Chapter Ten #2
“When our parents died, I was the one who took care of Evie and Chloe until they were able to make it on their own,” she said. “It was a hard period of my life. I was going through a bad relationship breakup at the time, so I probably wasn’t the most fun to be around.”
After the failure of her marriage, she decided she’d never marry again.
She was done with that. As soon as she was able, she’d returned to Puerto Rico to finalize her divorce.
He’d already found a new girl and was living in their apartment with her.
That was the moment that had changed everything for her.
The moment she’d decided she would throw herself into her business.
The moment she’d decided casual relationships were better than commitments.
“I’m sorry for ye,” he said.
“Oh, don’t be. I brought a lot of trouble on myself.” She tried to say it with good humor.
“Mayhap ye should talk to them both to reconcile.”
Truthfully, she had thought about it more than once since they’d departed on poor terms. She couldn’t seem to bring herself to do it.
When Evie called to invite her to the gala, she’d ignored the olive branch and tossed it aside.
She should have taken it. She should have accepted her invitation.
Maybe then, none of this would have happened.
Or, maybe, things would have happened differently.
“Teothaidh an fhuil ris an fhuil.”
The sound of his native Gaelic language was lyrical as it lilted on his tongue. She tilted her head to one side. “What does that mean?”
“Blood warms to blood. Family will always support each other, no matter the reason.”
A modern phrase leapt to her mind. Blood is thicker than water. Perhaps Jamie was right. Perhaps she would find a way to clear the air with Chloe. She would consider it.
“Are you saying I should find a way to reconcile with her?” she asked.
“I’m saying that sometimes family is more important than anything else.”
He sounded like an authority on the subject.
“I’ll consider smoothing things over with her. But that’s enough about me, I think. What about you?”
She looked over at him to see thoughtful contemplation crossing his face. “I had a bad relationship breakup, too.”
“Oh?” That intrigued her.
“My da wanted me to marry MacDonald’s daughter. We were handfasted but it dinnae work out.”
“No?” She titled her head to the side, her curiosity piqued.
He cut her a glance. “Are ye familiar with handfasting?”
She shook her head.
“When a man and woman wish to wed—or pledge themselves to each other for a time—their hands are bound together with a length of cord. It shows their lives are now entwined. They speak their vows witnessed by their kin, and for a year and a day they live together as man and wife. At year’s end, they can part, if they wish. ”
His words whispered around her, warmth curling through her chest. Handfasting—an unbreakable bond, a promise sealed with a knotted cord.
The thought slipped in before she could stop it.
Jamie’s hands covering hers, the rough brush of his calloused fingers, the steady weight of his gaze as they spoke the vows.
Ridiculous. She barely knew him. And yet, the idea lingered, unsettling and impossible to shake.
“It sounds like an old-fashioned wedding. That’s kind of beautiful, actually. What happens if they don’t wish to part from each other?”
“Then they are bound together for all eternity, making a true lasting marriage.”
It sounded like a fairy tale—dreamy, romantic, the kind of vow that actually meant something.
Not like the farce she’d lived through, standing under the flickering neon glow of a Vegas chapel, a rhinestone-studded Elvis declaring her married.
Her stomach twisted. She refused to let that man’s name stain her thoughts, not even for a second.
That part of her life was dead and buried.
But the thing that scared and surprised her the most was…she wanted the fairy tale with Jamie. For once in her life, she wanted that dreamy romantic vow.
“Is that how my sisters were married? They were handfasted?” she asked.
“Aye.”
Why did a pang of jealousy stab her? She quickly shoved that aside.
“You said it didn’t work out. I assume you two parted ways?” she asked, still interested in hearing the rest of his story.
“She was a cold, frigid bitch so I returned her to her da and broke the handfasting.”
It sounded like he had gone through his own version of divorce. It seemed they had something in common.
“Her da dinnae take too kindly to that. ’Tis one reason our clans’ feud. That and he wants the wee keystone.”
“So, breaking up with this woman started a war between your families?”
“More or less,” he said, sheepishly.
She laughed, suddenly feeling a little better about her situation. At least her divorce hadn’t started any wars.
*
Jamie wasn’t sure why he’d felt free to tell her about Margaret MacDonald. But seeing her eyes light up and hearing her melodious laugh made it all worthwhile.
He was unwilling to go back to the castle yet. He enjoyed her company far too much. When he finished his perimeter check of the castle, he continued to keep her close to him. She followed without question, seemingly content to ride side by side.
She’d looked so sad standing outside the keep, he was compelled to do something to make her smile.
He’d shown her the borders of their land and talked a lot about growing up with his older brothers.
About losing his mother when he was born and his sister succumbing to a fever.
About his da being killed in battle with Rory MacDonald.
“After I returned Margaret to her clan, my da was so furious he packed me up and sent me on travels with my uncle.”
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“We spent time in France. Calais, Rouen, Paris.”
“Do you speak French then?”
“Oui, mademoiselle. Tu es la plus belle femme du monde.”
She flushed, her cheeks turning a pale pink. “I don’t know what that means but it sounds like a compliment.”
“Aye,” he said, pleased with himself.
He didn’t tell her he got into some romantic trouble in Paris where he, quite literally, was caught with his pants down in a compromising position with a French noble’s daughter.
It was the final straw for Uncle Argyle, who immediately set sail for Scotland.
His uncle then returned to clean up the disaster he’d left in his wake.
Guilt swept through him, remembering his abhorrent and less than chivalrous behavior.
After that, he’d made a silent vow to be a better man, to stop chasing the lassies—no matter how bonnie—and to be more gallant. And then he’d set his eyes upon Brianna. While he still intended to be the valiant man he aspired to be, he could not resist chasing her, charming her, or wanting her.
She focused her wintery gaze on the sky, which was heavy with gray clouds that threatened rain. “Maybe we should head back.”
“Aye, we should.”
It was getting late in the day. He’d enjoyed their time together far too much.
Though he’d known they would have to return at some point, he still wasn’t ready to do that.
Reluctantly, he nodded and turned his horse back toward the castle.
She did the same with such ease, it was as though she’d done it all her life.
“Ye are a much better rider than yer sisters,” he observed.
She flushed again, her cheeks turning a pretty pink. “Thanks. I used to ride a lot when I was younger. Where I come from, we have a horse competition that involves a rider and horse jumping obstacles. I was in training to do that.”
He had never heard of such a thing and was instantly fascinated. “Aye? Jumping over logs?”
“You might say that,” she replied with a smile. “It was a timed competition. So the faster you and your horse completed the course, the better your score.” She gave him a surreptitious glance, a mischievous grin on her face. “Want to race?”
“Ye wish to race me back to the keep?” he said.
She gripped the reins tighter in her hands. “I do.”
Before he agreed, she kicked her horse into a full gallop and took off, leaving him in her dust.