Chapter 23 #2
Dougal huffed something close to a laugh despite himself. “Nae so simple as either, I’m afraid. He isnae bad the way Cook scolds ye, nay. But he isnae altogether wicked either. He’s a man who’s made mistakes he cannae take back and doesnae ken how to make right.”
“That sounds sad.”
“It is, indeed.” He looked down at her, struck as he so often was by how easily she cut through to the heart of matters a grown man might spend years dancing around. “Ye’ve a kind heart, Lily. Kinder than most grown folks I ken.”
“Grandmaither says I get it from ye.”
“Yer grandmaither says a great many things.”
“She also says ye’re stubborn as an old goat.” Lily tipped her head back to grin up at him. “Worse, even.”
“Does she now?” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, the tightness in his chest finally easing for the first time since Angus had ridden through the gates. “Remind me to have a word with her.”
“I willnae. I like it when ye two argue. It’s funny.”
He shook his head, unable to keep from smiling, and stayed there with her a while longer before duty called him elsewhere.
Dougal found Skye later that night curled up by the fire in the sitting room, the pages forgotten in her lap. He knocked softly on the doorframe before entering.
She had made sure her sleeve was covering the bruise. If he caught sight of it again, it might set him off for the third time that day. She wanted to do what she could to prevent that from happening.
“Skye. Are ye all right?”
“I’m fine.” She set the pages aside as he crossed the room.
He stopped before her and tilted her chin gently toward the firelight, checking for some mark.
“Ye’re certain the guard didnae hurt ye?”
“Aye. I’m unharmed as I told ye before.” She drew in a slow breath. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything I said to ye about Lily. About nae keeping her locked away.” Her voice wavered. “Ye were right to protect her the way ye did. I understand now, after what happened.”
“’Tis all right.” He sank into the chair across from her, some of the day’s tension finally leaving his shoulders. “Angus was always bound to find out and come to us, regardless of what either of us did to stop it.”
She nodded, watching the fire.
“Go to bed when ye’re ready,” he said. “Take a hot bath first, if it’ll help ye sleep. I’ll see to everything else tonight.”
“And if I—” She broke off.
She wasn’t sure she should say anything, but she had already spoken out loud, and Dougal wasn’t the type to let things remain unsaid.
“If ye what?” he prompted gently.
“Nothing.”
“Skye.”
Her resolve shattered. Dougal had barely pushed back, and here she was, ready to voice her innermost thoughts to him.
What had he done to her? Sometimes, she didn’t recognize herself. She had changed so much since coming here, and it hadn’t even been a full month yet.
She rose from her seat but didn’t move toward the door just yet, lingering there with her hands twisted in her skirts. “Dougal…”
“Aye?”
“Thank ye. For pulling that guard off me. For nae hesitating.” She swallowed. “I daenae think I’ve thanked ye properly for that.”
“Ye neednae thank me for that, lass. Nae ever.” He stood as well, closing some of the distance between them before stopping, as though he’d remembered some line he’d drawn for his own sake and meant to keep to it. “I’d do it again without a moment’s thought. Ye ken that, dae ye nae?”
“I do.” Her voice was soft. “That’s the problem.”
“Problem?”
“Aye.” She looked up at him, and there was something in her eyes, something she didn’t have the strength to hide after the day she’d had. “It would be a great deal easier if ye were a terrible man.”
He went very still. “Would it, now?”
“Aye.” A breath of a laugh escaped her, though it trembled at the edges. “I came here meaning only to finish me story. I didnae account for ye or Lily.”
“Skye.” Her name came out rougher than he meant it to, and he reached for her hand before he’d fully decided to, as though he needed the touch to steady something in him as much as her. “I didnae account for ye, either. Ye must believe that.”
They stood like that for a long moment, the fire crackling softly behind them, neither quite brave enough to close the last inch between them, nor willing to be the one who stepped back first.
“Goodnight, Dougal,” Skye said, though she made no move to leave.
“Goodnight, Skye.” He didn’t let go of her hand. “Sleep well. And lock yer door.”
“Are ye afraid for me or of me?” she teased.
“Both,” he said, and finally released her, though his eyes followed her the whole way to the door.
She left him there by the dying fire. It took everything in her not to turn around and say something to him. To run into his arms.
She kept walking, refusing to look back. If she did, then she wouldn’t make it to her bedroom. Of that, she was sure. When it came to Dougal, it was difficult to control herself.
The story. She had to finish the story.
That was why she had come here. That was why she had agreed to Dougal’s terms. She would help restore his reputation, and he would give her a proper ending to her story. Nothing more. That was all there was to it.
So why did she need to keep telling herself that?
She repeated it to herself with every step up the stairs, a quiet litany meant to steady her racing pulse, though it did little good. It never did, not anymore.
Somewhere between the cèilidh and tonight, the bargain had stopped feeling like a bargain at all, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to examine what it had become.