Chapter 35
Dougal did not know how long he stood there, watching until the carriage vanished. Lily had run off to play with her pets, and his mother had followed, not wanting to leave her to her own devices.
He heard familiar footsteps approaching him and took a bracing breath.
Stephen stood shoulder to shoulder with him, neither of them saying a word. It would have been easier if he said something to break the silence.
“What do ye want, Stephen?”
“Is it a crime to check on me laird and best friend?”
Dougal’s jaw tensed. “It is when ye obviously want to say something. But let me warn ye, I am nae in the mood to hear yer judgment.”
Stephen placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Ye daenae have to worry about that, Dougal. I’ve only come to see how ye are faring.”
“I’m faring wonderfully. Is it nae obvious?” Dougal barked, glaring at him.
The two of them remained there until Stephen finally managed to convince him to turn around and head back to the castle.
Yes, that was where he should be. He needed to work. He needed to do something to get his mind off anything to do with Skye. But the moment he stepped into his study, his mood soured.
He wanted to shout. Wanted to punch the walls, his desk, something.
Skye was gone, and he had no one to blame but himself.
Even before she had left, she had said something gentle to him. She had asked him not to give in to the rumors again. Not to secret himself away for seven years under the guise of protecting Lily.
There would be no more of that. Lily was no longer in danger. It was no longer an excuse he could use.
She would get to know her grandfather. Angus was willing to go at whatever pace Dougal set. Both of them only had her best interests at heart.
If anything good had come of Skye’s stay here, it was that.
Peace had been made between Dougal and Angus, allowing them to finally lay Elsie’s memory to rest. She would never be forgotten. He would make sure of it.
When Lily was old enough, he would tell her about her mother. He and Elsie hadn’t known each other long, but in the short time he had known her, they had formed a friendship. It was part of the reason why he had taken Lily in the first place.
Lily…
He thought of the way she had cried and clung to Skye, not wanting to let her go. It was difficult to get her cries out of his head. They haunted him in a way he had not expected.
Whatever else he had gotten wrong, he resolved that he would be the one to tell Lily the truth of it himself, not leave her to piece it together from whispers and an empty room down the hall.
The more days passed, the worse his mood became.
Dougal refused to take it out on Lily, so he did the only thing he could—he kept his distance from her. Kenna stepped up to take care of her, saying that he was busy and would attend to her the moment he was finished.
It was another thing he had messed up by sending Skye away.
A knock sounded at the study door. Dougal heard it well enough but let it sit, the same way he had let three days sit untouched.
Three days of staring at a hearth he hadn’t bothered to light, three days of a bottle emptying slower than it ought to have, given how badly he’d wanted it to numb something it stubbornly refused to touch.
The knock came again, and the door creaked open. Dougal knew who it was. Only one person would dare to approach him when he was in such a mood. It was a testament to how brave Stephen was. Or was he simply foolish?
Stephen stepped inside, finding him exactly where he’d left him each of those mornings—chair turned toward the cold, dead hearth, cup loose in one hand, the bottle beside him considerably lighter than it had any right to be by this hour.
“How long do ye mean to sit in here, hiding from yer own feelings, me Laird?”
It was the one question Dougal did not want to answer. He took a swig from the bottle, wishing Stephen would leave him to wallow in his despair. No one had any respect for him and his attempt to drink his feelings away.
“I didnae ask for yer opinion, Stephen.”
He didn’t bother lifting his head. There was little point. Stephen had never once in twenty years required an invitation to speak his mind, and age certainly hadn’t slowed him down.
Perhaps that was why Dougal kept him around so much. Also, Kenna and Lily adored him more than anything. They wouldn’t stand to have him sent away when he was the only one brave enough to call out Dougal to his face.
“Nay, ye never do. Ye rarely have in all the years I’ve kent ye, and it’s never once stopped me once.”
Stephen crossed the room, unbothered by the glare Dougal shot him, and dropped a small bundle of folded pages on the desk with a soft thud that made Dougal’s head snap up.
“What is that?”
“The maids found these tucked beneath the pillow in Skye’s old room, after she left that morning.
” Stephen nodded toward the pages, crossing his arms over his chest in that way that meant he had no intention of leaving until he’d said his piece.
“Daenae speak of her in such a cold tone, by the by. It doesnae suit ye as well as ye seem to think it does, especially nae when ye’ve spent three days drowning yerself in liquor over her absence. ”
“I havenae been?—”
“Ye have. I’ve watched ye do it, and so has yer maither, and so has Lily, though the lassie is far too kind to say it plainly to yer face the way I just did.”
Dougal’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping back to the pages sitting innocent and unassuming as though they didn’t hold the power to undo whatever fragile composure he’d managed to scrape together this past week.
“I daenae care to read whatever’s in there, Stephen.”
But his fingers were itching to grab the pages and read whatever they contained. He knew whatever was in there would hurt him. Skye had been furious with him about how he had ended things. She wasn’t going to leave something behind that he would want to read.
It was going to devastate him, of that he was sure.
“Aye, ye do. Ye care more than ye’ve cared about anything in seven years, which is precisely why ye’re sitting alone in the dark refusing to touch it.” Stephen’s voice gentled, just slightly, the teasing edge finally dropping.
“I said I daenae care to read it.”
“At least consider it.”
“I said nay. What part of nay dae ye nae understand?” Dougal pointed at the door. “Leave, Stephen.”
“All right, I will leave ye alone to wallow in yer self-pity, but consider reading it, Dougal. I promise ye willnae regret it.”
“Are ye implying that ye read it?”
Stephen chuckled. “Oh, I am nae implying it, me friend. I am telling ye that I did read it and the contents of those papers are something ye need to read. But again, that decision is up to ye.”
He turned toward the door, but paused with his hand on the frame, glancing back one last time.
“I mean it, Dougal. Whatever ye think ye ken, ye daenae have the full picture.”
Dougal said nothing, staring at the pages on the desk without truly seeing them.
“I’ll nae bother ye again tonight,” Stephen added quietly. “But daenae let yer pride cost ye something ye cannae get back.”
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Dougal alone with nothing but the fire’s low crackle and the weight of his own stubbornness.
He stared at the pages for a long while, his arms crossed, telling himself he wouldn’t touch them. But curiosity, or something closer to hope, gnawed at him until he finally crossed the room, sat down, and reached for the topmost page.