Chapter 3
The word struck her like a physical blow.
Wife.
His eyes grew clearer in the light, and a wave of recognition hit her almost out of nowhere. She felt winded, unable to move or do anything else for the next minute.
She couldn’t forget those green eyes. She couldn’t forget how they had glinted when he had told her he would not be long. Five years ago.
Neil.
“Ye’re alive,” she breathed, feeling something sharp and hot twist under her ribs. “Ye’re alive?”
“Much to yer dismay,” he drawled, stepping forward confidently. “Now, tell me. Who claimed ye?”
Rage immediately burned through the shock as Kristen set the candelabra on a nearby table. “Is this a joke?”
“What is?”
“Ye cannae be serious, can ye?”
His brow furrowed. “Serious about what?”
“Oh Christ. Ye are serious,” she sputtered. “We all thought ye were dead. Ye were gone for five years, and the first thing ye ask after returning is who claimed me?”
“Kristen—”
“How dare ye?” she huffed, pressing a palm to her forehead.
Neil did not soften. Instead, he crossed the floor and caught her arm. “Ye should have waited to be sure of me death before giving yerself to another, wife. Now, where is he?”
Kristen tried to yank her arm free, but he wouldn’t budge. “Where is who?”
“The faither of those children? I must kill him. And most likely shun ye.”
She tore free. “Ye will kill nay one in this castle, ye cruel bastard.”
“Watch me.”
“There is nay one to kill. The children arenae mine.”
“Kristen, I am asking ye to bring yer—wait, what did ye just say?”
“The children arenae mine,” Kristen repeated, her voice thick with rage.
Tense silence fell between them, and for the next minute, no one spoke.
Kristen exhaled, about to ask where he had been for the past five years, when the door creaked a little on its hinges. They both turned to see a small figure standing in the gap, hair mussed and eyes wide.
“Me Lady,” Finn whispered. “Is anything wrong? Who is that man?”
Kristen shot Neil a cold glare before crossing the room. She dropped to her knees and checked the boy as if he were made of glass.
“Nothing’s wrong, love,” she said softly. “Ye should be with Moira and Anna.”
“I heard voices.” Finn looked at Neil and flinched.
Pain flared behind Neil’s ribs like a belt pulled tight. The boy had looked at him as if he were a collapsing wall.
A moment later, Moira appeared, her hair loose and her apron askew.
“Forgive me, me Lady,” she panted. “I looked away for one second.”
“It is fine,” Kristen assured her. “Take him to the kitchen. Oatcakes and honey, if he sits nicely. Tell Anna that I will bring her ribbon.”
Moira reached for Finn’s hand. “Come on, lad.”
Finn held onto Kristen’s sleeve. “Will ye come?”
“In a little while.” Kristen smoothed his hair and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. “Go now.”
Finn nodded and let the maid lead him out. Maggie hovered, gave Neil a low growl, then followed the boy with her head down.
The corridor swallowed their sounds, leaving Kristen and Neil alone in the silence.
Neil saw his own hands, stained and cracked, hanging open at his sides. He saw dust on his boots and dried blood on his cuffs. He smelled the road on himself and the ache of long nights without a bed.
“We still have to talk,” he pressed.
Kristen faced him with her chin tilted up and her eyes narrowed. “Nae like this,” she said. “Ye are filthy, and exhausted, and scaring the children.”
“They walked in,” he pointed out.
“They walked in on a bloodied man who had me wrist in his hand,” she shot back. “Go bathe first.”
He looked down at himself, as if the truth were written there. Dirt in the seams of his coat. Dried sweat. The fresh wound in his shoulder. He felt every mark at once.
He dragged a hand over his jaw and felt the rasp of an unkempt beard. Shame slithered behind his ribs. He had battled through fire and rope and steel, yet this simple thing felt like a reckoning.
“Fine,” he muttered.
Kristen did not step aside. “There is hot water in the east room. Tell Giles that ye need more. Leave yer clothes outside the door. I will have them burned if they cannae be mended.”
“They are mine,” he protested.
“They are filthy,” she argued. “Do ye want Finn to see this again?”
He blinked. “Nay.”
“Then wash,” she urged. “Use lye. There is salve for burns in the blue jar. Daenae be proud.”
He almost smiled. “I am nae proud.”
“Ye certainly behave like it,” she retorted, but with less bite in her voice.
He took a step back, and the room felt larger by a finger’s width. “I will wash,” he said. “Then we will speak.”
“Aye.” She nodded. “When ye are clean, and calm, and daenae look like a nightmare at the bairns’ door.”
He moved to the door and put his hand on the iron handle, holding his breath. “Kristen…”
She waited.
“I apologize for scaring ye,” he murmured.
“Right.” Her arms were crossed tightly, yet her voice was even. “Go now.”
Neil opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. Cool air immediately slid over his skin. The stone walls looked back without a care. He turned toward the east rooms.
Five years in the woods, and he came back to this.
He kept walking anyway, his steps silent.
He didn’t stop until he got to the other end of the corridor, a room usually reserved for visiting lairds. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against the wooden surface for a while.
Then he exhaled and stripped out of his ragged clothes, taking a look around the room. There was nothing but a large, plush bed, a candle in the corner, and a bedside table that contained drawers at the bottom. On the table, however, was a jar of what looked like salve and a roll of bandages.
“Why—” he broke off.
Now isnae the time.
When he stepped into the bath, the water stung the raw cuts along his back, his arm, his ribs. His breath punched out of him and came back slowly.
He worked the lye into his hair and beard, then scrubbed his skin in slow circles until it felt clean. The heat soothed and burned at once.
When the water cooled, he rose. He dried himself with a rough towel until the sting in his cuts grew unbearable, then dressed in what Giles found—a plain white shirt and a patterned kilt. He set his old clothes beside the fireplace and stepped out.
The corridor felt colder after his bath. He clenched his jaw and walked back to Kristen’s chamber. A few maids greeted him along the way, but he only responded with a brief nod.
He put a hand on the handle and pushed the door open.
Kristen shrieked. She grabbed a sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her nightgown. “Have ye lost yer senses? Knock!”
Neil raised a placating hand. “Apologies. It’s been a while since I’ve had a civil conversation with anyone. Five years in the woods will do that to ye.”
“I can see that,” she muttered.
She kept one hand on the sheet and the other at her throat. The fire had burned lower.
“The bairns,” Neil said. “Are ye certain they arenae yers?”
She stared at him as if he had asked whether the sky was green. “I would remember if I ever gave birth to two children, thank ye very much. I should be asking ye this question, should I nae? I thought ye died, for the love of God.”
“Well, here I am—”
“Clearly! I have always taken care of the children as me own because I thought they were yers. Finn has a striking resemblance to ye, so I just thought—”
“I didnae conceive a bairn in me absence, lass.”
Kristen heaved a sigh.
Neil moved closer, his voice softening. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Kristen looked up at him, swallowing as the memory of the night she had found the children flashed through her mind.
Two Years Ago
The courtyard lay grey beneath the window, and rain held to the clouds as if it meant to fall and never end. Torches spat in their brackets along the inner wall.
Kristen sat in her chair and watched the stones darken one patch at a time.
One year.
One more year since Neil walked out and the world went quiet.
One year since the last rumor died in someone’s throat.
One year since any word had reached the gate.
Bootsteps sounded in the corridor. Not one man, but several. Her stomach knotted, and she rose. But then forced herself to sit again, her hands folded tight.
Two footmen came to the door, their caps held by the brim.
“Me Lady,” the older footman said. “We extended the search again.”
Kristen gripped the arm of her chair. “And?”
The footmen exchanged a look, their faces drawn.
“There is still nay sign of him,” the older footman replied. “Nay tracks and nay witnesses and nay word.”
The room tilted a little, but Kristen kept her chin up. “Aye. Thank ye. Ye may go.”
The footmen bowed and left.
Silence swept in and crawled along the stones.
A few minutes later, Davina slipped inside, her eyes soft and tired. She shut the door gently and came closer.
“Kristen,” she began. “Perhaps it is time to admit that he might be—”
“Nay,” Kristen interrupted before clearing her throat. “Nae until I see proof. Until then, he lives.”
Davina swallowed and looked down. “Lachlan barely looks at me anymore,” she whispered. “Sometimes I fear he will send me away.”
Kristen rose at once and took her hands. “He willnae. And if he does, I will drag him by the ear and make him beg. Ye will see.”
Davina tried to laugh, but it came out feeble. Before she could answer, a maid stumbled through the door with her apron twisted in her fists. Her breath came fast, and her face was pale.
“Me Lady,” she wheezed.
Kristen caught her by the shoulders. “Breathe, lass. Slow. Tell me.”
The maid dragged in air, then let it out. “There is something ye must see.”
They left at once. Skirts swished around ankles as they hurried down the corridor. The stone floor echoed their steps, and the air cooled as they reached the entry.
Lachlan stood rigid in the entrance hall, his jaw tight, his broad figure partially hiding the drizzle beyond the open front door.
“I cannae believe this,” he muttered.
“What?” Kristen prompted.
He stepped aside.