Chapter Fifty-seven
The memories were vivid. The fear, tangible. How could he have been so wrong?
Augusta had never been warm or motherly, but he had trusted her — defended her.
All the while, she’d been drip-feeding him poisonous lies, and he’d swallowed them deep into his soul.
Now he stood in silence, watching, listening as more venom dripped from her forked tongue.
The denial. The accusations. The self-pitying reasoning.
And finally, when all hope of deception failed — her eruption of self-righteous justification.
No remorse. No guilt. Not even a flicker of regret that her actions had caused the death of his parents. Only bitter resentment, even now, for the love his parents had shared, and the joy he had once brought into their lives.
“Why?” Angus finally murmured.
“Why? Why!” she echoed, her eyes glazed and distant as she rocked in her chair, the decanter lying empty beside her. “As to love is to suffer, as Charles made me do. So, for the sins of your father, I wanted to make certain you would never love too.”
Nodding slowly, Angus finally turned and walked from the room without a word, and simply kept walking. Along the gloomy corridor. Through the heavy oak doors. Across the park. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he had to move. To escape. To outpace the rage and the sadness.
The air sharpened as he reached the woodland.
The sound of water — bubbling, whispering, beckoning — drew him onward as he followed the burn up the mountain.
He started to run, faster, harder, scrambling over rocks, vaulting over fallen, decaying tree trunks until his lungs burned and his muscles screamed.
He wanted the pain. Needed it. Anything to replace the overwhelming numbness that had descended.
The springy, moss carpet finally began to recede underfoot, the trees starting to thin.
Light filtered through the canopy, the gurgle of rushing water growing to a roar.
Then, suddenly, the forest opened. Before him, a sheer rock face veiled in moss and fern.
From its heart, a silvery ribbon of sparkling water tumbled, cascading into a crystal-clear pool beneath.
The misty spray caught the shards of sunlight and scattered them into a faint rainbow.
Panting, Angus stood staring, mesmerised — then stepped forward as if in a dream.
Rounding the pool, he shed his clothes, one by one, until he stood naked on the rocky ledge.
Pressing his palms flat against the cold cliff face, he leaned forward into the torrent, the icy water crashing over his body, pummelling the tight muscles in his shoulders, stinging his skin.
A roar tore from his throat — raw, primal — then lifting his arms, he howled again, allowing the thunder of the waterfall to envelop his despair and drag it down into its watery depths as he dove in after it.
The shock of the cold stole his breath, and he exploded to the surface, gasping for air as he flicked his hair from his face.
Swimming to the bank, he quickly pushed himself up and sprang to his feet, his skin white and glistening in the early evening light.
He shook the water from his hair and grabbed his shirt, patting away most of the water from his body.
With his arms outstretched, he tilted his face towards the fading sun.
“I want to hate her,” he whispered into the empty landscape.
“I want to hate her for making you into a monster, for denying me of your memory. But all I feel is pity and sadness. I don’t even know who I am any more.
The man I was this morning is gone, yet I don’t know how to be anything other than that man.
” Burying his face in his hands, he shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said shakily as he scrubbed a tear roughly from his cheek.
“So sorry, Father,” he breathed. “Forgive my betrayal.”
Shivering, he pulled on his shirt and bent to collect his trousers from the ground.
Giving them a quick shake to rid them of some leaf debris, he heard a dull thud.
Turning to look for what he had dropped, he dragged his trousers up over his muscular thighs, then suddenly stilled as he caught a slight movement beyond.
All he needed to finish the day off was a wild boar charging him with his trousers half down.
Very slowly, he finished his task as he squinted across the pool.
Tense, alert, it took a moment before he saw it, tall and magnificent, staring back at him through big, round eyes.
His stance majestic, fearless. They stared at each other for several minutes before the enormous stag tossed his head once, then turned.
A doe and fawn slipped from the brush and followed him into the dusk.
Still rooted to the spot, staring long after they were gone, Angus shivered again, though this time not from the cold.
“Bloody idiot,” he mumbled to himself, trying to swallow down the unwanted lump that had formed in his throat.
Shoving his cravat in his coat pocket, he perched on a rock and hurriedly pulled on his boots, yet couldn’t help glancing back one more time.
Knowing they were gone, yet unaccountably disappointed by their absence, he stood about to move off, then hesitated and took a cautious step forward.
Little prisms of light peppered and danced across the toes of his boots, enticing him to take another step.
Blinking as he looked down, his heart tightened, unable to will himself to pick it up.
He hadn’t even looked at it when he’d thrust it in his pocket earlier, but now he couldn’t take his eyes off it.
A memory, warm and distant, rose like sunlight through fog — his mother laughing as she tucked him into bed, covering his face with kisses as he reached out to touch her necklace.
Her smile was so radiant, her eyes so blue.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” she’d said. “One day, my sweet, darling boy, it will be yours to give to your sweetheart as a declaration of your love and respect, but first you need to do a bit more growing, so snuggle down and close those peepers.”
“But how will I know who to give it to?”
“You’ll know,” laughed his father from the end of the bed. “Her mere presence will make your heart sing, but above all, her love and kindness will warm your soul and complete you, as your mother has mine. And, if you’re lucky, she’ll give you the greatest gift of all.”
He hadn’t understood what they had meant; he’d been too young, and the memory had quickly faded, buried beneath fear and lies.
Reaching down, he carefully picked up the sapphire pendant and let it rest in the palm of his hand. For a long moment, he simply stared at it, then finally wrapped his finger tightly around it, imagining he could still feel the warmth it once carried from his mother’s skin.
Taking a steady breath, he tucked it deep into his pocket and, with a final glance back to where the stag had stood, he turned back towards the valley.
* * *
Eddie was pacing outside the main entrance, the lantern swinging in his hand, throwing restless shadows across the gravel. At the crunch of footsteps, he spun around, lifting the light higher.
“Milord, is that you?”
“Tis I.”
“Oh, thank God! I was just about to send out a search party. It’s as black as Hades out there, and the terrain is…”
“A hot bath would be more useful.”
“Right, yes, right. I’ll see to it, right away.”
“Where is my aunt?” asked Angus as he strode through the big heavy doors Eddie held open.
“Retired to her rooms, milord, and um…”
“And?” He stopped and looked back over his shoulder, waiting.
“She was a little, um… agitated, so the doctor was called and he gave her a tonic to calm her.”
“Good.”
“And um… “
“Yes?” prompted Angus sharply, already halfway up the stairs.
“Lord Southerby is waiting for you in the study. He’s been here over an hour.”
“Then he can wait a little longer until I’m ready.”
“Right you are, mi lordship.”
At the turn of the landing, Angus paused. “And Eddie.”
“Milord?”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you?” spluttered Eddie on a half laugh.
“Yes, thank you. I appreciate what you did. Now stop jabbering like a chit and bring me a scotch. Please.”
“Yes, sir,” barked Eddie with a familiar hint of teasing in his tone — and for the first time that day, Angus smiled to himself.
The cold seemed to have seeped right through to his bones.
The hot water prickled his skin as he tentatively sank lower into the bath.
Eddie had brought him two warm, crusty rolls thick with rare roast beef and a lick of horseradish.
He hadn’t felt hungry until he took the first bite, then ravenously devoured both, washing them down with an exceptionally good tankard of ale.
Finally warm, he lay back a while, wishing he could wash away his troubles as easily as the cold, but as the water cooled, he knew he couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer.
* * *
Stalking into the study, he found Southerby sitting by the fire. As he looked up, the flicker of the flame painted his familiar smile into something softer. “Are we at peace with each other again, my friend?”
Sighing, Angus poured himself a drink. “You could have avoided being at odds, had you just told me.”
“And if I had, would you have believed me? Would you have acted?”
Standing with his back to his friend, he stared into the embers and shrugged. “Probably not. Though I wish you hadn’t involved Sylvie.”
“I doubt even I could have dissuaded her… especially once she realised the return of the sapphire raised more questions than answers.”
Turning slowly, Angus frowned. “Sylvie had the sapphire?”
“Mm, I believe a Mrs Sheers returned it to her.”
Angus’s brows lifted. “Great,” he muttered as he moved towards a chair. “Hardly a comforting thought to know Louis was involved.”
“Mm,” Southerby murmured, “and yet, thanks to him, the truth has finally surfaced. A relief, is it not?”
Hanging his head, Angus let out a low breath. “Honestly? It’s bittersweet, Valentine. The truth has not set me free but simply burdened me with a new set of worries and regrets.”
“Understandable,” murmured Southerby gently. “You are grieving, my friend.”
“Grieving?”
“For many things. Your lost childhood. All the years spent under a dark shadow of what the future may bring, but mostly, grieving the loss of your father. The man you thought you hated, the ghost that has haunted you. Because today, my friend, you had to say goodbye to your real father, a good and gentle man.”
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the clock’s patient tick and the crackle of firewood.
It was Angus who finally stirred, his voice low. “Is Sylvie at the inn? The Douglas Fir?”
“Yes, with Humber and her maid. Shall I bring her back here?”
“No. See that she’s safely returned to Wales?”
“If that is your wish,” said Southerby with a shadow of concern on his face.
“It is.”
“Do you wish me to pass on a message?”
Angus shook his head, eyes lowered. “No,” he said sadly.
“I’m afraid I cannot give you the words she will be hoping to hear.
Better they come from me later.” Rising, he turned to the door.
“Forgive me, Valentine, it’s been a long day and I have much to think upon, so I shall bid you goodnight, and… thank you.”