by Wilde, Tanya
“I never abandoned you,” he denied. “I was always right beside you.”
“But I didn’t know that. I thought you had abandoned me. It felt like you had. I was abandoned in my mind and my heart.”
“I killed—”
“That excuse holds no sway anymore, Drew. You carry guilt, not fault.”
“Your brothers—”
“Found the inn accidentally when Lachlan’s horse reared. They are as haunted as we are, apparently.”
A short pause. “Have they tried the stew yet?”
Isla smiled in spite of herself. “You should have seen Boyd and Callum’s faces.”
Drew chuckled, the sound flittering down her spine.
“Please open the door, lass.” His voice was an agonized whisper. “Don’t make me confess my heart when I cannot look you in the eyes as I do.”
He slew her with each word.
“Drew . . . I can’t . . .”
“Because you can’t stand the sight of me?”
Because I’ll fly into your arms if I do.
“I need to sort through . . . all of this.” That was all she could give him. “And I can’t think knowing you are here, outside my door. You steal all my strength with your presence.”
“I shall give it all back. Just don’t let me go.”
Isla shut her eyes.
“Isla.” His brogue rumbled deep and low.
She clenched her teeth. Butterflies with sharp, bladed wings fluttered in her breast. She wanted to jump up and yank the door open. Fly into his arms. But that wouldn’t erase all he had done and all she felt at that moment. It would only confuse her more.
“Do not say my name, I beg you.” She buried her face in her hands and had to swallow twice to locate her voice. “You don’t deserve to say my name.”
It broke her heart to say the words, but she could not stop them from spilling from her lips, her heart bruised. Defeated.
“Don’t do this, lass.”
Her chest deflated. His words were like a warm breath caressing her cheek. It tore at her. She wanted desperately to rip open the door and rush into his arms, but she dared not. It would shatter her. Isla did her best to brace her rapidly weakening heart. He wore her down with his soft voice and honeyed words. She loved Drew, cocky and charming, had since childhood. She would forever. She had grown fond of Patrick, tender and caring, their stretches of silence her pillar of strength. And she was in love with Mr. Ross, bossy, arrogant, and not who she first thought him to be.
She had let Drew go because he disappeared from her life without a word. She had let Patrick go because of the circumstances—that is to say, her brothers intervened, and she had no choice. And she had to let Mr. Ross go because the man with the eye patch did not exist.
In his place stood Drew.
She shut her eyes against all three men.
Time. She needed time. Time away from him. Time to get her thoughts in order. Time to speak with Honoria. Time to sleep in a comfortable bed and eat solid food.
“I need space, Drew,” she whispered.
“Isla—”
“You owe me a boon,” Isla interrupted. “This is what I want.”
When he said nothing after a spell, Isla frowned. She summoned her courage and opened the door, poking her head out to peer down the hall.
Drew had vanished, and in his place was a sketch of a single red poppy.
Chapter 21
Eight days later
Isla stared down at her fingers lingering over the keys of the pianoforte without paying much attention to the melody they were producing. A somber melody, it reflected her inner melancholy. She had left Drew at the inn over a week ago, had returned to MacCallan Castle. Adair had even offered to take her to England if she truly wished to go, but Isla had declined.
What would be the point?
She had left for reasons that no longer mattered.
After learning that Honoria and Lash were to be married within a fortnight, her spirits lifted a bit. Yet her heart was still hopelessly split open and undecided over what to do.
How come I’m the one left with nothing but regret when he is the one who deceived me and broke my heart?
Isla lowered her head onto the keys, the piano screeching out a caterwaul of notes. How thoroughly tragic that most of the ache she felt stemmed from regret: regret that she hadn’t bashed Drew over the head, regret that she’d left him behind, regret that she hadn’t truly given him a chance to win her back. But mostly, regret that she hadn’t recognized Drew the moment he’d appeared on their doorstep.
He must have been so alone back then. Come to think of it, she had always found something sad about Patrick. The air of gloom she’d often caught in his averted gaze had so effortlessly fit with what her heart had felt at that moment she hadn’t looked beyond the connection. A kindred spirit he had been.
But with Neill Ross . . .
Eye patch be damned.
I should have recognized him the moment he opened his insolent mouth.
She closed her eyes and drew in a long, deep breath. Longing tangled in her breast. Failing miserably seemed to be a theme in her life lately, though she tried her best to keep up a happy appearance for Honoria’s sake.
But there was no improving her mood.
For the most part, her family, or should she say the six brothers who had given Drew his scars, were giving her a wide berth. Honoria and Hugh, on the other hand, hounded her every step, never leaving her alone to brood for long. One of them ought to be arriving any moment now.
She jabbed at the piano.
“What am I going to do?” she muttered to her musical companion. “How am I going to get over him this time? Do I even want to?”
The door pushed open, and Isla heard the soft pitter-patter of her sister’s footsteps breezing into the room.
“You weren’t this inconsolable when Patrick left,” Honoria commented.
“Back then, I was not aware of what a fool I’d been,” Isla confessed. “I’m not in the mood for tea and biscuits.”
“I did not order any as I’ve heard you are partial to ale these days.”
Isla lifted her head and turned to her sister, who held two tankards of ale in her hands. “Where, pray tell, did you get that?”
“Three of your friends have arrived at the castle,” Honoria announced. “They are all quite concerned for your welfare, and they brought gifts.” She lifted the glasses.
“Friends?” Isla asked skeptically. Surely that could not be Mr. Drummond’s ale? “As in plural?”
“Aye.”
“There must be some mistake,” Isla said slowly. She could think of no other friends who would be concerned over her. And Eliza and Mrs. Cooper would not travel to MacCallan Castle without an invitation. Would they?
“An odd trio, those three, I must admit,” Honoria ventured on. “A chatty foreigner, an old woman, and a handsome count.”
Isla’s eyes widened. “They are here?”
“I see you know of whom I speak,” Honoria murmured. “I had wondered. . . .”
What were Miss Walker, Mrs. Cooper, and the count doing here? Had something happened at the inn? To the inn? Mr. and Mrs. Drummond? Mr. and Mrs. Donnelly? Mr. Shelby and Lady Amanda?
“Did they look miserable? Puffy-eyed? Haunted?”
Honoria frowned. “Nay, they seemed ecstatic to be here. Och, well, the women did. They kept asking for pitchers, so I had Hugh collect some for them. Then they rolled out a barrel of ale.”
Isla’s shoulders sagged but promptly tensed up again.
“I cannot possibly face them after . . .” Isla trailed off, leaping from the piano stool.
“You pretended to be someone you’re not with a fake guardian and then disappeared without a by-your-leave?” Honoria raised a brow. “They are here. It seems pointless to hide.”
“Honoria, please,” Isla pleaded, her voice laced with desperation. “I’m not ready to face them.”
Honoria nodded
. “Then it’s a good thing I have packed a suitcase for you.”
“For me? Why? I want you to send them off, not me.”
“Adair already invited them to stay for the wedding.” Honoria grinned. “He practically leaped ten feet when he saw Mrs. Cooper. You must tell me about that sometime.”
“Adair did what?” Isla demanded with a cry of alarm. “How could he invite them to your wedding?”
Honoria shrugged. “To stave off scandal, I suppose, or pure fear. I cannot tell.”
Isla shook her head furiously. Nay, this was not happening. They would have questions she was not ready to answer, like Drew’s whereabouts and why they weren’t together. What he did. And could she not forgive him? “Why must this happen now?”
“That is why you are leaving.”
“I have no wish to travel anywhere.”
“You haven’t asked where I’m sending you off to. Are you not curious?”
“Not particularly.”
Honoria handed Isla a glass.
“Have you not limped the halls of the castle like a wounded animal long enough?” Honoria asked, taking a sip and nodding in appreciation. “This is good.”
Isla stared at her ale, memories flooding her. She took a sip. “Aye, it is good.”
“I know you are heartbroken, dear, but I also know Drew loves you. Why else would he, a noble, live as a servant for months on end?”
“Do you think I have not considered that at length?” Isla asked. “I have nearly driven myself crazy with all the thinking.”
“Have you arrived at a conclusion?”
“Aye, Drew is an honorable man. I cannot fault him for wanting to atone for what happened to Ewan. But he deceived me.”
“You believe that is why he disguised himself and lived as a servant at our household for this long?” Honoria shook her head. “There are a thousand ways he could have atoned for his guilt.”
Isla sighed. “I know.”
“Then what is the problem?” Honoria asked.
“The problem lies with my heart not catching up to my mind.”
“That is a problem,” Honoria agreed. “Your heart has grown weary.”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if I let myself believe he stayed at MacCallan Castle for me.”
His heart had been in the right place, hadn’t it? Isla could recall his stricken look as she had turned her back on him and walked out of that cursed room. It haunted her, day and night.
“Go to him.”
Isla’s eyes snapped back to her sister. “Go to him?”
“It is the only way for your heart and mind to arrive at the same page. It is time for you to take charge.”
“What about his deception?”
“Is that so unforgivable?” Honoria questioned. “Men are often misguided fools, but deeds born out of love ought to require more in-depth consideration.”
“Och, but I cannot just arrive on his doorstep at Murray Castle,” Isla sighed.
“Why not?”
“You did not see his face, Honoria. It was dreadful. I was dreadful. I rebuffed his every request to speak.” She let out another sigh. “He must hate me.”
“He could never hate you,” Honoria murmured. “That man is well aware of his wrongdoings.”
“He might refuse to see me . . .” Isla whispered. “I fear that the most, even if it might be what I deserve. Perhaps I should write him a letter.”
Honoria tapped her chin in thought. “Nay, what you need is a more dramatic entrance.”
“I’m not one for dramatic entrances.”
“I suppose not.” Her sister eyed her up and down. “But what of a subtle dramatic entrance?”
“How subtle? How dramatic?” Isla shook her head. “I mean, how subtle can dramatic entrances be?”
“As subtle as disguising yourself as a maid and as dramatic as then revealing your identity?”
Isla’s jaw went slack.
“That is utterly insane,” Isla protested after a minute of shock.
“What says ‘I forgive you’ better than that?”
“Who says I’ve forgiven him?”
“You haven’t?” Honoria inquired innocently.
Isla narrowed her eyes at her sister. Honoria knew her too well. She had forgiven Drew the moment his deception had been discovered. The thing about forgiveness, she realized, albeit later than she’d have wished, was that anger and pain blanketed it.
“I—”
“You are miserable without him.”
“I am aware of my level of wretchedness.”
“You cannot live without him.”
“I surely can.” Isla glared at her sister.
“You love him.”
“Of course, I—” Isla abruptly stopped.
Honoria raised a brow.
“That is foul play,” Isla groused. “He should be the one begging for forgiveness. He is the one in the wrong.”
“Did he not?” Honoria mused. “Or did you leave him before he could?”
“Must you be the voice of reason?”
“I suppose if you do not go to him, we shall have to see what disguise he presents himself in next. He seems to appear every few months or so?”
Isla’s eyes went round. He’d be mad to return after what had happened at the inn. Would he come back if she did not go to him?
“You know it’s the truth,” her sister pressed. “The Drew I know would never give up.”
The thought produced an odd flutter in her breast. She’d been so hurt in the moment, but as time had passed and her anger had waned, and clarity took its valued place. Isla hadn’t been sulking and miserable because Drew had deceived her. She’d been sulking and miserable because she had left in haste without giving him a chance to make it right. And Isla did not know how to fix that.
Drew would always be there for her.
“Dear Lord!” she exclaimed. “It’s not my heart that hasn’t met up with my brain—my brain has not caught up with my heart!”
“Thinking does cloud judgment,” Honoria agreed.
“Honoria, I must leave at once!”
“I’ve already ordered the carriage to be readied.”
“What about Adair and the others? They will never allow this.” Isla’s shoulders suddenly sank.
“Do not worry. Hugh and I have prepared everything. Lash is keeping them occupied with a discussion on local farming.”
“Hugh?”
Honoria nodded with a smile. “He will accompany you to Murray Castle. That way, when Adair finds out, it will lessen the blow.”
“I cannot believe I wasted a whole week.”
“You did not waste a week, dear. You needed time to gather your heart, and Drew Murray deserved some time to stew.”
“You are right, again, displeasingly so.” Isla sat her glass down and took her sister’s cheeks in her hands. “Take good care of my friends. They are precious to me.”
Honoria nodded with a faint smile.
They turned as Hugh strode into the room. “That took longer than I expected.”
“Were you eavesdropping at the door?” Isla demanded.
“Of course. Timing is everything. How else could I march in at the perfect moment to announce my presence?”
Honoria chuckled.
“You are such a cur,” Isla accused.
“A cur that is about to take you on a journey to find your one true—”
Isla brushed past him, cutting him off with an effective, “Let’s go.”
“—love.”
Chapter 22
A plan. Also known as a course of action. A scheme. Commonly created to reach a specific goal or achievement. Drew needed to come up with one of those. Or perhaps he needed to stop planning altogether. To accomplish the latter, however, he must first purge Isla MacCallan from his mind, which was proving to be an impossibility.
Lately, these past nine days to be exact, his thoughts had turned once again to include if only: if only he’d told her
the truth sooner, if only he could bury his face in the warmth of her neck one more time, nay, for the first time. If only she hadn’t left him without a backward glance.
If only.
Silence surrounded him as he shut his eyes and listened to the sounds of the night. All the windows in his chamber were open. A soft breeze threatened to snuff out the light of several flickering candles, taunting him with darkness, with what could never be.
Drew sighed.
His heart hurt all the time. Respite was a word that meant nothing. Aye, it would be better to stop—to stop planning, to stop scheming, to stop everything all together. The only way he would ever move on.
There was just one problem.
There was no moving on.
Drew did not plan to stop planning, to stop scheming, or to stop anything. Not once did he allow his thoughts to stop racing back and forth in his mind. Instead, he thought harder, planned harder, schemed harder than ever before.
The topic of his madcap, insane thoughts?
What would be his next disguise?
A puzzle, this one. The entire MacCallan clan would be wary of hiring new staff. They would undoubtedly inspect any new candidates to ensure they weren’t Drew Murray. So how, then? A tenant? A gypsy camped out on their property? Neighboring horse trainer? Would any of those options bring him close enough to soothe the erratic flutter of his heart?
Nay.
Only Isla’s gentle touch could ever hope to heal his downtrodden soul. Only her words had the power to bring his heart back to life. Only ever her. He had held out for nine days without a single glimpse of her—he would not be able to hold out for much longer.
He needed to catch a glimpse of her smiling, even from afar. Just one small smile would do, for no one had a smile like Isla MacCallan. Its force was kindred to a thousand stars lighting up the night sky and filled a man with all sorts of hopes and dreams. And he needed hope like he never had before. He needed to inhale her fragrance, no matter how faint. He needed to hear her voice, even if it was a mere whisper. He needed her any way he could get her.
He was a tragic man.
Which brought him to another tragic conclusion: that Drew, once a respectable Highlander of the Murray clan, had been reduced to stalking the woman he loved.