Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
With a shuddering breath of relief, Benedict stumbled toward his wife and son, his muscles weak not from strain but stress.
He had never known such pain, such anguish.
Oliver burst into frantic sobs, clinging to his father’s coat. Isla stood still, clutching Oliver. He realized then that she was wearing nothing more than a nightdress, and he shrugged off his great coat and draped it over her shoulders.
Then, he enveloped them both in a powerful, desperate hug, burying his face in Isla’s hair, inhaling her unique scent as if it were oxygen. His rigid control completely shattered as he, too, began to sob.
Isla trembled as she stroked Benedict’s damp hair, coming back to life. She whispered over and over, “It’s over, mo chridhe.”
After a moment, Benedict gently lifted Oliver into his arms. Isla walked beside him, her hand pressed against his back as they strode to the horse. Benedict lofted them into the saddle and cradled the small boy in his arms as they rode Fury back to the townhouse.
Inside, the staff were relieved and weeping as the trio crossed through the threshold, yet respectfully silent as they walked up the staircase to Oliver’s room.
Together, in the pale pre-dawn light filtering through the nursery curtains, they undressed the boy and put on fresh, warm pajamas, tucked him into his sheets, and soothed his racing heart with low voices and steady hands.
“Ille bhig gun togainn, thogainn, Ille bhig gun togainn thu,” Isla sang, a soft Gaelic lullaby.
Benedict sat on the edge of the bed, his large hand resting protectively on Oliver’s feet until the small, exhausted body finally surrendered to sleep.
“What does it mean?” Benedict asked softly, lifting his eyes to meet Isla. “The words you sing so beautifully.”
“Little boy, I’ll lift, lift little boy…I’ll lift you,” she replied, tears prickling the corners of her eyes once more. “I fear I will nae run out of tears. It was so awful… Ille bhig gun togainn, thogainn, Ille bhig gun togainn thu,” she sang once more.
As she finally finished the song and with a nod to each other, they moved silently out of the nursery and closed the door.
In the dimly lit hallway, Benedict stopped short and turned to Isla, their bodies closer than they had been in so long.
The Duke was gone, leaving behind only a broken, desperate man.
“I almost lost you,” he choked out, his voice raw and cracking. “I drove you away… I was afraid and I can admit that now.”
“It doesnae matter, we are safe-”
“I pushed you into danger by not being here to protect you. This… this is where I belong,” he said as he took a step closer to her. “Isla, I swear, when I thought you were gone... It destroyed me. I rode with the hounds of hell to get to you and Oliver.”
“Oh Ben,” she sighed, her emerald eyes meeting his as she took a step closer.
“The thought of losing you, of that emptiness... I never knew I could feel anything that wretched. I thought by running away from my feelings I could protect myself, but by running away I left you vulnerable. I never want to feel this way again.”
“Then don’t,” she whispered.
“I never wish to part from you again, Isla,” he said as he put his hands on his face, the tears he hadn’t allowed to fall since childhood finally blurring his vision.
“I never believed I was worthy of happiness. Not after the cruelty I grew up under. Not after Cecilia, a marriage I never really felt in my heart… not like this,” he choked out as he looked down at his feet. “This is so hard for me, but I have to say it.”
Isla watched the cold facade shatter, the sight of his raw, exposed soul more moving than any grand declaration. She stepped closer but held back from embracing him.
As hard as it is to see him like this, I deserve these words.
“I thought I was too broken, too hardened to ever deserve anything good, especially like you. But you... you proved me wrong at every turn. With your courage, your loyalty, your fire. I love you, Isla. I cannot imagine a life without you now. Please, tell me you can forgive me.”
“Ye hurt me, Benedict,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “I cannot say that you did not do that. Ye took the one hope I allowed myself, the hope that ye could be vulnerable with me, that ye could see me as yer partner… and ye threw it back in my face.”
He listened, his head bowed, not interrupting, just nodding.
“It took so much for me to think that ye could love a scarred woman like me… and when ye took that away…That hurt me more than Lamfort’s pistol ever could.”
“You are right,” he whispered when she was done.
“You have always been right. I was a coward. I used fear as an excuse to hide myself away instead of facing my past. I take full accountability for every cruel word, every cold distance. I will spend the rest of my life trying to earn your forgiveness and your trust. I promise you that.”
“Truly… do ye promise?”
Isla finally closed the last agonizing distance between them. She reached out, placing her hands on his wet, tense shoulders, and pulled herself forward until her body was pressed against his sweat-damp shirt.
“I am sure I can get most creative in coming up with ways to make it up to you, Your Grace,” he said as his fingers trailed the length of her jaw and up to her cheek, stroking it reverently. “I will bow down to you every night if that is what it will take. In fact, I was thinking-”
“You can stop thinkin’, Yer Grace,” she murmured as she stood on her toes and pressed her lips against his neck, the title now a term of endearment. “Stop thinkin’ altogether and just live here with me. We are here now. The rest doesnae matter.”
Isla tipped her head back, her gaze meeting his brilliant blue eyes. He was so breathtakingly handsome. He was a formidable, comforting wall of tall, muscular strength, and he had saved her. She loved the contrast of his eyes against his dark black hair, the rugged texture of his beard.
With a ragged sigh, she sealed their promise with a kiss that held no trace of duty or desperation, only profound, shattering relief and a dawning, absolute love for the magnificent man before her.
The kiss was a reminder of everything their original arrangement had forbidden, and everything their hearts had demanded.
Their connection was consuming, absolute, and real.
“We are leaving, Isla,” Benedict stated, his voice now low and decisive, but stripped of its cold command. “We are leaving London in the morning. We will not spend another moment in this cursed city, not after what it brought to our door.”
Isla nodded instantly. “Aye. Ealdwick. It is safe there. It is home.”
“Home is wherever you are,” Benedict said as he gently took her hand, threading his fingers through hers.
That morning, the house, still reeling from the shock of the attempted kidnapping, transformed into a hive of urgent activity.
Benedict moved through the halls with the silent precision of a man who had faced his worst fear and came out winning. The luggage was to be ready for the morning carriage run, the stables prepared, and absolute silence maintained regarding the night’s events.
The staff moved not out of duty, but out of relieved loyalty. They had watched their beloved Duke and Duchess suffer through weeks of coldness. Seeing them united, even in the crisis of departure, was surely a comfort, and Benedict sensed it.
In turn, he watched Isla work with swift efficiency. She packed the small trunk for Oliver, ensuring his favorite toys and blankets were all tucked safely away for home.
As she packed her own gowns, the velvet cloak she had used to protect Oliver now draped over the chaise, she caught sight of the large, empty master suite.
She paused only long enough to pen a quick, reassuring note to Eilidh, keeping the details vague.
Dear Eilidh,
We are gone for Ealdwick at once; some unfortunate events have befallen us. But rest assured that all is well now, sister. Oliver is well. Daenae fret. I will write to ye from the country and hope to see you for Christmas.
All My Love, Isla
She did not mention Lamfort. The kidnapping. The pistol. There would be time for that later. Isla handed the note to a waiting footman and entered the main foyer, finding Benedict waiting for her by the front door.
“Everythin’ is ready?” she asked softly.
“All essential items have been secured on top of the carriage,” he confirmed, his eyes resting on her. “And everything else will be left behind.”
The fear, the guilt, and the loneliness…
They walked hand-in-hand to the carriage as soft snowflakes began to fall from the sky in the fresh morning light. Oliver, still sleepy but settled, was carried by Benedict in his other arm. The footman opened the door, and he placed the boy gently on the plush velvet seat.
As the carriage began to roll, clattering over the cobblestones one last time, Isla leaned her head against Benedict’s shoulder. He immediately shifted, pulling her close and resting his chin atop her hair.
“Sleep, a ghràidh,” she murmured to the boy. “It is over now. It is all done, me love. Dream of Christmas!”
The journey to Ealdwick Manor was a welcome shift in atmosphere.
The tension of the last weeks dissolved with the falling snow, replaced by a quiet, comforting intimacy for the small family as they made their way home.
Oliver woke fully a few hours in, and instead of sensing the usual strained silence that had plagued their house, he found them all sharing a blanket.
The boy immediately clambered onto Benedict’s lap, settling his small body against his father’s coat.
“Papa, tell me about the river again,” he asked. “Tell me how loud you shouted when you were coming to save us! You were just like a hero from one of my books! Like Hercules!”
Benedict gently shifted his position and looked down at Oliver, his face soft as he stroked a stray lock of curly hair behind his ear.
“I shouted very loudly, son. Like a bear that found his cub.”
“It was all so scary, but you were a hero!”
“I never want to scare you again. That must have been quite a fright for you.”
Oliver nodded seriously. “I just want you and Isla to stay close.”
“We will,” Benedict said, kissing the top of his head and glancing at Isla, his blue eyes speaking volumes. “You can trust me on that, son.”
This is what I almost lost. This is what I will fight for.
“Now, tell me about the man who sold the little paper flowers near the Tower of London,” Benedict asked. “When you were walking with Isla when I was napping that first week? You started telling me over supper, but did not finish.”
Oliver launched into an excited, detailed account of a street vendor, using wide hand gestures.
Isla smiled, leaning into Benedict’s side.
“And Isla let me get her one! She put it behind her ear, and it was so beautiful!” Oliver said happily. “Did you pack it Isla?”
“Of course I did, mo chroide,” she said with a smile.
“I wish I had been there,” Benedict said, ruffling his hair once more.
“You’re listening,” she murmured to Benedict, her voice husky. “Truly listening.”
Benedict tucked her closer with the arm that was not holding Oliver.
“I wasted too much time pretending not to hear, not to see. I did not know how to respond to him, but I have learned I can just figure out as I go. I will not ignore my family. No more.” He looked from his son’s happy, animated face back to Isla’s soft, relieved one.
“Oliver needs two parents who are present.”
She rested her head against his shoulder, snuggling closer still. “Ye have us both, me Ben. We are nae going anywhere.”
Isla continued to watch them, the afternoon light receding into looming darkness. She ran her hand over Benedict’s sleeve, feeling the powerful muscle beneath. She realized he was entirely open to her now.
“I already sent word ahead,” Benedict said quietly, looking out at the ancient, dark trees rushing past them in the lush forest. “The Manor staff are preparing for a full Christmas, one we have never seen before. I want us to spend a quiet winter with minimal business.”
“It is the right thing,” Isla agreed, squeezing his hand. “Oliver loves Ealdwick. And the snow… he will want to build the biggest snowman yet. Although, I am glad the worst of the snow is holdin’ off as we get closer.”
Finally, the grand, familiar silhouette of Ealdwick Manor appeared on the horizon, its multiple chimney stacks already issuing welcoming plumes of smoke in the darkening sky.
Unlike the London townhouse, which felt like a beautiful but stifling cage, Ealdwick was vast, sprawling, and surrounded by endless nature. It was a place where Isla could breathe.
The carriage rolled beneath the ancient stone archway. Torches were already lit along the drive, casting a golden, flickering glow that banished the gloom of the journey. The great double doors opened almost before the carriage halted, Mrs. Callahan waiting with open arms.
“Your Grace,” Flark yelled as he ran to meet Mrs. Callahan, a foreign gesture for the stoic old man. “We are so happy that you have arrived safe and sound! Our carriage ride ahead of yours was quite uneventful.”
The ghosts that had haunted her husband for so long felt muted, distant, and were finally overpowered. He looked at Isla, his blue eyes clear and bright.
“Here we are,” he said. “Yet something about this place does not look quite right.”
“Whatever do ye mean, Ben? Everythin’ is perfectly in order, I saw to it meself-”
“There are not enough people around.”
“Not enough people? Surely we have enough staff to employ Buckingham Palace!”
“I am referring to small folk?”
“Leprechauns? I am Scottish nae Irish…”
“Children, our children. Running about the halls and causing a muck.”
“Have ye been drinkin’ on the ride home? Do ye have a flask hidden somewhere?”
“I want to build a family here, one that is truly ours. I want you to bare my children.”
“Oh, Ben…”
“What do you say wife?”
“What has changed yer mind so? So much has happened,” she said as she wrapped her arms around him and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.
“You have happened, Duchess. You have changed me forever.”
“And ye have done the same for me.”
“I want to look into my child’s eyes and see your fiery emerald gaze.”
“With your dark curly hair?”
“I need our lives fully entwined together.”
“It would be me life’s greatest joy, to have yer children and to grow old together.”
“I have learned that you can do anything. You are beauty and strength, life and love itself. Welcome home, Duchess.”