Chapter Fifteen #3
Caitrin’s smile was serene and her green eyes shone brighter in the soft glow of the firelight.
‘Ye dinnae need my approval, but for what it’s worth, I approve, verra much so, as would yer father if he were with us today.
God rest his soul.’ She crossed herself.
‘And I’ll have ye ken my soul sings knowing Helene has reignited the light in yer eyes and stoked a fire in yer veins.
She’s demonstrated courage and a stalwart character.
I think perhaps she’s not so much the pampered society Sassenach, but a Highland lass at heart, and worthy of the MacLanoch name. ’
‘Aye, but am I worthy of her?’
‘That ye are! Dinnae ye go doubting yersel’.
Be warned, though, I see sorrow and pain behind her eyes.
I’ve glimpsed the same tormented look as ye’ve carried these past five years.
Just as well she’s here for the summer. Time will allow ye to ken her better, scratch beneath the surface and discover what demons haunt her. ’
His mother showed signs of growing weary. Her eyelids drooped and she stifled a yawn. Sleep beckoned. He stood and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. ‘I’ll summon the maid to ready ye for bed. Thank ye for the chat. Sleep well, Mother.’
He turned to leave.
‘Lachlan.’
He looked down at her in profile. ‘Aye?’
‘’Twas yer grandmother, my mother, who once said to me, “Better ye follow where yer heart leads and face acceptance or rejection than to nurse a withered heart and spend a lifetime wondering what might have been between ye.”’
Though her gaze focused on the hearth’s glowing embers, Lachlan knew her mind was in the past, lost to a world of memories. A wry smile formed on her lined mouth.
She returned to the present and stared up at him.
‘’Twas those verra words that led me here, to Drumocher, to yer father.
Had I not done so all those years ago soon after we quarrelled .
. .’ She giggled like a young lass. ‘Weel, there’s more to that courtship, of course, but that will have to wait for another day. ’
Lachlan lightly rested a hand on her shoulder and winked. ‘Father told me.’
His mother’s eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘Yer father was prone to stretching the truth, so ye need hear my side of the story. Go now. I must rest.’
Lachlan dropped a soft kiss on the crown of her head, and instead of returning to the lord’s hall, he repaired directly to the library.
He’d have gladly joined the women in a game of cards and conversation, yet he had no stomach for Cuthbert’s company.
There was a marked and unpleasant change in his cousin since last they met.
He behaved in the most inordinate way. Perhaps because Cuthbert’s father was forcing him to secure a bride within the year.
Lachlan’s gaze strayed to the dark of night beyond the library window.
Marrying Helene would be no hardship. He grew pensive, calibrating his thoughts as if winding back the hands on a clock and recalling specific threads of shared conversations with Helene.
‘I’ve no need of a husband,’ she’d said.
‘I shall never have a daughter, or any children for that matter, but I will have—’
Lachlan sat forward in his armchair, elbows on his knees, chin resting on fisted hands. What? What did she emphatically covet above marriage and a family of her own? And if achieved, would it banish the pain in her eyes and reset her world to spin on a fixed axis?
The lass was a complex enigma, and he wanted to understand her reason for snubbing notable offers of marriage and for stating she would never have any children of her own.
One theory had him surge to his feet. Could it be the lass was barren?
That she refused to let her father and brother deceive her suitors and marry her off knowing she could not fulfil her wifely duty in giving her husband a child, an heir?
Helene was not prone to deceit. From what he’d observed of her, she was all about the principle of the matter.
Lachlan eyed his reflection in the glass pane.
A solemn reminder of his duty as laird to sire an heir in the name of securing Drumocher and future generations of the MacLanoch clan.
If Helene were in fact barren, he knew with absolute clarity where his good intentions lay.
Producing a MacLanoch heir would fall to his sister, Grizel.
One way or the other, it was a conversation he must broach with the lass. Surely, if she’d entrusted to him the intimacy and well-being of her body when weathering the storm, then she’d confide in him and reveal her secrets.
Tomorrow he’d take her aside, away from prying eyes, no ears alert to gossip.
He’d follow his grandmother’s advice and stand before Helene with an open heart, to reveal how his past had shaped his present and confess what he’d come to feel for her.
He knew the emotion for what it must be and was determined to give it voice.
By placing his trust in her, he hoped it would give her the confidence to reciprocate. To be open and honest and consider a future with him. She could take however long she needed to think on it.
The hour was late and the household deep in slumber when Lachlan left the library.
Sconces glowed dimly along the empty castle corridors.
He came within feet of rounding a corner when hushed voices brought him to a halt.
Hidden in the shadows, with his hands and back pressed to the wall, he peered around the corner in the direction of Helene’s bedchamber and saw Cuthbert standing at her door.
Lachlan’s hackles rose and his hands formed fists against the cold stone wall. All manner of mayhem broke loose in his mind, and suspicion took him to the darkest den.
His cousin was still dressed in his evening attire. Helene wore a silk banyan, hair cascading down about her shoulders. What in God’s name was going on? Lachlan could only draw one conclusion. A clandestine tryst. Tingles racked his body, signalling dread.
A folded piece of parchment passed from Cuthbert’s hand to Helene’s.
They spoke barely above a whisper, making it impossible for Lachlan to grasp their conversation.
Pressure was building in his chest for not having taken a breath, and his heart ached from the thought of losing Helene even before he’d won her.
Losing her to Cuthbert cut deeper than if it were any other man.
Lachlan’s body was so tightly wound it would snap. He must leave now. Before he lashed out, before he said or did something he’d later regret.
There’d be time enough tomorrow for confrontation and accusations.