love each other.
But that was just the thing. In this moment, even more so than in the past, Dominik realized that he cared deeply for Rose. They had formed a close bond, and he wished for her to stay, with everything he had.
And still she was choosing to leave.
“I see.” He nodded, clearing his throat as he blinked several times. “Very well. We are not under some royal command or what have you. You may do whatever you wish.”
Dominik swallowed again, letting the feelings of remorse and sorrow become nothing more than a ping in the back of his mind, a tinny sound made by striking something metal. And he would ignore it. He would become numb to the feelings this situation was trying to elicit.
A look of something, however, flashed over Rose’s face.
He could not parse out what, though, for she shifted herself too quickly.
Straightening her spine, Rose nodded back at him.
As she turned away, putting her back to Dominik, the urge to say something fleetingly took hold.
It was gone in less than a moment, the greater desire to protect himself from the familiar sting of chasing after a woman who did not truly love him rising from the depths.
His mother had been distant with his father, yes.
But it was the distance she showed her own son that had indeed made such a lasting impression.
Dominik was a man of Scotland, taking after his father and people, and his mother did not appreciate that, nor see within him a chance to change her mind about their people and home.
Rose stopped at the door, pausing with her hand on the wood of the jam.
“Thank you for your hospitality, my laird.” A pause, and then in a voice tinged with emotion, she said, “A h-uile là sona dhuibh ‘s gun là idir dona dhuibh.”
The door shut behind Rose, leaving Dominik in the silence of his room alone. Her words echoed in his head, the Gaelic saying he’d heard a thousand times if he had heard it once.
May all yer days be happy ones. She learned it…for me.
Dominik stumbled backward, slumping down onto the surface of his bed with a hollow exhale. He’d been scooped out, emptied of everything vital inside him as if he were simply a bit of meat to be cooked over the fire and served at dinner.
It took him several long moments before he could stand up from the bed, and when he did, Dominik merely went to his door and called out to the servant nearest at the time.
“Whisky.” The younger man’s brows rose as the Laird spoke to him so sharply. “I need at least a bottle. Two would be better.”
“A-Aye, me laird. Of course.”
The servant hurried away, and he shut himself back up in his chambers until his drink was delivered.
Dominik had a singular plan for the evening, despite there being a supper later and a request to meet with the council.
He would not attend either event. He would sit in this blasted room and drink until the pain stopped, until his thoughts were so far away from the reality of today that he could sleep and forget.
Because he could not stand to be in his head in this room—alone—for another second.
Dominik had barely begun drinking when a knock sounded, and he glared at the door without leaving his bed.
“What?”
“Dominik, what’s gotten into ye?” It was Oskar, and nothing in the world would convince the Laird to get up and unlock the door for him. “A servant has said that ye requested two bottles of whisky.”
“Aye! And it matters nae to ye in the slightest.” Dominik took a large swig of the alcohol, his throat burning as he swallowed. “So be off with ye!”
“Dammit, Dominik. Ye cannae stay in yer room and drink yerself silly. Please open up and talk to me.”
The Laird ignored his man-at-arms, drinking long and hard on the first bottle of whisky until his head spun. He could drink himself silly if he did it fast enough, and because he was the Laird of this darned keep, he would. Because he could do nothing more. This was all that was left of him.