Chapter 14
"Ye look like hell."
Theodore glanced up from the ledger spread across his desk to find Boyd leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Dawn light filtered through the narrow windows of the solar, painting everything in shades of gray and gold.
"Good mornin' to ye too," Theodore muttered, returning his attention to the columns of numbers that had blurred together hours ago.
Boyd pushed off the frame and strolled into the room, dropping into the chair across from Theodore without invitation. "When's the last time ye slept?"
"I slept."
"Aye, and I'm the King of England." Boyd reached across the desk and turned the ledger around to face him. His eyebrows shot up. "Ye've been addin' the same column three times. And ye got a different answer each time."
Theodore snatched the ledger back. "I was double-checkin'."
"Triple-checkin', by the looks of it." Boyd's expression softened. "What's got ye so twisted up ye cannae even count straight?"
Theodore set down his quill, the tip leaving a small ink blot on the parchment. He stared at it for a long moment before speaking. "Do ye ever wonder if ye're goin' to turn into yer parents?"
The question hung in the air between them. Boyd's jaw worked, but he didn't answer right away.
"That's what this is about?" Boyd finally said. "Yer mother?"
"She's been gone for years. I shouldnae still..." Theodore dragged a hand through his hair. "But sometimes I wonder if she was right. About me."
"Right about what?"
"That I ruin everythin' I touch." The words came out rougher than he intended. "That I'm too much like her."
Boyd's chair scraped against the stone floor as he leaned forward. "Now ye listen to me, and ye listen well. Ye are nothin' like that woman."
"How can ye be so sure?" Theodore's hands clenched on the edge of the desk. "She raised me, Boyd. What if—"
"What if nothin'." Boyd's voice cut through Theodore's spiraling thoughts like a blade. "I've known ye since we were lads. I've watched ye lead this clan with honor for years. Yer mother was cruel because she enjoyed it. Ye? Ye're only ever harsh when ye have to be, and it eats at ye afterward."
Theodore wanted to believe him. God, he wanted to believe him. But late at night, when sleep wouldn't come, his mother's voice still echoed in his head. Ye'll never be good enough. Ye'll ruin her, just like ye ruin everythin' pure and good.
"What brought this on?" Boyd asked, though his knowing look suggested he already had an answer.
"Madison."
"Ah." Boyd settled back in his chair. "And here I thought ye were just terrible at sums."
Despite himself, Theodore's mouth twitched. "I'm serious."
"So am I. Ye've been worthless at everythin' except broodin' since the lass got here." Boyd's grin faded. "But that's nae a bad thing, Theo. It means ye care."
"That's what worries me." Theodore stood and crossed to the window. The gardens below were just beginning to wake with the sunrise. "What if I care too much? What if I—" He stopped, unable to voice the fear that had been gnawing at him for days.
"What if ye hurt her?" Boyd finished quietly.
Theodore's silence was answer enough.
"Let me ask ye somethin'," Boyd said. "When Madison ran from the hall the other night, what did ye do?"
"I ordered the bells changed so they wouldnae hurt her head. Had Greta prepare food in case she was hungry. Made sure the fires were lit and the doors open so she wouldnae feel trapped."
"And when Aaron spoke against her?"
"I threatened to exile him."
"Exactly." Boyd rose and joined Theodore at the window. "Yer mother would have locked Madison in her room. Would have enjoyed seein' her suffer. Would have used her fear against her." He clapped a hand on Theodore's shoulder. "Ye did the opposite. Ye tried to make her feel safe."
Theodore closed his eyes. "But what if it's nae enough? What if I fail her?"
"Then ye'll pick yerself up and try again." Boyd's grip tightened. "That's what makes ye different from yer mother, Theo. She never tried. She never cared. But ye? Ye're already tearin' yerself apart worryin' about whether ye're good enough for the lass."
A bitter laugh escaped Theodore. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"It should." Boyd moved back toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "Because it means ye're nothin' like her. And ye never will be."
After Boyd left, Theodore remained at the window, watching as the first true rays of sunlight broke over the garden walls. His cousin's words had eased something in his chest, but not everything.
He thought of Madison—the way she'd trembled when he'd first carried her into the castle, the terror in her eyes when she'd fled the hall. She'd been broken by men who'd used their strength to hurt her. Men not so different from his mother, who'd wielded her power like a weapon.
Theodore's jaw clenched. He would rather die than become that.
But then he remembered other moments. The way Madison's lips had felt against his, soft and yielding. The startled pleasure in her eyes when he'd told her the bells would be changed. The tentative trust beginning to bloom in her expression when she looked at him.
She was healing. Slowly, yes. But healing nonetheless.
And what would happen when she was fully healed? When the shadows left her eyes and she stood tall and strong again? Would she stay? Or would she realize she deserved better than a man haunted by his mother's cruelty?
Theodore pressed his forehead against the cool glass. The truth was, he didn't know if he'd be good enough for Madison. Didn't know if he could give her everything she deserved.
But he knew he wanted to try.
His mother had never wanted children. She'd told him so often enough, usually with a slap to punctuate the words. Ye were a mistake. A burden. Ye've done nothin' but disappoint me since the day ye were born.
For years, he'd believed her. Had thought maybe she was right—that he was fundamentally broken, fundamentally wrong.
But watching Madison move through the gardens below, her dark hair catching the morning light, Theodore felt something shift inside him. What if his mother hadn't been right? What if she'd simply been cruel?
Madison would never be cruel. He knew that with a certainty that settled deep in his bones. Even broken and afraid, she'd shown kindness to the servants, gentleness with Eliza. She had a softness in her that his mother had never possessed.
What kind of mother would Madison be?
The thought came unbidden, and Theodore's breath caught. He hadn't let himself imagine that far ahead. Hadn't dared to picture Madison round with child, smiling down at a babe in her arms. His child.
But now that the image was there, he couldn't shake it.
She would be gentle, he thought. Patient. She would sing to their children the way her own mother had sung to her—that song she'd hummed in the cave, soft and soothing. She would never make them feel unwanted. Would never raise her hand in anger.
She would be everything his mother wasn't.
And he... what would he be?
Theodore's hands curled into fists against the window frame. He would be better. He had to be. For Madison. For any children they might have.
If she would have him at all.
The insecurity twisted through him again, sharp and cold. She'd agreed to their arrangement, yes. But that was just a deal. A month of pretending in exchange for help finding her family. She hadn't agreed to anything more.
And yet, when he'd kissed her in the library, she'd kissed him back. When he'd touched her in the study, she hadnae pulled away. There was something between them—something fragile and new, but real.
He just had to be careful not to ruin it.
Ye'll ruin her, just like ye ruin all things pure and good.
"Nay," Theodore said aloud, his voice firm. "I won't."
He wouldnae let his mother's poison control him anymore. Wouldnae let her cruelty define who he became. Boyd was right—he was nothing like her. He never had been.
And if Madison would give him the chance, he would prove it.
His mother had tried to teach him that love was weakness, that caring made you vulnerable. But she'd been wrong about that too. Because caring about Madison did not make him weak—it made him stronger than he'd ever been.
Theodore turned from the window, the resolve settling over him like armor. He would prove himself worthy. Not just to Madison, but to himself.
Boyd's voice broke through his thoughts. His cousin's expression had shifted, the earlier warmth replaced by something more somber. He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes shifting away from Theodore.
Theodore's stomach dropped. He knew that look. "Out with it."
The silence stretched between them, tightening like a snare around Theodore's ankle.
"There's nay word, me laird, of Madison's family." Boyd's words fell heavy in the quiet solar. "We've searched the nearby villages and we've nae a single lead to go off of. I've had men sent as far as the port and still nay sign of her kin."
“Nothin’? Tis nae as if the family could have vanished into thin air,” Theodore said leaning back in his chair. His jaw flexed as he drummed his thumb against the hard wood.
Slowly, Theodore rose from his seat and started pacing the length of the room.
His mind was a whirl. Surely Madison’s family couldn’t have all perished.
His chest tightened. The fact that he’d seen families wiped out by illness just these past years had him second guessing.
He hated the idea that they could have all died, and Madison was spared despite the condition in which she was saved.
But he couldn’t bring himself to think such things, let alone give Madison false testimony about them.
“We’ll have to broaden our parameter. Search further out,” Theodore said as he expected at least some bit of news to reach them. Surely someone had to know something. It was just a matter of where they could find them. “I gave me word I would do everythin’ I could.”