Chapter 22
Idalia felt her heart caught up in her throat as she listened to Bran speak. What Bran had said when he apologized and opened up about his fears had almost sounded to Idalia like a confession.
However, it was not. She needed more. She needed him to say the words clearly and admit the way he felt about her.
Regardless of her wishes, Idalia understood just how difficult it must have been for Bran to say the things he had already admitted. The last thing she had expected was for him to show up at her door like this. He was always a straight arrow, and she had come to learn the hard way that it was near impossible to get him to change his mind when he had made a decision.
That was what had surprised her the most about all this. He was not a man of many words, but Idalia had come to learn to listen when he spoke. He very rarely spoke about his feelings.
A few days ago, Andrew had tried to convince her it was possible to sway Bran’s mind. She had been too upset to give the words much thought and discarded the information as useless. She told herself that Bran was set in his ways and that nothing they did would move him to change his mind.
Andrew had the grace to let the matter lie and had never brought it up again. He had not lied when he said he intended on going on walks with Idalia every day, and she appreciated them, as they gave her an opportunity to see a part of Andrew she never knew existed.
What Andrew did not know was that with every minute they spent together, he condemned her to her fate till she was cast in stone, unable to escape the destiny that Bran had bound her to.
She knew about Bran’s incessant inquiries about her whereabouts, and on a couple of occasions, had caught him watching her and Andrew on one of their routine walks back from town. She had always pretended not to see him and had told her maid to decline all his notes requesting a meeting.
Idalia believed her cold nonchalance towards meeting with him had played a part in his recent bout of self-reflection. While she had not set out to intentionally put him in that position, she could not deny how favorable the results were proving.
If only we had more time. If only he had acted faster. Convenient of him to show up at my doorstep on the eve of my wedding to his brother.
Idalia had spent the early hours of the night pacing restlessly in her lavishly decorated chambers. She could feel her heart pounding with both anticipation and despair. The torch in the wall sconce cast dancing shadows on the walls, mimicking the chaos consuming her thoughts.
What had seemed like a probability some days ago had turned into a reality for Idalia in what seemed like a matter of seconds. She was to marry Andrew at first light, the man chosen for her by her lover. A good man, a kind man, a sturdy and dependable man. Sadly, he was not Bran.
When she heard the knock, Bran was the last person she had expected to find standing outside when she opened the door. It took every bit of will in Idalia’s body to stop herself from rushing into his arms. When their gazes locked, in that silent exchange, a thousand words of love and longing were spoken.
And now he was apologizing and explaining to her. Pouring out his heart to her. On the eve of my wedding! She needed him to use his words. He had to tell her exactly how she made him feel. If she was going to be condemned to a life of marriage to a man she did not love, the least that Bran could do for her was to tell her exactly how he felt for her. She needed him to admit his feelings, and know she was not insane. That she was not alone in this.
Bran leaned in closer to her, her fingers still holding his chin lightly. She bristled with anticipation as she saw the words forming behind his lips. She could feel them, hear them even, and they sounded wonderful in her ears.
“It dinnae matter,” Bran said instead abruptly, breaking his gaze with Idalia. “I-I’m sorry that I came here, I should nae have bothered ye.”
Idalia’s countenance changed from sorrow to anger in a flash. Did Bran really come here and say all he said just to repeat the same madness he had been telling her all along? She was done tolerating it from him.
She gnashed her teeth together as her face hardened into a steel mask. She glared hard at Bran with eyes like flint, and he shrank back in the face of her fury.
“So, why are you here? Eh? Did you come only to break your heart once again, the night before my wedding? If that’s what you came for, then I must apologize, for I cannot entertain you and that strange proclivity of yours towards enjoying pain and suffering. Leave, Bran. Now!”
Idalia made to turn around and walk away from him, but he grabbed her arm firmly and pulled her towards him.
Bran tried to embrace, but she pushed back against him, slapping him soundly on the face twice. Then a third time. His chiseled face felt like rock on her palm, and it stung her to hit him. She hit him again and again, and he made no attempt to avoid her attacks.
She felt on the brink of tears and tried to force away the downpour as her attacks lost all conviction. She felt weak, tired, and subdued. Bran pulled her into his arms as the sobs broke out of her, resisting her weak attempts to fight him off.
He held her tightly as she pounded her fist on his chest, her tears draining onto his bare shoulder, seeping down his skin and mixing with his sweat. Idalia cried quietly, choking and croaking as Bran held her firmly in an embrace, his face buried in her hair.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I did nae mean to hurt ye. I’m sorry, Idalia. Forgive me, please. I’m so, so sorry… I dinnae ken what is happening with me,” Bran apologized incessantly for several minutes, saying nothing else but how sorry he was.
Idalia tried and failed to stem her tears, and all she managed to do was cry harder than ever. Bran pressed a soft kiss on her forehead, and from that moment, it felt like there was liquid fire on her skin, coursing down her body like molten magma.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed as he kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry…” He kissed the side of her lips. “I’m so sorry…” His voice sounded like a gentle breeze blowing against a field of grass, soft and inviting on a midsummer’s night. Bran, with his long dark hair and piercing dark eyes, had always ignited a fire within Idalia”s soul. She couldn”t deny the magnetic pull between them, the way his touch set her ablaze, or the tenderness in his voice that melted her defenses.
He reached out, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of her arm, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through her veins. A soft sigh escaped her lips, betraying her desires. He turned her head gently towards him, and then planted a soft kiss—slowly and with all the care in the world—flush on the center of her lips.
Idalia melted into the kiss. She felt as if she had been waiting for that moment her entire life. She felt as if her life depended on that kiss. Nothing felt better, nothing felt more right in the world. She wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her mouth wider as his tongue went exploring in her mouth. She tasted the whisky and cloves on his breath, and took it all in, enjoying the mild intoxication.
Bran pulled out of the kiss suddenly, shuddering as he struggled to regain his breath. “I dinnae think we should be doing this,” he said, the desire in his eyes a stark contrast with the words coming out of his mouth.
“This will be the last time, Idalia.”