Chapter 22 #2
Violet immediately looked away from the ladies and found three pairs of eyes watching her.
Sienna clapped her hands over her mouth, but her eyes were alight, and her shoulders quaked. God! She had been so obvious. Even Grannie Ava was laughing.
“That’s called possessiveness,” Grannie Ava explained, patting Keira’s hand before casting a glance at Violet.
The ground could have swallowed her up, and she would have been grateful.
Keira frowned. “What is she possessive over?”
The three women shared a look and started laughing.
Violet buried her face in her lap. She was deeply embarrassed, but she also felt some twisted sense of solidarity. They were all aware of her feelings for Ruaridh, and they were treated as a natural—though mirth-inducing—phenomenon and not some taboo emotion that reduced a woman’s value.
“They can only look. Ye get to touch,” Sienna told her quietly, after their laughter faded into smiles. “Daenae worry, dear Violet. The Laird is yers and only yers.”
Indeed.
Violet felt her throat go dry, worried someone else knew about their trysts, then she remembered they were engaged, and Sienna was hinting at marital activities.
She offered a small smile despite the frantic beat of her heart, her face warming. She had to remind herself that she was no longer in an English drawing room and that formerly taboo topics weren’t forbidden here.
Sienna wouldn’t ruin her social life if she found out Violet had spent many a night—and some afternoons—in compromising positions with a man who was not her husband. She had just recently bragged about how she enjoyed gawking at half-nude men. Of course, she wouldn’t care.
But Scottish ways were not so ingrained in Violet that she would confide in her about explicit details of the afternoon—even if Sienna herself was forthcoming about her love life—but she might let a tale of a kiss or two slip.
As Ruaridh walked away, Violet silently implored him to look at, to glance only once. Then, as if her prayers were answered, he stopped and turned around.
She could not put a name to the emotion she felt when they locked eyes, but she could describe how she felt. It started in her ribs, a painful pounding, then a silent humming, then a dip in her stomach as if she’d missed a step in the dark. Heat climbed her neck and snaked in circles on her cheeks.
He did not only look at her. He smiled, a heartwarming smile directed at her and only her, not caring who saw. It made up for his absence.
She suddenly did not feel so much worry. She smiled back and waved.
Her desire was not curbed; it only grew. It felt as if he was asking for her, calling her to their secret spot, and she wanted to move. She was drawn in, mystified by him.
“Violet, he’s looking at ye!” Sienna cried, tapping her shoulder.
“Indeed,” Violet answered.
His eyes darkened, and he gave her a nod that sent heat all the way to her toes. She felt her nipples harden painfully against her bodice, and the friction caused the ache between her thighs to grow.
She bit her lip to remind herself she was in no place to be thinking such thoughts.
Why did he have to be so bloody handsome?
When he turned away, she knew she had been wrong. They would have their reunion, and it would be passionate, but it won’t be so soon. She resolved to watch him for now.
He moved to stand by the men waiting for their turn. Only then did she spot her father across the field, standing alone. He was facing her direction, but did not seem to realize she could see him. He would have approached if he did. He suddenly turned away and moved in the direction of the castle.
She seemed to be the only one who had noticed.
She excused herself, leaving behind mocking laughter when Keira innocently announced that she would miss her father’s turn.
She followed her father away from the noise and chaos into a small alcove, where she found him seated, his head buried in his arms. His whole body quaked as if he were fighting spasms of pain, and dread filled her.
Violet was not on good terms with him, but he was still her father, and he was old.
How could she have been so remiss with him?
She should never have let Keira tease him.
His heart was too weak for scares, and she knew that more than anyone.
If anything happened to him, she would never forgive herself.
She rushed to him. “Father, are you all right?”
She tried to take him into her arms, but he brushed her off and turned away.
The bench he sat on was old and precarious. She was worried it would give at any moment. The leg where he rested his weight was merely two broken slate slabs being held together by memory. But how was she to help him when he refused to let her touch him?
“Father, I know I have not been a good daughter, but please let me help you.”
She knelt in front of him and slowly reached out her hand. When he let her touch his coat, she grew more confident. She grabbed his hands and tried to pry them away from his face. That was when she heard it.
“Father, are you crying?”
Relief washed over her.
He was not hurt. He was safe. So why was he crying?
She still worried about the bench, but getting him to look at her was the most she could accomplish.
“I am so sorry,” he said in a hoarse voice.
She squeezed his hands. “What do you have to be sorry for?” She tried her most comforting voice.
Slowly, he raised his head, and his sniffling ceased. His face was wet and ruddy. Other than that, there were no signs of injury.
“You looked so happy.”
“Do you not like that?” Her grip loosened.
She knew he did not want that life for her, a life where she was happy in Clan McLeod. He believed she deserved to be in London with people he did not consider beneath her, and she was scared he was going to try to force his will on her. His word had always been law.
“I have never seen you so happy. No, I have always known you were happy. I just did not want to accept it, and I tried to take it away from you.” She balked. “How can you ever forgive me?”
His words pierced her heart, but did not fill her with warmth as she had expected. She had waited all her life for him to say those words to her, for him to grant her her independence, allow her her identity. Watching him in the state it took him to give all that broke her.
How magnanimous could her body be?
She felt a sting in her eyes. Her words took time to form. When they did, they rose slow and heavy like a critter navigating a foreign hole. She had never been faced with an opportunity to communicate with her father in a manner that showed he understood her.
“You don’t need to apologize.”
She felt a strong sense of disbelief, like she had followed a phantom and it had knocked her unconscious. Now, she was under the haze of an impossible dream.
Despite her suspicion, she pushed forward. She would rather speak to this ghost than none at all.
“You thought you were doing your best. You had my best interests at heart.”
“No, you know I didn’t.”
When he looked away, she forced him to look back at her. She wanted to be sure he was speaking to her.
“I—” He broke off, and she thought it was over, that he was finally returning to his senses, but then he continued. “I only thought of myself and others. I was being selfish and cowardly.”
“I forgive you, Father.” Her lashes became heavy, and she blinked away her sadness. It rolled down her cheek in one solitary tear.
“I am sorry it took me all these years to see what you really want—to see the real you.”
“Stop apologizing, you’re hurting me.”
He clasped her hands in his own. They were suddenly warm and huge, as if she were back to being a little girl being guided by his unyielding hands. “I promise to be a better father to you from this moment onwards. I promise this to you, Violet.”
Violet wrapped her arms around him, and they wept into each other’s shoulders. She felt the subtle tears that his weakness over the years had left in her heart begin to heal and knew that with time, their relationship would grow stronger.
She yearned to see Ruaridh again, if only to tell him about this new development, but in this moment, she was content with being a little girl in her father’s arms.