Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ishould have told her sooner. I should have told her the moment I returned from London.
But it was no good thinking that when the damage could not be undone. Malcolm could not reverse time, no matter how many times he fell into a river and cracked his temple on something hard.
“Is everything well?” Hugo asked in a low voice, as Malcolm bid his farewells to the hosts.
Octavia had already gone to the carriage, her anger radiating out into the driveway.
“Aye, all’s well,” Malcolm replied tightly.
Although he had no idea if it would be. He had broken her trust; he had kept a secret from her, and he did not know how to begin trying to fix it. And just when he had come to realize that he had fallen in love with her, too.
“You take care of her, Malcolm,” Hugo said, a warning in his voice.
“I do not want to see my sister hurt. When I thought your absence was what she wanted, I did not question it, but… do not trifle with her. I meant what I said about you being a better man than I thought; I hope you do not make me change my mind again.”
Malcolm frowned, his heart sore. “Believe me, causing your sister pain is the last thing that I want.”
Yet, in trying to lessen her worries and stresses, he had just managed to make them all worse.
“Goodbye, Hugo,” he added with a nod of his head, uncertain if they would ever meet again.
Huntfield would always be Octavia’s residence, just as he had promised. If she asked him to leave, he would have no choice but to grant her wish. It was the least he could do.
“Goodbye,” Hugo replied, as Malcolm made his way to the waiting carriage and braced for the frosty reception he would receive.
A short while later, the carriage pulled away from the grand manor of Ravenvale and began the journey toward Huntfield.
Octavia sat in the corner of the squabs with her head turned out toward the window, her arms crossed, her body twisted away; the clear posture of a woman who did not want to be spoken to.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he said anyway.
She did not respond, did not look at him, did not acknowledge him at all, and as the carriage continued on its journey through the darkened countryside, he had a feeling it would remain that way.
Not so long ago, he had been kissing her, his heart beating for her, but now his heart lay still, and he knew that if he kissed her now, she would push him away.
And like the loss of everything he cared for, it was all his fault.
Morning came, though Malcolm had not slept much. Octavia had been silent throughout the entire journey back to Huntfield the previous night, and had gone directly to her chambers once they returned, without saying a word to him.
He had lain awake, thinking of their kiss, going over the moment where he had made a mistake.
It had not occurred to him at the time that he was giving dates that he could not possibly remember, and he cursed himself for being so foolish.
Yet, he cursed himself just as much for wishing that he had been able to continue the ruse a while longer, until he could tell her the truth deliberately.
With gritty eyes that no amount of rubbing could soothe, he dressed and headed downstairs to breakfast. There, he had no doubt that Octavia would give her orders for him to depart.
If this is to be my last day at Huntfield, I ought to make the most of it.
To his delighted surprise, Simon was already in the breakfast room with his nursemaid.
“Papa!” the boy cheered as Malcolm entered.
At least there is one person here who is happy to see me.
“Good morning, laddie,” he said with a smile. “What are ye having to make yerself big and strong today, eh?”
Simon pointed to his plate. “Eggs.”
“A fine choice.” Malcolm made his way to the chair beside his son. “And after ye’ve finished that, what would ye say to a riding lesson?”
The boy nodded eagerly. “I want to ride.”
“Very good, then that’s what we’ll do,” Malcolm said. “And we should discuss getting ye that pony of yer own. Bessie is a wonderful mare, but ye can’t be riding around on a horse that’s so much bigger than ye. It’s a long way to fall if ye lose yer balance.”
Simon chuckled. “I won’t fall, Papa.”
“But ye might, and I’d rather ye had a safer mount.”
Malcolm did not know if he would have time to arrange the pony before he was asked to leave, but at least he would be able to navigate the purchase at a distance. Then, even if he was not at Huntfield, the memory of him would remain in his son’s mind.
“I would like a… grey pony,” Simon said, as he scooped up a forkful of eggs and chewed contentedly.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Malcolm promised, as he served himself some toast and poured a cup of weak coffee.
Breakfast passed without incident, father and son discussing everything and nothing: the caterpillars turning into butterflies, the texture and flavor of the eggs, whether birds had dreams, what each other’s favorite colors and animals were, and how long it would take to hop around the estate on one leg, among other curious subjects.
Yet, Malcolm was somewhat distracted, his gaze flitting to the breakfast room door every few minutes, his ears pricked for the sound of his wife approaching.
But she did not, her chair remaining empty.
“Do ye ken if my wife has risen yet?” he finally asked Millicent.
The nursemaid nodded. “I believe so, Your Grace. She said she had a headache and that I was to look after the young master all day.” She hesitated. “Would you like me to send for Doctor Stanforth?”
The doctor had gone to London a week prior, to begin his further research into the rare affliction of amnesia. Apparently, he had associates there who had also experienced those uncommon patients, and he was eager to make his work a thorough investigation.
“Send for me whenever you’re ready to return to Scotland,” the doctor had said before he departed. “I have been made aware of one particular physician in Edinburgh who is well-versed in your previous condition.”
At the time, Malcolm had still been in two minds as to whether he would ever return to Scotland on a permanent basis, but now he feared that he would need to send word to Stanforth sooner than anticipated.
“No,” Malcolm told the nursemaid. “If it’s just a headache, there’s nothing to be concerned about.”
Especially when there was likely no headache at all.
“If ye’re done with yer eggs,” he said to his son, forcing some cheer into his voice, “shall we go and make sure that Bessie has had her breakfast? We can take a few carrots with us, so none of the horses feel left out. I ken that Rogue will want one.”
Simon grinned. “We feed the horses now.”
Rising from his chair, Malcolm put out his hand and felt his heart lighten just a little as the boy grabbed hold.
Together, they made their way through the manor and out into the somewhat chilly morning. A thick fog coiled across the lawns and the distant meadows, slithering in and out of the trees of the surrounding forest, the nip in the air making it feel more like early autumn than the middle of summer.
Upon reaching the stables, Rogue flopped his head over the top of his stall door and snorted a welcome.
“Good morning to you too,” Malcolm said with a faint chuckle, his callused palm coming up to stroke the horse’s nose.
As if sensing his master’s dismay, Rogue bumped Malcolm in the chest and snorted again.
“Och, it’s nothing,” Malcolm murmured, resting his brow against the stallion’s for a moment. “I just made a mess of things, that’s all.”
The horse nudged him more gently, as if he understood.
Despite the morning fog and the fact that Octavia would probably kill him, a thought popped into Malcolm’s head: a promise that he had made to his son that he would very much like to keep before he left.
“Would ye like to ride with me for a while, before we set ye on Bessie?” he asked, turning to Simon.
Simon’s eyes widened. “On Rogue?”
“Aye, on Rogue.”
Millicent, standing a short distance away, seemed to pale. But what could she say? She could not protest, though Malcolm had no doubt that she would inform Octavia.
Simon nodded. “Let’s ride Rogue, Papa.”
At the word ‘ride,’ the stallion nickered his approval, and Malcolm walked down the central aisle of the stables to fetch the horse’s tack. Maybe this was another mistake, but his mind was made up.
Ye can be mad at me all ye like, Octavia, but I want my son to remember me. And I mean to keep my promise.
“Faster, Papa!” Simon cried in delight as the stallion raced across the lawns of Huntfield.
Malcolm laughed. “If we go any faster, we might start to fly.”
The wind whipped at their faces, the stallion enjoying the freedom of being able to run as he pleased, the green landscape a blur around them.
“I want to fly,” Simon insisted.
“Well, put out yer arms then,” Malcolm said, and held his son tighter to him.
The little boy did just that, his arms stretched out wide to either side of him, his face tilting up as his eyes closed.
“I’m doing it!” Simon shouted excitedly.
“Aye, laddie, ye are.” Malcolm smiled, a lump forming in his throat as he watched his son at total peace, with such joy on his face that Malcolm almost envied him.
All children deserved to have a childhood like this, free of worry and strife, absent all cruelty, where anything and everything was possible. Even flying.
As they reached the forest, Rogue slowed, and Malcolm turned the stallion around so they could make a slower return to the stables.
In Malcolm’s arms, Simon twisted around, his cheeks pink from the wind, his eyes bright, his smile so wide that it made the grey morning seem much brighter.
“This is the best day, Papa,” the boy said, breathless. “Again!”
Malcolm’s heart ached. “Again?”
The boy nodded.
“Very well.” Malcolm clicked his tongue and squeezed his thighs and, with a happy flick of his ears, Rogue took off once more, long legs stretching into a gallop.
As the horse raced toward the stables, both father and son closed their eyes and, just for a moment, Malcolm too felt like he was flying. A freedom and a happiness like no other, however temporary.