by Lauren Smith
“My lord?” the driver called out.
Daphne heard steps on the left side of the coach. She jerked open the door on the right and tumbled into the road. They had reached the forest a mile from the castle. Her attention swept the tall, dark woods, the thick trunks and the cover of the head pine trees. There was nowhere to run, but she couldn’t stay here.
“Daphne?” Lachlan’s voice sounded hoarse and panicked.
She wiped tears from her face and ran past the horses and the stunned coach driver. She heard a curse and the rush of boots on the dirt road behind her. A hand caught her arm, dragging her to a halt. The pull sent her spinning back around to face him. He caught her in his arms and for an awful instant her body wanted to surrender, to burrow into him and believe the lies he’d told her, if only for a little while. She regained control and shoved at his chest.
“Let go of me, you monster!”
“Daphne, please listen,” Lachlan begged, holding her tight despite her struggles.
She kicked his shin. He cursed, bent to grasp his leg and let go. Stunned by her sudden freedom, she didn’t immediately turn to leave. What would be the point? She could not outrun him.
Lachlan straightened, letting go of his shin as he panted and stared at her. “Please, let me explain.”
“Why should I?” The words cut her, but she kept her head high. Her father may have committed terrible crimes, but she was also the granddaughter of a duke and a lady in her own right. What pride she had left wouldn’t allow her to be pathetic, not even when her heart was bleeding.
“I know what you heard.” Lachlan’s face reddened. “My motives the night we met were inexcusable. Monstrous, yes. My heart was blackened with grief and you came into my life offering what I thought I needed.” He swallowed hard, then his words dropped to a whisper as he gazed at her like a drowning man would stare at a rope tossed to him from shore. “And I was right. You were what I needed… I just didn’t know the reasons why.”
Daphne wasn’t sure she understood what he was saying.
“I didn’t need revenge. I needed…love.” The last word was spoken so softly she thought perhaps she might have dreamt it. He reached for her and she didn’t draw away, even though she knew she should. With gentle fingers, he brushed away the tears on her cheeks.
“You don’t love me,” she said, her voice hitching. “You don’t intend to hurt people you love.”
The smile he gave was bittersweet. “I agree. But every time I tried to hurt you, to revenge William’s death, I stopped. I couldn’t go through with it. Did you not hear what I told my mother?”
“That you married me out of spite and vengeance? What happens when you are in one of your black moods? When you miss William and all you see in my eyes is the daughter of the man responsible? Will you still love me then?”
“You are not your father. I see that now.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You didn’t hear the rest. You didn’t hear me say that I love you. I love you madly. I love you with a wildness that frightens me.”
He took a step closer to her, his blue eyes stark with desperation. She didn’t step away, but her heart raced. She had to master her reactions as he held out a hand to her. Loneliness and confusion battled with hope and longing until the crescendo of emotions became too overwhelming to be kept inside. She sniffed as her nose and eyes began to burn.
“Will you say something, lass? Anything?” he begged.
“How do I know you mean what you say? Any of it?”
Lachlan looked away, then locked eyes with her again. His throat worked as he tugged at his cravat. “I don’t know a way to prove it to you. I’m a man full of stubborn, foolish pride, but…” He took her hand and knelt down on one knee. The memory of the last time he’d done this came flooding back. The tears which followed burned her cheeks, but she didn’t move to wipe them away, or dare to breathe.
He paused, his blue eyes misty. “I found your pearls. They’d spilled across the floor and I picked them up, every single one and…” He shook his head, as though unsure of what to say, then, “I was never supposed to be an earl. That was William. But he’s gone, and I am here, making a bloody mess of everything I hold dear. I understand why the pearls are so important to you. You, you are my string of pearls, Daphne. The thing I reach for when I’m full of joy or when I’m frightened of the world around me. You are the most precious thing to me. You are my hope.”
He stroked his thumbs over her cheeks, his gaze impossibly soft. “In my eyes, you are the most exquisite gift a man could be given. I’m afraid to let you go, to have you scatter and vanish like a broken strand of pearls.” He bowed his head. “But if you must leave, I love you too much to force you to stay.” Lachlan drew in a deep breath, pressing her hand to his cheek.
“You’d really let me go?” she asked.
“Yes, but you’d take my heart with you, lass.” He choked on the last few words. And, in that moment, she saw him in a way she hadn’t before. She saw Lachlan’s heart beneath the tall muscled form that remained on bended knee before her. His heart was in his eyes and the pain of his past, so vividly exposed, that she hurt with him. There was no menace, no anger or hatred there, only love and the fear of losing it. But it all brought one question to mind, one she still didn’t know the answer to.
“Why do you love me?”
He answered without hesitation, “Because of who you are. Not as the daughter of a wretched man, but as a woman who cares about strangers and fights for her life and refuses to surrender to fate. A woman who smiles and dances and finds joy even after enduring so much sorrow. You love with all your heart and make me want to be the best version of myself. I can’t breathe when I think of you hurting, lass. You’ve become a part of me, and I hope that there’s a little bit of me inside you too. I cannot imagine my life without you.” He pressed his lips to her hand. “I made a vow in the church to you. Two souls made one, two hearts made one. The heavens brought us together and only you can break us apart.”
Daphne stared down at him, too afraid to hope that all he said was true.
“Lachlan, even if I believe you, it won’t erase the fact that my father caused your brother’s death. Your mother will never forgive me.”
He was on his feet, tugging her into his arms, embracing her so tight that she had to shove at him to get room to breathe.
“All that matters, is that you are my wife, my love. What your father did was a true dishonor, but William was his own man. He took his own life by his own choice. I didn’t want to face that truth, but I have to. Tragedy brought you to me, but I promise to let only hope bind us from now on.”
She pressed her cheek to his chest, her heart still heavy with concern. “What about Moira?”
“She likes you. She wanted you gone to protect you from me and my thirst for vengeance. But my only plan is to love you. Madly, wildly, deeply.” He leaned back so he could cup her face.
“Lachlan,” she breathed, trembling, wanting to believe him, to trust him.
He brushed a thumb over her lips so intently that he seemed to be imprinting their shape upon his memory. “Aye?”
“You cannot lie to me, ever again. I need…I deserve a husband who loves me enough to give me honesty. If you won’t be that man, then I have to leave.” She was amazed at the strength in her voice. She meant every word. She would protect herself no matter the consequences.
Lachlan nodded. “Aye, you’re right. And you have my word. I am your man, lass. Always.” The word was breathed so softy it sounded like a prayer.
By the forest’s edge, a deer wandered out and watched their reunion with mild interest.
“Then take me home.” Home to Huntley. Home with him.
Please let him be a man of his word. Please let him love me.
Lachlan laughed with such joy and relief that he swung her around in the air before he set her back down.
“Ach, lass,” he murmured, kissing her. “You’ll be the death of me if I lose you.”
“Then d
on’t lose me.” She bit her lip but finally smiled after a moment. She was so afraid to hope they could be happy—
Crack!
The report of a rifle exploded around them and the deer bolted across the road. Lachlan grunted and stumbled, still holding her in his arms, but she saw pain streak across his features before he dropped his arms and crumpled to the ground.
Blood suddenly covered her face and his.
“Lachlan!” She screamed, falling to her knees by his side.
“My lord!” The driver leapt from the coach and dashed over to Lachlan.
“He’s bleeding!” Daphne touched Lachlan’s head. Blood poured from a deep cut along one of his temples.
“He’s been shot.”
“What?” Daphne frantically ripped at the hem of her dress, freeing a bit of fabric. She pressed it to the wound, staunching it. Terror pounded inside her.
Shot. Blood. Death. The three words cut through her over and over as she pressed the cloth tight to Lachlan’s head.
“Seamus! You shot his lordship!” Both the driver and Daphne looked in the direction of sounds coming from the nearby underbrush. An old man and a young boy emerged from the foliage. The young boy carried a rifle. The old man shook the young boy by the shoulders and tore the rifle from his hands.
Seamus’s face turned ashen as he stared at Daphne and the coach driver clutching Lachlan’s body, blood coating their hands and the road.
“I dinnae mean to!” The lad’s bottom lip quivered.
“Help me get him into the coach,” she told the driver. She turned to the farmer and boy. “Do you have horses?”
“Aye.”
“Fetch the nearest doctor. Send him to the castle.”
The old man struck the boy’s backside. “You heard her ladyship!”
Seamus sprinted back into the underbrush. The farmer helped Daphne and the driver lift Lachlan into the coach. The farmer stayed inside with Daphne, who kept the blood-soaked bit of cloth pressed tight to Lachlan’s temple.
The ride back to the castle seemed to last forever. Daphne panted softly as she focused on Lachlan. His eyes opened halfway, as if he were dreaming and not losing a perilous amount of blood.
“My pearl,” Lachlan said drowsily and raised one hand to brush her cheek.
She clasped his hand in hers. “I’m here.” His eyes closed but his breathing remained steady. When they reached Huntley Castle, Daphne ordered the farmer and driver to carry Lachlan to the drawing room.
Moira rushed down the steps. “Lachlan!”
“He was grazed by a bullet.” Daphne caught Moira’s arm. “Have the footmen bring hot water and fresh towels.”
Moira whirled and rushed into the house, calling for footmen. Daphne led the driver and the farmer into the drawing room, where they placed him on a chaise lounge.
She continued to keep the cloth firmly pressed to his wound the entire time.
“What else can I do, my lady?” the farmer asked.
“Watch for the doctor.”
She wiped the blood on the side of Lachlan’s head, wincing.
“What happened?” Moira’s voice broke as she rushed into the room, two footmen following, their arms full of supplies.
“Hold this.” She took Moira’s hand and pressed it against the cloth to keep pressure on Lachlan’s wound. Then she stood and took one of the cloths from a footman. She offered him a whisper of thanks before she dipped the cloth in the bowl of hot water. She returned to Lachlan and pressed a new, clean cloth to his temple.
“Daphne, what happened?” Moira demanded again.
“One of the tenant farmer’s children was hunting and the bullet grazed Lachlan’s head. If it’s only a surface wound, he will be all right. Head wounds bleed more than others.”
Moira’s eyes were pinned to her son’s pale face. “How do you know?”
“My father had friends who served in the military and shared rather vivid memories from the wars. One of them mentioned that a head wound such as this bled a lot, but wasn’t fatal as long as the injured person was seen by a physician right away.
There was a commotion outside the drawing room and the boy from the forest appeared. Behind him came a gentleman in a black waistcoat and trousers. He carried a black medicine bag as he rushed to Lachlan’s side.
Moira and Daphne gave the doctor space to examine Lachlan’s head wound. Moira slipped a hand in hers and they clung to each other, holding their breaths while the doctor tended to Lachlan. He spent several minutes closing the wound with stiches and then cleansed it. When he finished, he faced them with a relieved smile.
“His Lordship should be fine. He’ll need his bandages changed daily until the wound fully heals. No riding, bending over, or anything else that requires physical exertion until the stiches have been removed.”
Daphne glanced at Moira and then she turned back to the doctor. “I believe we can manage that.”
“What can we do for him now?”
“For now, you must let him rest. I will leave you some further instructions before I go.”
“Thank you.” Moira wiped away a tear before she shooed the footmen away.
“I’ll be back with some hot tea,” Moira said before she, too, slipped out of the room.
After Daphne thanked the doctor and saw him out, she returned to Lachlan’s side and set a chair next to the chaise, thankful she could just sit beside him. She curled her fingers around his hand. He had protected her when she was desperate for help. Now she would protect him.
A few minutes later, Moira returned with tea and poured them both a cup.
“Is he doing better?” she asked.
Daphne had been paying close attention to Lachlan’s breathing. It had deepened rather than become shallow. That was a good sign.
“Yes. I think so.”
Moira swallowed hard and looked at Daphne. “I pray you are right. I cannot lose him, not like I did William.”
Daphne placed a hand over Moira’s wrist, squeezing it gently. “You won’t lose him.”
“You are so sure… How?”
Daphne smiled sadly. “Because Lachlan is a fighter. He won’t let go of life, not without a struggle. It’s one of the reasons I love him.”
“You love him?” Moira’s eyes softened with sorrow. “But you must know why he brought you here.”
“I overheard you talking in the study. It’s why I left. What I didn’t hear was that his feelings had changed.”
“He said he loved you. I know my son. He spoke the truth when he said he loved you. I didn’t want to believe, but it was in his eyes, in his voice.” Moira stroked Lachlan’s cheek and he groaned.
“If he can love you, then I believe I can too,” Moira said. “I already was fond of you, my dear. I couldn’t have chosen a better woman for him. Fortunately, I didn’t need to.”
Daphne’s throat constricted as she focused on Lachlan, afraid she might burst into tears if she looked at Moira right now. It was all she ever wanted, to be accepted and loved.
I’m so afraid it won’t last, that this dream will prove false.
Chapter Eleven
Lachlan woke, his mouth dry and his head throbbing. A soft weight rested on his ribs. He moved and felt a feminine body slumped over his chest. He blinked, clearing his vision, and saw Daphne sitting beside him on a chair in the drawing room.
What had happened?
The last thing he remembered was standing on the side of the road, holding her in his arms, after she agreed to return home. He reached for his temple and touched bandages. The drawing room door opened a crack and his mother peered inside. She looked between him and Daphne.
He carefully slipped off of the chaise, then eased Daphne back in her chair. He touched his head again gingerly, fighting off a wave of dizziness.
“You need to stay down,” his mother admonished, trying to force him back to the chaise.
“I will, in a moment. I wish to speak with you outside first.” He pointed to the hall. The
y both exited the room and he leaned against the corridor wall to preserve his strength while his head pounded.
“Lachlan, you scared me.” His mother embraced him with a gentle, careful hug, reminding him of when he was a wee lad and he’d come to her afraid of shadows. She’d held him just like this and whispered the words only mothers knew that could put a child’s fears to rest.
“I’m all right, Mother.” He kissed her forehead and then gently lifted her arms away so she would step back. He needed to see her face and he couldn’t do that while she hugged him.
“I was so afraid,” Moira’s voice trembled. “I couldn’t lose you too.”
“You didn’t. I’m right here.” He looked back through the doorway, where he could still see Daphne’s blood covered, sleeping form.
“She’s a sweet, brave lass and I want her to stay,” Moira said. “She loves you, despite the terrible reason you brought her here.”
“I love her more than I ever thought I could love a woman. I thought, at first, fate was being cruel by letting me fall in love with the daughter of the man who drove William to his death, but she’s suffered too. Greatly. And when I’m with her, my heart doesn’t feel so broken.”
Moira hugged him again. “Maybe we can finally heal.”
“Aye.”
“My lord?”
Lachlan turned. Mary stood behind them. She held a small rosewood box on her palm. “I collected each pearl. What should I do with them?”
Lachlan glanced at his mother. “I have an idea. Assuming you don’t mind, Mother.” He winked when she raised her brows.
“What are you up to, Lachlan?” she asked.
“Something wonderful.”
***
A week later, Daphne sat curled in a library chair, reading by the fire. Beside her, in his own chair, Lachlan pretended to read. His head wound was nearly healed after she’d spent every day looking after him. This was the first day in which he’d insisted she take a few hours to do something she enjoyed and not fuss over him. When she’d suggested reading in the library, he’d agreed. Yet from the moment they’d sat down with their books, his focus remained on her. Every so often, she looked up and he hastily returned his attention to his book.