Chapter 27 #2
“When the Earl came to our home and all but… kidnapped me.” He shook his head in regret.
“He threatened to do terrible things to Melody if I did not accompany him. He threatened to demand the dowry he claimed he was owed, which would mean no escape from my debts. He swore to me that no harm would come to you, that he only wanted to retrieve his bride. I obeyed because I was… a coward, and I am sorrier than you can know, my girl. I deserved to get a knife in my back, because that is what I have done to you. I betrayed your trust in me; I neglected you as a father; I was selfish and weak, and if I could take it all back, I would.”
It was far more than Victoria had ever expected to hear from him: more remorse, more sincerity, more validation, more affection.
She had fully anticipated that they would leave this place with fragile civility between them and nothing else, but this was what she had longed to hear for years, ever since he first began to go astray with his behavior.
Her father, at last, had taken responsibility for his actions.
“If almost dying can teach us anything,” her father continued, “it is that… one must right one’s wrongs before it is too late.”
Victoria squeezed his hand in return. “Do you know where Melody is?”
“I do not,” her father replied. “As far as I know, the Earl did not have her. He was bluffing when he took me from my home.”
She must have made it to Emma’s. Thank goodness… oh, thank goodness.
“Thank you, Father.”
“Thank you? What on earth have you got to thank me for?”
“For apologizing at last,” she replied quietly.
“It often felt like Melody and I lost both of our parents on the day that Mama was taken from us. I never thought a day would come when you woke up and realized you still have a life to live, and two daughters to take care of; that it is not too late to put things right.”
Her father’s face crumpled, his hand trembling as she held it. “Do you swear that it is not too late?”
“I swear.”
She would have been lying if she had said that she had not been very angry with her father for a long time. But this was a decent first step in the right direction, on the path toward true and lasting forgiveness.
“When we leave here,” she added, “we can discuss how we ought to remedy our… various situations. If we must sell the manor and everything in it, that is what we will do. If we must live in a cottage somewhere, that is what we will do. If we must use my dowry to help with the debts, so be it; I shall never marry, but I shall learn how to keep a house instead, and see to it that Melody, at least, has good fortune in her future.”
Her father frowned. “But what of–”
The click of the healer’s shoes on the stone floor silenced him, his pained eyes looking toward the quick-moving woman as she approached. She appeared to have a fresh cup of medicinal tea in her hands after all the pounding and grinding of herbs she had been doing on the opposite side of the room.
“This is for ye, sir,” she announced, putting the cup in Victoria’s father’s unsteady grip. “Drink it all, or it willnae do ye any good. I ken it doesnae taste so nice, but medicine never does if it’s goin’ to actually help.”
Victoria thanked the woman and stepped in to help her father sip the hot, foul-smelling tea. “When do you think he will be healthy enough to travel? We would like to be able to leave as soon as possible.”
For if I stay, I will never have the courage to leave, and I will never be able to fix this for Melody.
As much as she wanted to, she could not be selfish, or she would be no better than her father.
When it came to her and Arran, they needed to focus on their own respective problems and their own respective families.
That meant separating, even if Victoria’s heart hurt at the prospect.
The healer shrugged. “Now that he’s awake… I’d say a couple of days.”
She walked off again, humming a jaunty tune, and disappeared through a door at the other end of the room. The sound of jars and pots clinking followed soon after, while Victoria’s father slowly drank the rest of his tea.
When he was done, he looked at Victoria, his bloodshot eyes searching his daughter’s face. “What about that Laird?” he said thickly. “He might be a little brutish, but it seemed to me as if he truly cared for you.”
She shook her head and would not look at her father. “If he truly cared for me, he would have waited until you were safe. He knew how I felt, and still he… No, my time in Scotland is over. We will depart as soon as you are able.”
To avoid further discussion, she took her leave of her father and headed out of the healer’s quarters.
At first, she did not know where to go, thinking of the people and the places she wished to see again before she departed, uncertain of how much time she might actually have for a thorough farewell.
Fresh air. I need fresh air.
Obediently, her feet carried her out of the keep and into the shock of the morning light, retracing the path to the gardens where she had last felt Arran’s touch. A place and a feeling and a man that, when she left, would become nothing more than a once-pleasant dream.
So, it came as something of a surprise when she found the man himself seated on a bench in those very gardens, a bottle of whisky in his hand.