Chapter 10
Liam clenched his jaw as he made the final trek to his destination, attempting to remember the last time he had been this way. Months likely. Between the need to be away from the keep and now his sudden marriage, he had not given it much thought.
But today was a day that he always paused and remembered.
The snow fell around him and he sighed as he knelt before the small wooden crosses on the high hill that caught the sunset every evening.
Nelia had always loved the sunsets, pulling him out more than once to watch them with her.
He had always teased her that their bairn was conceived during a sunset and she had always reminded him that she would not want it any other way.
Brushing the snow off the crosses, Liam traced the carvings that he had put into the wood himself.
He had not let anyone help with their burial, taking it upon himself to place his family in the wooden coffin and shovel the dirt on top, forever sealing his livelihood into the ground.
For months after, he had spent many a night at their graveside, sometimes shedding tears and other times just talking with his wife, telling her how much he missed her.
Now he had a new wife, and Liam couldn’t help but feel that he had betrayed Nelia’s memory somehow.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he whispered, touching her cross.
“I dinnae mean tae do so, but ye know mah uncle. He had it in his mind that I needed someone tae care for me.” As soon as the words left his tongue, Liam knew it wasn’t entirely the truth.
He could have sent Sorcha away, demanded she return home, but when she had bested him in the practice ring, he was intrigued as to what sort of woman he was dealing with.
And now, Liam felt as if he could not get enough of his wife.
She was on his mind when he rose for the day and he wandered the keep often just to get a glimpse of her.
More than once, he had stolen her away from whatever duties she was attempting to accomplish and found some empty room so he could bury himself in her warmth.
Sometimes it wasn’t even a room but a shadowy corner where he had to stifle her cries.
It was almost like he was a randy boy again, just coming into his manhood.
Liam flushed as he realized that while he was at his dead wife’s grave, he had been thinking about rutting with Sorcha. “It seems I will be apologizing again,” he said, gripping the cross. “But ye know how I am.”
Nelia had known a great deal about him, as they had grown up together.
When Liam was a man and had seen her, he knew she was to be his wife.
She had given him a merry chase, but in the end, he had won her over and she had become lady of the keep before the winter set in on her twentieth year.
Nelia had been able to anticipate everything about him, from his moods to his need to hold her close whenever he was troubled.
Her quiet voice could always soothe the anger inside, and her understanding of his duties as laird and warrior had not dimmed her feelings for him.
She had allowed him a boon, but he had always come home to her.
When she had told him that she was increasing, Liam had chosen to stay closer to the keep, elated that soon they would have a wee bairn to start their family with.
Liam walked into the keep, setting his sword aside. The blade was starting to dull, and he needed to sharpen it before he went out again. A dull blade would cause a warrior to be run through before he could react, and Liam was a bit ashamed he had not tended to it before now.
“Husband.”
Liam turned and saw Nelia on the stairs, a gentle smile on her face.
“Wife.”
She glanced at the sword. “Everything alright?”
“Of course,” he chuckled. “Just need tae tend tae mah sword here.”
She arched a brow. “Which one are ye referring tae, Liam?”
He walked over, leaning against the stone wall where she was a few steps higher than he was. “Och, lass! Ye shouldnae be thinking that way.”
Nelia grinned. “Well, yer sword has caused some trouble.”
“Wot kind?” he teased, reaching for her hip. “Or are ye looking for more?”
She swatted at his hand, her eyes shining. “I’m increasing.”
For a moment, the words did not register to Liam. But then he realized what she was referring to and his gaze went straight to her still-flat midsection.
“Truly?” he forced out.
Nelia touched her stomach, a small smile on her face. “Aye. We are tae have a bairn before winter sets in, Husband.”
Liam caught her up in his arms and swung her around, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Och, ye know how tae make a man feel as if he could move mountains!”
She touched his cheek. “I am so happy! A bairn. I hope ’tis a son, our firstborn. He will be the spitting image of his father.”
He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers briefly. “Aye, but if it’s a lass, she will be as pretty as her mother and her father will love her just as much.”
Liam shook out of the memory, his heart clenching in his chest as he thought of the happiness that he had experienced that day. It had been one of his happiest, and thought the day his son or daughter was born would be the next.
Instead, on this day, she and the bairn both had left him alone, unable to cope with his loss.
His breathing shuddered and Liam ran a hand over his hair, finding it wet from the snowflakes that were still falling. A man should never experience such a profound loss, but he had, and he thought his heart would never recover.
Until Sorcha. “I think ye would like her,” he said softly, unable to help his words.
“She’s a stubborn lass and rides like the very devil is on her heels.
I dinnae know what tae do with her sometimes, Nelia, but I cannae quit thinking about her.
” There were some nights he chose to drink whiskey until his body was numb and he fell asleep in whatever chair he fell into.
Only because he thought he could dull his craving for his new wife by doing so. It hadn’t worked. If nothing else, it made him want her more when he did see her.
Sorcha had not confronted him about his odd habits, but he imagined she had a great deal of questions as to why he did not seek her bed every night.
“I dinnae know if ye had a hand in sending her tae me,” Liam said after a moment, “but I cannae forget ye, Nelia. I cannae be happy like that again.” To have the very happiness that warmed his heart stolen from him in the span of a few hours was far more pain than Liam wanted to go through again.
That and he never wanted to feel the fear and helplessness that day had brought.
For a man who had been used to being able to smite down his enemies, death was not one that he could do so with.
Liam stood and placed the small batch of wild winter roses he had found growing alongside the keep on Nelia’s grave.
“I do still love ye,” he whispered. “And I wish ye had a longer life than was allowed. I wish our son had taken his first breath and ye could have heard his lusty cry. I regret a great deal, but I will never regret loving ye.”
The wind picked up suddenly and Liam shivered in his coat, turning away from the grave.
He knew that before long, he would have to tell the story of his first wife to his new one.
He was surprised no one had, and if they did, Sorcha had not asked him any questions about Nelia or their son.
Perhaps he should have told her before their wedding, just so she could understand where his heart would always lie.
But the moment he thought about loving his current wife, Liam’s chest grew tight. He had known of other men in the village taking on another wife after losing theirs and a few had gone on to be happier.
Was he happy? Liam wanted to say that he wasn’t, but then he would be lying to himself. Sorcha had given him moments of happiness in his life, moments that he thought had been long buried when he had put Nelia in the ground.
It made him question if he could eventually care for Sorcha.
Instead of making his way back to the keep, Liam strode to the one place that he felt sure of himself: the practice fields.
While there was snow in the air, he did note that a few of his warriors were sparring within the circle, their breaths visible in the cold morning air.
He spoke to a few of them before entering the weapons store and finding a few more inside.
Including Malcolm.
“Well now,” the Scot said, motioning to Liam. “’Tis looks like the laird can come out when there’s snow on the ground.”
Liam ignored him, choosing a shield and a short dagger to practice his hand-to-hand weapon combat with.
“Wot?” the Scot continued. “Has yer wife cut out yer tongue?”
His jaw clenched tighter and Liam debated on whether or not he truly needed the warrior at all. “Aye,” he finally said. “She’s got much more than that.”
The other warriors chuckled at Liam’s attempts to keep the mood light, some of them even clapping him on the back for his words. Liam didn’t want to fight on this day, nor did he care to explain to anyone on why he was choosing to back down.
“Word has it that ye didnae want her tae begin with,” Malcolm taunted as Liam started to walk out. “And now ye do? Does it have tae do with what the lass has shown ye in the bedchamber?”
Liam turned to the other warrior, his hand clenched around the dagger.
As much as he would like to run him through right now, the warrior was unarmed, and the laird was to keep his wits about him lest he be thrown in his own dungeon for killing an unarmed Scot.
“Careful now,” he told him, his voice sharp.
“That is yer lady ye are talking about.”
“Apologies,” Malcolm replied, giving a little bow. “I didnae know ’tis was a sore spot for ye.”
There was no doubt in Liam’s mind that Malcolm knew exactly which barb to latch onto, but he inclined his head in acceptance anyway and then walked out before he did weigh his options about being in his own dungeon.
Liam spent the rest of the day away from the keep, not bothering to show up for dinner in an effort to purge himself from his need for Sorcha.
If he weren’t careful, she would wind up increasing and then her life would be in danger just like Nelia’s.
Liam couldn’t take that risk, not again, and the only way to stave off any sort of potential was to keep his hands off his wife.
So, after the keep was abed, Liam walked into his great hall and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, settling into the chair before the fireplace. In order to forget about the woman who slept above his head, he would have to forget who he was and what he was doing.
Scot’s whiskey was the way to do so.