by Dayna Quince
“Tell them, Lachy. Tell them how me brother and father betrayed their clan for that English woman. For love,” his uncle said with a snarl.
Lachy glared at him, his fists clenched. He wanted to wrap his hands around the man’s throat. His mother might have been English, but she was his mother. His memories of her were scant, since he had lost her when he was only ten, but all of them were filled with love, her soothing voice, her comforting smell, and the familiar squeeze of her arms as she rocked him.
She’d given up everything to be with his father. And his father had given up everything to be with her. Because love was worth more than any castle.
Lachy’s eyes burned as the thought struck him with a force so strong, he had to reach for the table behind him.
He closed his eyes. The stench of gun smoke filled his nose, and the scream of a horse echoed in his ears. His world tilted as the war fought to claim him again in his mind.
Why canna I move past that moment, the splintered second between life and death?
He shook his head, and Shamus appeared before him, his voice coming from a long way off.
“Are you whole, lad?”
“What?”
“You’ve got the look of a broken soldier.”
“There, you see? He isn’t fit to be laird. He went off to fight an English war, and returned only fit for bedlam.”
Shamus waved his uncle back. “Quiet down, you booby. Lachy, are you all right?”
His hearing finally returned, and he hastily wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked around the room. The men were cautiously watching him, and still arguing amongst each other.
He cleared his throat. “Quiet down,” he ordered.
They straightened and sat again, regarding him with scowls.
“I’m half English. There. It’s been said. Me grandfather traded the castle for his son’s life and happiness. You may think that was a betrayal, but when has a castle ever been what we stand for?
The clan is about its people. We can build a new castle. In fact, I plan to. I can’t fight a duke in court, but I—and we—can build a new castle, right here in our village. I have the funds and the will to see this clan reach not its former glory, but its new future. We don’t need that old castle. We need each other. We are Castle Dennehy. We are the clan. Our history lives not in those walls, but inside each of us, and the English can never take that.”
The room was dead silent now, and all eyes focused on him.
“The duke—the man who resides there now—he is my cousin. Our mothers were half-sisters. The castle was dowered to the Earl of Cassel’s legitimate daughter, who is me aunt. As much as I would like to hate them for what they did, for forcing my grandfather to choose between his clan and his son, his clan and his love—I will not choose. I will have both. I will build you a castle, and I will marry Primrose Everly.”
Stunned silence met this statement, and then young Callan Wilson let out a whoop. His father joined him, and then the entire room erupted in applause.
“That duke will not let you have her,” his uncle said.
“I’m not going to ask his permission,” Lachy returned.
Shamus cackled. “Just like the very first Laird Dennehy. He simply rode up to Laird Morgan’s castle and claimed the daughter for his own. A proper brideknapping was had, and the two clans were joined forever. They had sixteen bairns, they did,” he added, hooking his thumbs in his pockets.
“And what would that lass want with a gimp soldier?” Lachy’s uncle asked with a sneer. “Her fiancé has returned, last I heard.”
“He has, but that won’t stop me. Nothing will.” Lachy turned to face his clansmen once more. “So, what say you? Shall we build a new castle, right here in the village?”
“Aye!” a chorus rang out.
“Shall I go brideknap meself a wife, then?”
“Aye!” the chorus rang out again, followed by hoots and laughter.
“Good luck charging that castle with your cart and mule,” his uncle said, as he brushed past him.
Lachy grudgingly agreed. A crowd of his clansmen followed him out of the barn to the small village stable.
“I’ll need to borrow a horse,” he said to the men.
Mr. Wilson offered his. The crowd followed the man as he saddled the horse for Lachy.
Lachy started to sweat as he held the reins, his fingers numb as he stared into the horse’s eyes. “What’s his name?”
“Roy,” Mr. Wilson answered. “He’s getting on in years, but he’s got a young heart.”
Lachy nodded, stoking the white streak on the horse’s brown nose. “Be kind, Roy. I haven’t ridden since I lost me own horse in the war. Falcon was his name, the fastest cavalry horse there ever was. But none of us are immune to bullets. And I’m proof of that.”
Callan came to Lachy’s side.
“You’re not really going to take Miss Everly from her home, are you?”
Lachy snorted. “No, lad. Brideknapping is an old, barbaric custom. I’m going to ask for her hand instead, and, by God, pray she’ll want to come with me.”
“Oh, good,” the boy said, sighing with relief. “I like her, and I don’t want her to be hurt.”
Lachy agreed. He’d hurt her enough already, because of his damn pride.
“Me too, Callan. I love her, and I’m afraid I’ve already lost her, but a man has to try, especially when he wants something as important as a woman’s heart. He has to be willing to do anything, even the one thing he thought he feared the most, to make it right.”
He tussled the lad’s hair and stepped around to Roy’s side.
“He’s ready,” Wilson said with a nod.
Lachy placed his boot in the stirrup, his lungs refusing to inflate. He gripped the pommel, his knuckles white as he forced his muscles to move and lift him up, his leg swinging over.
Then he blinked, inhaling slowly as he sat atop Roy, and the world tilted.
His grip on the reins tightened as the horse shifted underneath him. He took another deep breath, and thankfully his vision stopped swimming. He eased his grip, knowing Roy could sense his fear. His clansmen now waited for him to direct them, eager to follow him and witness the spectacle of his proposal themselves. He lifted his chin, his jaw hardening, and nudged Roy with his heels into a trot, exiting the barn into the cool night.
The sky was clear, and the stars were glowing. He could only hope it was a sign.
Chapter 17
Prim had excused herself from dinner, unable to face her family after the complete turnabout her life had taken. She could barely look in the mirror without crying, let alone greet her sisters as if her heart wasn’t utterly shattered.
She sat alone in the library, hoping she could avoid everyone for the rest of the evening, but also knowing that she and Peverel should announce their plan to marry as soon as possible.
But… She didn’t want to. She couldn’t let go of Lachy just yet. Not tonight anyhow.
She pressed her hand to her stomach, thinking of the little life inside her, the only part of him she would ever have. Tomorrow she would start fresh, but tonight she only wanted to think of him, to mourn the loss of his heart, and revel in her misery.
She wondered what her babe would look like.
Will his hair be the burnished chestnut of his father’s, his eyes the same warm brown?
She wouldn’t know until the babe was born, and once he or she was, others would certainly notice if the child’s coloring did not match her and Peverel’s completely. Prim closed her eyes, picturing that outcome, but all she could see was herself, holding an infant in her arms, and not caring what anyone thought. Peverel would know the truth, and that was all that really mattered.
But Lachy wouldn’t. He’d go on with his life, never knowing he’d left a part of himself with her. Would he care? Would he want to know?
Guilt might plague her for the rest of her life if she never told him that he had a child.
But how can I face him
after what he said?
She covered her face, her knees shaking as she stumbled back to the chair. Her whole body hurt with the weight of the emotions she could not contain. It was too difficult to keep this all inside. How am I supposed to go on like this?
Then the library door unexpectedly opened, and Prim jumped to her feet.
Erick spotted her, his expression arrested, and then his attention moved to a shelf.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need to find something.”
She was shocked out of her self-flagellation by her brother-in-law’s odd behavior. He went right to the bookshelf and started pulling out books, tossing them haphazardly on the ground.
“Is something wrong?”
He didn’t answer. He simply moved to another shelf, his finger sliding along the spines in search of something.
“Erick?” she said louder.
He paused. “I can’t explain right this moment. I just need the journals left by my mother. Have you seen them?”
Prim frowned. “Journals?
Then Fagan, Erick’s personal secretary, entered, appearing just as agitated as Erick.
“Here, Your Grace.”
He carried a large chest, and promptly dropped it on the table.
She stood back as they opened it, digging out leather-bound journals and flipping through them.
“May I be of assistance?” she asked as she stepped forward.
Erick partially turned toward her. “Start looking through these for dates, or anything that has to do with discovering a sister.”
Prim stepped toward the table and opened a journal. “Sister?” she whispered, not expecting an answer from either of the men.
“My mother had a half-sister, I’ve been recently informed,” he said with a tight smile. “I’m searching for the proof.”
She raised a brow, but she didn’t say any more. She’d never seen Erick so agitated before. This must not be a welcome revelation.
She thumbed through a journal, noting not all the passages were English.
“Mr. Fagan, is this Gaelic?”
She held the book open in front of him.
The secretary took the book and inspected it. “It appears so, Miss Prim, though”—he turned a page—“ah, yes. This is her journal, but the writing here…” His gaze moved over the page. “It appears to be two girls, writing in one journal.”
Erick took it from him, scanning the page. “My Gaelic is poor. What is this phrase?”
Fagan took the book back. “It says, ‘Tha mi gad ghràdh, piuthar.’”
Prim gasped. She’d heard those words before. “What was that?”
“Tha mi gad ghràdh, piuthar,” Fagan repeated. “It says, ‘I love you, sister.”’
Tha mi gad ghràdh, Prim.
She thought her heart might burst from her chest.
I love you.
Lachy had told her he’d loved her in Gaelic while they were making love, and then the very next day, he’d shattered her heart.
She stepped away from the table, Erick and Mr. Fagan not noticing as they focused on the diary, still poring over the words on the page. Prim pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the drum of her heart against her fingers.
Oh God, this pain—will it ever stop? What am I supposed to do?
He’d left her, he’d chosen his clan over her, but he’d said he loved her.
How can he love me and then just leave me? What is so important that he would turn his back on love?
“It’s plain as day, Your Grace. They were sisters. They passed this journal back and forth to each other, perhaps in secret. The earl was not a man to allow his legitimate child to live with his bastard. And the duke would never have allowed it, if he knew.”
Erick’s heavy sigh filled the room. “I know. It’s just... That makes him family.”
The words slowly filtered through to Prim. She knotted her hands together against her chest, as if she had to hold them there to keep her heart inside; otherwise, it might have fought its way out and rolled to Lachy’s feet.
“Who is family?”
Erick held her gaze, his expression tortured. “Major Lachlan and I are cousins.”
She blinked. She didn’t know what to do with that bit of information. The nightmare of this day was just getting worse. She sat in the nearest chair. “What does that mean for the castle?”
“Well, this afternoon he left me a package and a letter. I didn’t open it until just after dinner, but it detailed everything he’s discovered, and Mr. Fagan has been able to validate a few things. The Earl of Cassel did illegally bequeath this castle to my mother upon her marriage. He had no right to do it. And when Aisnley Dennehy, Lachy’s grandfather, discovered that, the earl threatened him. The earl knew that Ainsley’s son, Lachy’s father, had been sneaking around with Rebecca, his illegitimate daughter, who he was passing off as his ward. If what I’m reading here is true, my mother and Rebecca discovered their true relationship just before my birth, when my mother came to the castle in 1785. They then kept up a secret correspondence together.”
Prim hugged herself. She didn’t know what to make of it all. Secret sisters, a stolen castle. “How did the earl threaten him?”
“He threatened to hang Brennan Dennehy for defiling his daughter. Or, he’d let them marry, if they surrendered the castle to him.”
“But they were in love. He didn’t defile her,” Prim said, defending a man she had never known.
“The word of a nobleman is never questioned, not against illiterate Scots.”
She closed her eyes and shuddered. No wonder Lachy hated all of them. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“There’s more here,” Mr. Fagan said.
He and Erick went back to reviewing the journals.
Prim’s stomach turned over, and she swiftly stood and ran toward the door. The men didn’t notice as she ran into the hall, colliding with Adam.
He caught her, holding her as she tried to dart past him. “Prim? What is the matter?”
She swallowed, fighting the rising urge to lose her composure all over Adam’s yellow embroidered coat. “I know why he won’t be with me,” she said, tears spilling over.
“Who?”
“Lachy.”
“It is because he’s an idiot?”
Prim shook her head. “So much has happened to his family because of us.”
He held her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. “You haven’t done anything to him, but fall in love with him. Nothing is your fault.”
“But I represent everything he hates about the English. From the Earl of Cassel, who threatened his father’s life to cover up his own thievery, to Erick’s position of power over him and living in the home that should have been his!”
Adam sobered. “I’m beginning to see what you mean.”
“He must hate me,” she cried, but in her mind, she heard his voice: Tha mi gad ghràdh, Prim.
“What do you want to do?”
“There isn’t anything I can do. I can’t undo decades of pain. He made his feelings quite clear, and now I know why. I finally understand.”
“Oh, Prim. There is no understanding how a man could choose anger over love. You’re worth more than a castle, and if he can’t see that, he doesn’t deserve you.” He checked their surroundings. “I can’t love Martin openly without risking both our lives. If all that stood between us were a painful past and a castle, nothing would stop me from being with him.”
Prim nodded. She understood his perspective, but it did nothing to ease the ache inside her. She sniffed and accepted the handkerchief he offered her.
“I’ll escort you to your room.”
“Thank you,” she said, and they turned toward the stairs.
The pounding of feet coming from the rear of the house startled them as a footman sprinted toward them. They flattened against the wall as he ran past them into the library. Prim and Adam shared a startled glance before following him.
“Sir!” the foot
man panted. “There is a crowd of men riding toward the castle, with torches and weapons!”
“What the bloody hell is going on?” Erick shouted as he set down the journal and marched from the room.
Prim and Adam followed behind as he ordered Fagan to fetch his pistols and alert Weirick. Then she rushed to the drawing room, where her mother and sister were sitting with Adam’s mother and sister.
“There are men marching toward the castle,” Prim informed them.
“We know. Weirick just went to fetch his weapons,” Violet replied.
“I’m confident this must be some misunderstanding,” Lady Everly said.
She was standing by the window that overlooked the front drive. Everyone moved to hover behind her and peek out the window. They could see the glow of the torches as the mob grew closer, and then individual people became discernible in the darkness, led by a single rider.
Prim gasped as she recognized him. Was Lachy angry enough to challenge Erick for the castle?
“That’s Major Dennehy!” Heather cried out with alarm.
“Followed by his clansmen, no doubt,” her mother added.
“What sort of barbaric practice is this?” Lady Peverel cried. “We’re under siege!”
Adam pulled his mother away from the window.
Prim was frozen, but then she turned around, determined to face Lachy herself. She wasn’t going to let anyone get hurt tonight, not over a bloody castle.
“Stupid men and their pride,” she muttered as she darted down the steps into the front hall.
Footmen guarded the door.
“Can’t come this way, Miss Prim,” the footman said. “The men will handle the attackers.”
“There will not be an attack, Edmund. Now, step aside, so that I may talk some sense into them.”
“I can’t do that,” Edmund replied. “His Grace said to defend this door, no matter what.”
She grabbed his ear, and he yelped. She tugged until he moved away from the door. Then she opened it and slipped out before he could stop her.
“Prim, get inside!” Erick called over his shoulder.
“I will speak to him.”
In the light of torches that lined the front hall, his face hardened. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. He’s got enough to be angry about. I don’t want you hurt.”