Her Reluctant Highlander Husband (Clan MacKinlay)

by Hanson, Allison B.

  “You say we’re friends,” Lach said quietly, “yet you continue to wrap yourself in pain and misery, instead of letting me help you.”

  “You know well enough there is no help for me. You’ve been trying for years.”

  “Dorie healed you. I saw it.”

  “You carry battle scars. You ken well enough how those scarred bits are numb. You canna feel them anymore. They’re never the same as they were before. Nothing can make you feel those places the same way again.”

  Didn’t the man understand how Bryce wanted the numbness? It didn’t hurt as much that way.

  “I didn’t know your Maggie well, but I know Kenna. I know how much I care for her and our children. And I know if she were gone, I would want to crawl into a hole and die rather than live without her. But I also know I’d have to face her some day in the place after this one, and I would bloody well make sure she wouldn’t be waiting there to blister me for not living the best life I could.”

  “It’s easy to say the words. It’s another to live it.”

  Lach crossed his arms. “I’m sure that’s true, but if we’re speaking of truths, tell me this. Why are you here?” Clearly, he wasn’t going to give up on this conversation. Perhaps Bryce still had a chance to turn this into a good physical fight.

  “What do you mean?” Bryce held his hands out. “I followed you here.”

  “Nay. I mean why are you still here, breathing, eating, talking? If you’re committed to only living a sliver of a real life, why not just get it over with? End it and be done with it already. What keeps ye here? Why not take that final step off the battlements?”

  Bryce pulled his brows together in confusion and irritation. Didn’t the man just tell him he was a friend? What kind of friend suggested such a thing?

  “It would have been easy enough to let yourself be taken in battle, yet you fight hard to survive each time I stand next to ye on the battlefield. Why not let go? Just let it happen?”

  Bryce continued to stand there staring at his laird as the last of the day’s sun faded away.

  The second day gone since Dorie had left him.

  Nay, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t left him. He’d let her go. She would have stayed if he’d but asked. If he’d begged her to remain his wife. If he’d only tried.

  Lach raised his hand, palm out. “Before you think me cruel, know that I’m asking this with your best interests in mind. For years I’ve seen you—a shadow of who you once were—haunting our lives like a wraith, but not really living. Sure, you’re there next to us in the flesh. Through marriages and children born. As well as battles won and lost. But you’ve not truly been a part of our lives since Maggie died. You keep to the edges of our lives. You never hold my boys, or Lizzy or Aiden.”

  Bryce tried to swallow the lump that had grown in his throat, but it wouldn’t budge. “I would lay down my life in protection of any of your wee hellions.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a minute. But what sacrifice is that from a man with no life to forfeit?”

  Bryce choked and swiped at his eyes. “You ask too much.”

  “I don’t think so. You’re stronger than you think.”

  “I’m not.” Bryce shook his head, turned abruptly, and left.

  The damn dog followed on his heels, but he wanted to be alone.

  “Go away!” he yelled when he’d regained his voice.

  The dog ducked his head but continued to walk behind him as he stomped through the forest at the edge of the village.

  “Leave! Get!” He waved his hands, which caused Rascal to retreat only a few feet.

  When Bryce sat on a log by a stream, the dog stayed back and sat down to wait.

  “I don’t need you following me about, making me feel worse.” He turned to see if his words had done any good, but naturally the dog remained. “Christ. I should never have let her make you into a pet. You were supposed to keep her company, not pester me to death.”

  Good God. Was he so in need for a place to put his rage that he was yelling at a poor dog?

  He let out a breath and let his head hang in his hands. “It’s too late,” he muttered. “She’s gone.”

  He felt the hot burn of tears a moment before the wetness dripped off his jaw. He wiped them away with the heel of his palm, but more took their place. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gave up and let them come.

  Until he felt moist breath on his face and grimaced at the foul odor. Opening his eyes, he found himself face to face with large brown eyes framed in gray fur. The dog nuzzled under his arm and sat as close as physically possible. Bryce chuckled through his tears and wiped them away once more. He scratched Rascal behind the ears and patted the dog’s sturdy shoulder.

  After he’d collected himself, he stood and swatted his thigh. “Come. We’ve things to do. What’s done is done. Best we both move on.”

  …

  After days of bumping along in the carriage, Dorie actually found herself wishing she could curl into a corner of a room alone with a book—something she’d never thought to want ever again after her isolation as a child.

  She enjoyed her father’s company. She loved hearing his stories and seeing the way his lips pulled into a smile when he spoke of her mother. But she was always grateful when they stopped for the night at an inn where she could be quiet and still for a little while. And alone.

  Sleep had been elusive during their journey. She’d always spent the nights tossing and turning, wondering if she’d made the right choice.

  It was midday when they arrived at her father’s country estate in Durham, England. As she stepped out of the carriage with her father’s assistance, a group of people hurried out of the house to greet them. A handful of them were children who came running and screaming in excitement for her father.

  “Papa!” they all called and crowded around him. He was smiling as he bent to hug and kiss them all.

  He had spoken often of the children on the journey, so she could guess their names by their ages.

  “I missed you,” the littlest girl said in an accusatory tone. She must be Geneva.

  “I’ve missed you as well, button. Have you been a good girl?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” the little boy beside her said as if the idea was preposterous. No doubt this was George.

  “And what of you?”

  “No!” the boy admitted, causing them all to laugh.

  The older girl was watching Dorie, her eyes squinting. Nadia, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  “Papa, who is that?” It was the oldest boy who finally asked. He was tall, but his face still held the soft curves of youth. This was Philip, then.

  “Right. I guess we should just get on with it then.” Her father seemed nervous.

  Just then a blond woman hurried down the steps with a warm smile. At first Dorie thought it was another child, for she was small. But as she came closer, it was clear from the resemblance to the oldest daughter that this was Harriet, their mother.

  The woman her father had married even though he still loved Dorie’s mother.

  Something made Dorie want to reach for the woman and pull her into an embrace. Some bond of kindred spirits, she supposed. But she suppressed it and remained in place as her half brothers and sisters stared at her expectantly.

  “Children, this is your sister,” her father announced.

  Four sets of eyes narrowed on her in disbelief.

  Little Geneva gasped as her eyes went bright. “You look like me,” she said happily.

  “Yes. I see the resemblance.” Dorie smiled down at the little girl, happy to be accepted. “I guess we both look like our father.”

  “Why does she talk funny?” her little brother George asked.

  Rather than pop him in the nose as Mari had suggested, Dorie laughed. “Because I’m Scottish.”

  “I don’t
have a Scottish sister,” Philip, the oldest, said in shock.

  “It turns out you do. This is Dorie. She’s come to live with us.”

  “For how long?” Nadia asked, her eyes still narrowed.

  “For as long as she wishes. And I expect you all to welcome her and treat her like a sister.”

  Dorie’s smile faltered as she watched George contemplate the request and then smile in the most devious way for someone so young. She made a note to check her bed for frogs—or worse—before sliding beneath the covers.

  “Welcome, Dorie. It’s so nice to meet you,” the blond woman offered as she came closer and pulled Dorie into a hug. “Dorien wrote to me of you. He’s so happy to have found you.”

  “Are you upset to have me here?” Dorie whispered. She knew the children would come around eventually, but this woman was not blood and had no reason to accept her. In fact, she might hate Dorie for being an intruder, the bastard daughter of her husband.

  But Harriet kept smiling. “I’m not upset at all. You’re part of our family now.”

  “Thank you.” Dorie squeezed the woman’s hands.

  “Come, we have your room ready. You would probably like to rest on something that stays still before dinner.”

  “Aye.”

  “Aye,” George imitated with a giggle, earning a frown from Philip and Nadia.

  Geneva came closer and took Dorie’s hand. The resemblance between them was uncanny. The same shiny black hair and blue eyes that seemed almost too big for the elfin face gazing up at her. Geneva stayed with Dorie until she was settled in her room and Harriet shooed her away.

  “Welcome home, Dorie. Let us know if there’s anything you need.”

  She gave her stepmother a warm smile. “Thank you.”

  Harriet closed the door, leaving Dorie alone in the room. The bed was extravagant and soft. She kicked off her shoes and slipped out of her gown to rest in her shift. But as she lay there, all she could think of was the empty space in the bed next to her. The space that would have been filled with her husband if she were still at Dunardry.

  She wondered what he was doing right now.

  Did he ever think of her at all?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bryce rolled out of his bed before dawn, having slept horribly the night before. The bed was much too empty without Dorie in it. Her scent had faded from the room when the maids had changed out the bedding, and he hated the absence of her from his life.

  To keep his mind busy, he focused every waking minute on how to take Baehaven. He manned a small party that rode out and kidnapped a McCurdy guard. Lachlan was able to get vital information from the man regarding the state of the infighting within their clan.

  As expected, the other clan was splitting apart. Father against son. While a more even split might have worked in their favor, it was still an advantage to have the McCurdy men distracted with their own problems.

  “We’ve plenty enough men to take the McCurdys in their current state. Our warriors are well trained and strong,” Bryce reported to Cam and Lach.

  “They are trained and strong, but not so much so that they can take on three McCurdy soldiers each if the enemy remains banded together,” Lach said. “I’ll not risk my men unless victory is clear. Which means we need you to go to the Campbells. I’ll send Liam to the Stewarts.”

  “We don’t need them.”

  “Are you saying this because you do not want help, or because you’re not as bright as I gave you credit for?” Lach paused. “Or perhaps you have a death wish? I tell you, cousin, I have many great things to live for and I’ll not let ye drag me into a fight we’re not sure to win,” Lach said with his arms crossed over his formidable chest.

  Bryce wasn’t able to refute any of the given choices. Mayhap because the answer lay somewhere between all three. And he didn’t want to think about how much the last option appealed. To be cut down in battle had been his wish for years after he lost Maggie. He’d been reckless on the battlefield and even picked fights with traveling soldiers in hopes of putting an end to the pain without having to do the deed himself.

  But he’d never been able to stand there and allow a blade to fall on him without reacting. Some small part of his soul didn’t want to die and always raised his arm in defense each time.

  Lach, indeed, had many reasons to stay alive. Three boys and another child on the way. A healthy, happy wife. The respect of his clan.

  Including Bryce.

  “It certainly won’t hurt to have more men,” he reluctantly agreed, though he hated the idea of a delay.

  “I’ve sent word to the Fletchers, so we have their assistance when we’re ready. Once everything is in order and we have three times the men the McCurdys do, then we attack, and not before.” Lach spoke with the authority of a laird, but also with reason that had eluded Bryce since Dorie’s carriage rolled away.

  He didn’t want to put his men or family in danger, even if he didn’t much care about what happened to himself. He wanted to leave that afternoon for Baehaven and be done with it. But he would wait.

  The end would come soon enough.

  Either for the McCurdys, or for him.

  …

  Dorie had settled in at Sutherland House, but she couldn’t say that she felt at home. She’d never seen such lovely things, and the house was filled with beautiful furnishings, paintings, and objects. Her siblings treated her kindly, but as they would a stranger rather than family. Either because she wasn’t a full sibling or because of the age difference between them, she had not been brought into the circle of their secret jokes and knowing looks.

  Harriet was wonderful, though. A pleasant mix of friend and mother, offering advice and comfort when needed.

  Her father spent time with her each day, checking to make sure she was happy and didn’t need anything. She couldn’t imagine she would ever need anything more. She had been given more dresses in the few weeks she’d been there than she’d ever owned in her whole life combined.

  Her father had even gotten her a dog. Though he wasn’t a great beast like Rascal, he was happy and obedient. She’d let the other children name him, so she was the proud owner of a white pup named Brownie.

  But even Brownie felt like a character in the books she read while in seclusion rather than part of her real life. Day after day she waited to settle into the feeling that this was all real. She was happy at Sutherland House, but not like she’d been at Dunardry.

  A week later, she felt no closer to being at home.

  Especially on the morning it was confirmed that she was not carrying Bryce’s child. Dorie cried for hours, realizing only then that she’d been holding out hope to have a reason to go back to Dunardry and Bryce.

  But she no longer had a reason, so it was time for her to move on. This was her life now, and she would have to make the best of it.

  That evening she put on a fancy dress and a strained smile and went down to dinner.

  Everyone was quiet at first, as if they knew how fragile she felt, like she might break at any moment if someone said something comforting.

  Thankfully, dinner with the children proved to be distracting.

  “Stop, ye wee beast,” George scolded his twin, Geneva, who sat next to him at the table. He’d taken to Dorie’s brogue quickly, despite his parents’ dismay.

  “George. You’ll stop calling your sister names or you’ll be sent from the table.” Her father gave him a stern look to go with the reprimand.

  “Aye,” he answered glumly and sank lower in his chair. His success was short lived. A moment later he sat up and looked at Dorie. “Are you a bastard?”

  Everyone at the table gasped in surprise and shock.

  “George! To your room right this moment,” Harriet snapped, her face red with embarrassment.

  “Why must I go?” he whined. “Philip said she was
. I was just asking.”

  Dorie felt sympathy for her youngest brother.

  “Room. Now. I’ll deal with you later,” her father said, and turned to his oldest son who had flushed red with anger at his brother. “Why would you say such a thing? Especially in front of the little ones? I’m ashamed of you.”

  “Ashamed of m-me?” Philip stammered in affront. “I’m not the one who was born out of wedlock,” the boy declared.

  Harriet muttered and looked up at the ceiling as if praying for patience. “You can go to your room as well, young man.”

  At this point in the horrible ordeal, Geneva began to cry and ran from her seat to fling herself into Dorie’s lap, begging her not to leave because George was bad and Philip was mean.

  “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere, love,” Dorie promised her little sister.

  Nadia glared at her and left without a word. Dorie thought perhaps the other girl was upset that Geneva liked Dorie more than her. Or maybe Nadia blamed Dorie for the trouble Philip had landed in. Dorie hadn’t yet won the older children over, that was obvious.

  “I’m sorry to have caused so much trouble,” Dorie said while patting Geneva.

  “It’s not your fault, dear. It’s me who is sorry for the way my children have behaved,” Harriet said, frowning toward the door where three of the children had gone.

  “It’s a big change for them. For all of us, really,” her father explained. “Everyone will settle in soon enough. It will be fine.”

  Dorie nodded, but she wasn’t sure if her father was trying to convince her or himself.

  Each day she waited for something to change. For the pain to lessen. For her to be happy here in England. But each night she went to bed having failed.

  She missed her friends. Her dog. She wanted her old bed. And most of all she craved her husband.

  Surely things would have to get better soon.

  …

  Lach’s brows were drawn in that way that meant he was about to bestow bad news. Bryce didn’t need bad news. He was miserable enough as it was.