by Bree Wolf
Stepping into her small sanctuary, Deidre found John standing under one of her apple trees, its branches now barren in the deep of winter. His shoulders seemed slumped, and she could all but see the weight resting upon them. “I see ye’ve found my little garden,” she greeted him as she moved forward across the snow-covered ground.
At the sound of her voice, his head snapped around; however, when his gaze fell upon her, she thought to see a touch of relief. Perhaps he truly needed someone to speak to. A stranger. Someone he didn’t know. Someone who would simply listen. Someone he need not be afraid of hurting with the truth. “I apologise for intruding,” he said, inclining his head to her, the hint of a smile touching his mouth. “I can leave if you…” His words trailed off as though he wanted her to object and ask him to stay.
Deidre smiled at him. “Tell me about Tillie.”
The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. Then he nodded, inhaling a deep breath. His gaze became distant as his mind churned, returning to the beginning of his story. “Adelaide was always the obedient daughter, and I the wayward son,” he began, his feet carrying him around the small enclosure as his thoughts drifted backwards. “Until the day she needed my help.”
“She wasna married at the time?” Deidre asked, wondering about the young woman’s past and all that had happened to her.
John shook his head, his teeth gritting together. “A friend of mine…took advantage of her,” he turned to meet her gaze, “to pay me back for a slight against him. It was my fault she became his target.” He sighed. “She gave birth in secret, and then we had the babe placed on our doorstep as though she’d been left by her mother.” He swallowed, and the look on his face spoke volumes about the anguish that lived in his heart. “I claimed Tillie as mine so Adelaide could keep her without being forced to marry a man she did not want.” Exhaling a long breath, he ran his hands through his hair, then over his face. “I lied to protect them, thinking nothing would change because of it.”
Deidre moved closer, seeking his gaze. “Ye’re her father, and yet, ye’re not,” she whispered when he looked up. “’Tis hard on the heart.”
John nodded, a hint of relief in his eyes that someone understood. “I was nothing but a rake when I was young.” He cast her an apologetic glance. “I followed in my father’s footsteps. I did what I wanted, and I didn’t think about how it affected others.” He sighed, and the young man he’d once been disappeared behind the man he’d become since. “But then Adelaide married Whitworth and Father died and…”
He turned, and his blue gaze met hers. “I do not want to be that man any longer. I’ve tried to change. I’ve done my best to…set everything right, but…” He shook his head, clearly at a loss. “I cannot tell the truth, and a part of me doesn’t even want to.” A smile flickered across his face. “I love Tillie. I would never hurt her, but now…now Whitworth is her father. He’s the one who reads to her, who tucks her in at night, who comforts her.”
Deidre frowned when his lips moved, but no sound came out as though he did not dare speak what lingered on his mind. “Does yer sister want Tillie to know?”
Again, his head snapped up, and again, she saw that mix of shock and relief in his eyes. “You’re very perceptive,” John mumbled, a hint of awe in his voice. “How did you know?”
Deidre shrugged. “I saw the way Adelaide looked at her. There was longing there, a mother’s need for her child.”
John nodded. “She spoke to me a few weeks back, saying that she and Whitworth talked about revealing the truth to Tillie. So only she would know.” His hands clenched and unclenched as he stared at her. “Then she would know. Then there would be no reason for her to…”
“But she loves ye,” Deidre told him, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Do ye not see that?”
A small smile flashed across his face. “But once she knows−”
“’Twill not change anything,” Deidre promised him. “Whether ye’re her father or her uncle or anyone else, what matters is that ye’re in her life, that ye love her, that ye care for her.” She squeezed his arm. “Believe me, love is not a problem. ‘Tis people who make it one. Ye’re allowed to love her. Dunna ever allow others to tell ye how ye ought to feel.”
A deep breath rushed from his lips, and Deidre felt his muscles relax under her hand. Casting her a warm smile, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small straw flower. “Tillie made it,” he whispered, affection swinging in his voice. “She has such nimble fingers and a true eye for detail.” Looking up, he met her gaze. “She even coloured it.”
As he reached to turn it over, the small flower slipped from his hand. Twirling, it drifted downward until it landed in the soft snow, its coloured side facing upward.
The breath lodged in Deidre’s lungs as she stared down at the small, blue flower surrounded by the snow’s blinding brightness. Her knees buckled, and she clamped a hand on John’s arm to steady herself. Moira’s vision!
The blue flower!
“Are you all right?” John asked, and she felt his gaze on her face. “You look suddenly pale. Did I say somethi−?”
“No,” Deidre assured him as she knelt down and gingerly picked up the small item. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and her head spun with the implications of the moment. Was she to head to the ruins now? And what would she find there? Who would she find there? John? She looked up at him, a frown tugging on her brows. Or was he simply the messenger and this had nothing to do with him?
“Perhaps we should head back inside,” John suggested, a touch of unease on his face as he watched her. “Perhaps you need to warm up.”
Deidre nodded, unable to catch a clear thought, as they headed back toward the small gap between wall and hedge. “I’m sorry. I feel a little…” She stopped, then turned to look at him. “It has nothing to do with ye, I swear.”
John nodded. Still, confusion remained in his eyes. Deidre could only hope her odd behaviour would not lessen the weight of her words.
But what now? Ought she to head to the ruins?
Never in a thousand years would she believe that her heart could ever beat for another. Still, she could not deny that she was curious where Moira’s vision would lead.
What should she do?
7
A Sister’s Advice
After returning from a gallop across the snow-covered hills, Alastair brushed down his gelding, feeling the animal’s warm flanks and steamy breath after the exertion he’d put them both through. His mind and heart were still at war, and yet, the cold, clear air had made him feel more at peace. As though he was now better prepared for whatever lay ahead.
A memory of the previous night drifted into his mind, and he could not deny the smile that claimed his lips at the thought of his wife. Deidre had indeed fought like a lioness, forced him to yield to her, and she had been right to do so.
For the first time in the past two years, Alastair had slept well, his wife in his arms and his daughter’s smiling face in his dreams. He’d woken to find her arm across his chest, her warm breath fanning over his skin, soft and sweet, and he’d never wanted to rise.
Still, he had for he knew that he could not simply surrender to his heart’s desire without thought. After all, had he not spent the past few days arguing against a shared future? Had he not come to the conclusion that in order to see Deidre happy once more he would need to let her go? Could he simply ignore that and do as he pleased?
Alastair had never been the kind of man to do so. However, in that moment, he wished he was.
His gelding nickered softly, and as Alastair turned his head, brushing a gentle hand over the horse’s nose, his gaze noticed that Deidre’s white mare was missing. The box was empty. Had she ridden out as well?
A sigh left his lips as he tried to picture the moment she’d woken up to find the bed empty and him gone. Had she been angry? Hurt? Or had she understood? If so, then why had she left?
Giving his gelding a final pat, Alastair left the st
ables and made to cross the courtyard, heading for the great hall. However, his feet stilled when his gaze fell on the secret entrance to his wife’s hidden garden. The branches moved as someone pushed through, and Alastair felt his jaw clenched when he saw that it was not only Deidre, but also that Englishman.
Instantly, he retreated into the shadows of the stables in his back, his gaze narrowed, glued to the two people walking toward the front door. The Englishman bowed his head toward Deidre, his lips moving as he whispered something to her. In answer, Deidre’s face rose and she smiled up at him, her hand coming to rest on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Although Alastair’s mind argued that there could easily be a perfectly reasonable explanation for their behaviour, his heart did not hear a word of it for it was blinded by the fears he’d known ever since learning of Moira’s vision. Who would be the man who stole Deidre’s heart? Could it be this Englishman? Had he already lost her?
After watching them disappear inside, Alastair knew not what to do. Before he’d been determined to seek out his wife and…
And what?
Rubbing his hands over his face, Alastair began to pace across the snow-covered courtyard, his gaze again and again drawn to the door leading to the castle’s hall. He pictured them together, smiling, eyes gazing at one another, their hands linked, unable to keep apart.
The thought drove Alastair mad, and before he knew it he was half-way across the courtyard, his feet carrying him onward. He knew he ought to set her free. If that Englishman was who she wanted, then he had no right to deny her the happiness she deserved. It didn’t matter that the thought alone killed him. Still, his feet would not still, pushing him onward until he found himself standing in the great hall, his gaze drifting over smiling faces of friends and family. The little ones were dancing around the Yule log, not yet aflame, their cheerful voices in stark contrast to the darkness in his heart.
His hands balled into fists as his gaze swept the hall, coming up empty. Deidre was nowhere to be found, and neither was that Englishm−
Alastair paused as his eyes spotted him, heading back down the side corridor, which led to the guest quarters.
Again, Alastair found himself in pursuit without a conscious thought. His legs moved of their own accord, carrying him after his rival, his hands still clenched at his sides. Why he needed to speak to that man Alastair could not say. However, a part of him knew that he could never let her go if he could not be certain that she would be safe.
Safe with that Englishman.
At the sound of his footsteps, angry and determined as they were, Beth’s brother paused, then turned to look over his shoulder. The moment he spotted Alastair approaching with hurried steps, his gaze narrowed. “Is something wrong?” he asked, wariness coming to his face as he took note of the anger radiating off Alastair.
Pulling to a stop, Alastair gritted his teeth, linking his hands behind his back lest he do something unwise. “Ye spoke to my wife,” he hissed, accusation clear in his voice.
The Englishman’s eyes narrowed further, a hint of confusion settling upon his face. “I did.”
“Why?” Alastair gritted out.
The man’s brows drew down; still, there was a hint of reluctance on his face that made Alastair’s blood boil. “She…” He drew in a deep breath, his hands moving, turning a small object from side to side. “She gave me some advice.”
That, Alastair had not expected. “Advice?” he asked, willing his anger to subside so his mind could overrule the reckless emotions in his heart. “What about?”
The man’s lips thinned. “A personal matter.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “It is not something I speak about.”
Alastair’s gaze narrowed. “Then why did ye tell my wife?”
A small chuckle left the man’s lips. “I didn’t,” he objected, shaking his head as though in disbelief. “She…she simply knew. I don’t know how.” He shrugged. “Somehow she could see it, I suppose.”
Alastair nodded. Aye, Deidre did possess the unnerving ability to see into another’s heart. Only the night before she’d pushed and prodded until she’d broken through his defences, knowing better than he had himself that he was hurting. She’d seen it, and she’d felt compelled to help. Had she seen pain in that Englishman as well? Had she felt compelled to help? Had that been the reason for the whispered words exchanged between them?
The thought was not only reasonable, but it also soothed the pain radiating throughout his body.
“Nothing untoward happened,” the Englishman said, sincerity in his gaze as he looked at Alastair. “Your wife is a wonderful woman, full of kindness and insight, and I shall forever be grateful to her for her keen eyes and compassionate heart. That is all.”
A moment ticked by as Alastair weighed the man’s words, the truth in them, before he nodded. “That she is.”
The Englishman smiled in relief. “You’re a fortunate man. I hope one day I’ll be equally fortunate to find such a woman to love.”
Again, Alastair nodded, fighting the joy that surged through his heart, afraid to trust it. Then his gaze fell to the small item in the man’s hand, and his blood froze. “What is that?” he demanded, his hand rising to point at the small straw flower the Englishman was shifting from hand to hand.
Pausing, Beth’s brother looked down. “Tillie made it for me.” Again, he turned it in his hand.
In shock, Alastair stared at the small, blue flower as his world came crashing down around him. Was this it? Was today the day?
His gaze rose to meet the Englishman’s narrowed eyes. “Did my wife see it?”
The man nodded, glancing down at the small item in his hand before meeting Alastair’s gaze once more. “She did. In fact, she reacted much like you. Shocked somehow.” He shook his head. “But she wouldn’t say why. Is there anything I can do? What is going on?”
As the breath lodged in his throat, Alastair found himself stumbling backwards, barely aware that the Englishman was still speaking to him. He turned and rushed back down the corridor, not knowing where to go. Where was Deidre? Had she left for the ruins?
Everything around him retreated into the background as his feet carried him onward, his heart hammering in his chest. What was he to do?
When he all but stumbled by their chamber, he found the door ajar. Pushing it open, Alastair rushed inside, only to find the room empty. Still, as his gaze swept over the bed they’d shared the night before, he found a piece of parchment lying there. Moving forward, he picked it up, knowing even before his gaze settled on the page that it was the letter Moira had sent Deidre over two years ago.
The letter about the blue flower.
Closing his eyes, Alastair sank down onto the bed, his hands crumpling up the page as his heart broke with the sudden loss.
She was gone!
His wife had left!
Deidre!
All strength left his body as his heart cried out in pain. Even though he’d fought to keep his distance, her loss destroyed him. Especially after the previous night, when he’d finally allowed himself a shred of hope. He had been a fool!
A part of him wanted to chase after her, and yet, he knew that it would be selfish. If Moira had seen her happy, then he would have to trust in that. Always had his sister’s visions come true; not always the way they’d seemed at first, but in a sense. As long as Deidre found love and happiness, he needed to step back.
He needed to let her go.
Even if it killed him.
“Here, ye are,” came Connor’s booming voice from the doorway. “I’ve been looking all over for ye.”
His cousin’s breath came fast, and Alastair looked up, the hairs on the back of his neck rising in trepidation. Something was wrong! “Why?”
Connor stepped into the room. “A messenger from Clan MacDrummond arrived with a letter for ye.” He held up the item in question, his dark gaze meaningful as it met Alastair’s. “’Tis from Moira. The man said she’d told him to put it in y
er hands without delay.”
Alastair swallowed as his skin began to crawl; with what he could not say.
Long ago, he and Moira had been close before her betrayal had ripped them apart. Unable to forgive her, to place his trust in her again, Alastair had pushed her away, hoping that the pain would lessen if he pretended it wasn’t there. It had been years since they’d last spoken, since they’d last seen one another, and yet, his heart still ached for the sister he’d lost.
She’d always known what to say. Her counsel a guiding hand whenever he knew not what to do. How was it that she knew to reach out to him in his darkest hour? Had she had another vision?
Pushing to his feet, Alastair all but ripped the envelope out of his cousin’s hand. His own trembled as he freed the parchment within, his gaze drawn to her delicate handwriting.
Dearest Brother,
A part of me fears that you will burn this letter without opening it while another still has hope that not all is lost. If you’re reading these lines now, then there must still be some small part of you that believes.
Whatever doubts you may have, please believe that I never meant to hurt you. I love you as I always have, and I want nothing more but to see you happy again.
Please, heed my words! Not for my sake, but for your own.
Last night, my dreams took me to a moment which has not yet come to pass. A moment that made me question the meaning of the blue flower. At first, I thought it a bad omen for you and Deidre. I felt sadness and sorrow. I saw a new love for her, and so I feared that something would rip the two of you apart.
However, in last night’s dream, I felt your heart overflow with joy and love. I saw you happy, truly happy, and I know without a doubt that there is no happiness found in this life for you without Deidre by your side.
I still cannot say what the blue flower means, what love it will guide her to, but I now believe it does not mean that you’ll lose her. Perhaps it speaks of an old love rediscovered. Perhaps it is something else.