Chapter 69
After Breena finished applying the salve to fade the scar, she tugged up Phoebe’s hose and dropped down the hem of her skirt. “Lucia is right. It’s clear to everyone you and Slade MacLean are terribly in love,” Breena said.
Phoebe let Breena’s clear confident tone sink in. Her chest expanded, even as gooseflesh rose on her skin.
“My Peter was just saying yesterday, he knows Slade well enough to know he would do anything for you, Phoebe, which is why he went to Birmingham,” Lucia said, sitting back down on Phoebe’s right.
Breena took Phoebe’s hand in hers, her touch gentle but firm.
Her bright tawny eyes closely considered Phoebe.
“I don’t mind admitting that I was worried for you on your wedding night.
You seemed so nervous, even terrified. Or maybe it was my imagination.
I immediately voiced my concern to Egan, but he assured me Slade MacLean was an honorable and courageous man, that he would never cause harm to the woman he loved.
He also said your husband had a nauseatingly over-inflated sense of what was right and wrong.
And he would always protect you, even at great risk to himself.
I am happy to see Egan was correct. Whatever the reason for Slade’s extended absence, it isn’t because he doesn’t want to be with you, or that he doesn’t love you,” Breena said to Phoebe.
Phoebe swallowed back the intense emotion that engulfed her.
She’d always known Slade’s honorable qualities, of course.
Perhaps this was where her jealousy of Sylvia started over a decade ago.
She had yearned to be the woman he loved, to be the object of his passion, intensity, love and protectiveness. Phoebe had wanted Slade for herself.
And Breena didn’t know how accurate her imagination about the wedding night had been. Or perhaps she did know. Breena’s intuition not only surprised her, it left her quite speechless.
“Thank you. I am so grateful my brother is marrying you,” Phoebe said. “How is Egan? How are my parents?”
Breena sat on the bed to the left of Phoebe. “Egan and I are trying to agree on a date for our wedding. He wants a spring wedding, but I want it to be in the summer.”
Genuine emotion stretched Phoebe’s lips up for the first time in weeks.
“My brother is nothing if not pigheaded. But I am at your disposal for anything you need, be it help with invitations, planning, going through wedding patterns, or hitting my brother over the head until he agrees to your terms.”
Breena laughed. “I may need you to do just that. And I’d love for you and Lucia to be my bridesmaids. My dear friend Eva has already given herself the maid of honor distinction.”
Lucia squealed in delight just as Phoebe embraced Breena, and Lucia ended up embracing them both in turn.
“This is so exciting! I love weddings, and I am really good with sewing patterns, and flower arrangements,” Lucia said, her tone high with excitement.
After Lucia and Breena exchanged a few words on the latest wedding patterns, Phoebe looked from Lucia to Breena.
“How goes it at Eileanach?” Phoebe said, her spirits lifting for the first time in weeks.
Lucia, who’d been staying at Eileanach Castle with Peter while they concluded various arms deals for Hortons, was the first to speak. “Your parents are well; they do seem eager for you and Slade to have children. I think they yearn to be grandparents.”
Phoebe recalled her mother’s visit during her recovery, when she’d said the very same thing Lucia was now saying. None of her family or friends knew about Faye Ross and the Movement, except Slade. They all thought her horse had just gone wild, kicking her and fracturing her leg.
Her own accidental meeting with Mistress Willoughby popped into Phoebe’s head.
The stark declaration from the woman’s lips still shook Phoebe to her core.
My Sylvia was the illegitimate daughter of General Bolingbroke.
Afterword, parts of a puzzle seem to fall out of place.
She’d thought Slade hated Bolingbroke for killing his friend, Isaac, Raghnall and Margaret’s only son, and that he was possibly conducting a mission for the Movement which spies weren’t supposed to discuss, even with fellow spies.
But now learning that Bolingbroke was Sylvia’s father, she realized she had been mistaken.
Phoebe realized Lucia was still talking while she’d been woolgathering.
“… Peter and I will be leaving Scotland later this week. He completed discussions on his last arms contract with the Sutherlands yesterday, and my family is eager to have us back in Birmingham. But I will return soon to help with Breena’s wedding. ”
“Oh. I’m going to miss you terribly while you’re gone. Do hurry back,” Phoebe said, her chest squeezing. Phoebe hugged Lucia. Lucia had been such a comforting constant in her life these past few months, and she was just now realizing how much she had relied on her presence.
After Lucia and Breena left, Breena promising to return in a few days to check up on Phoebe, Phoebe slumped down at the writing desk and attempted to read a David Hume volume.
But when she realized she’d been reading the same page over and over, images of Slade popping into her head, instead of the words on the page, she put the book down and decided to complete her correspondence instead.
The sun had slipped behind the western horizon by supper time.
Aila came to inform Phoebe they were serving the eventide meal in the great hall.
Phoebe was in no mood to take part in polite conversation with her in-laws, but she supposed it would be rude if she continued to be a hermit in her bedchamber.
Phoebe dressed for dinner then left her bedchamber.
She had just stepped down from the stairs and turned the corner towards the great hall, when the familiar silhouette of a man came into view.
Phoebe’s heart surged and she ran, launching herself into Slade’s arms, her legs wrapping around his body like a monkey’s.
He caught her and held her close to his chest in an iron grip.
He took her weight like it was nothing. Her heart beat so fast it threatened to escape her body.
She swore it hadn’t beaten so since he left.
Its erratic rhythm closely mirroring the thumps of his own heart against her chest. The familiar scent of cloves and male spice enveloped her senses as she burrowed deeper into him, wanting to consume him as he consumed her.
His arms were warm and steady. He’d brought the sun, and the spring with him. She felt it in her bones.
Seconds, perhaps minutes, ticked by as she tightly held him, rubbing her cheeks against his shoulders and neck, feeling him, inhaling him, over and over, reassuring herself he was here, not wanting to let go in case she was still in her bedchamber, asleep and dreaming.
“You came back, mo ghaol—my love,” she said, her voice a breathless and disbelieving whisper.
His hands held her derriere while his lips kissed her brow, forehead, and temple. The sound of his deep inhales of her hair warmed her.
“Sweetest love, how are you faring, how is your leg?” Slade asked. His deep, silky voice sending waves of delicious energy rippling down her body.
“It’s perfectly well. All healed,” she said, her voice low. Everything was perfect now that he was here.
And her heart broke and mended itself back a million times over the instant he whispered. “I couldn’t exist another miserable day without you.”