“I did. I knew that morn that I wanted only you. Though, aye, I later sent Cortland to seek a lass from the village. ‘Twas done to see if I could rouse jealousy in you. Without the proper time to court you, I settled for a bit of deception.”
Staring at the hands covering hers, she wondered why it should feel so right when he touched her. Yet she also knew it shouldn’t hurt like it did, his skin on hers a vivid reminder of the days without it. Going back to the conversation, she replied, “And here you sit asking me to trust you.”
Declan lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss over the knuckles that left her body trembling in its wake. “I ask for you to answer to wife. We both ken I dinna have the patience to wait for you to decide.”
Emma shook her head and pulled her hand way from his heat that threatened her sanity. Asking the question that spoke of a refusal to forgive, she said, “If I say no, will you keep me away from Mary?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw his shoulders slump in defeat. “Never.” Then his body straightened, and a smile curved on his lips. “Though to be near her, you will need to stay on my lands, provided I once again hold them. ‘Twould give me a chance to prove my love for you.”
She also knew that on his lands, in their home, she would not be able to hide her pregnancy for long. It also failed to escape her notice that she doubted she would be able to refuse him. A sweet Declan was almost impossible for her to resist. That was the persona she had fallen in love with.
When she contemplated, he spoke softly, “We are young. In time, there could be more wee ones, though I ken you may never forgive me for the loss you suffered.”
The sadness in his voice almost crippled her, along with her part in the deception. She had no idea how to trust him with a future as a family when he had done everything possible to destroy them. Yet she had no idea how he could sit next to her and try to share her pain when he had presumably caused it.
“Then what?” she questioned harshly. “What happens the next time trouble lands at your door? How do I even begin to imagine you won’t be so stupid again? That you wouldn’t try to protect me by hurting me?”
“My vow means little to your ears, I ken. Yet my vow is what you have. I was wrong to force you away. Never again would I do such to hurt you. My life only has meaning if you are with Mary and me. We love you,” Declan crooned into her hair. “I need you.”
“But the laird doesn’t.” Emma knew full well the laird was the idiot with the plan.
“The laird misses his wife, her wisdom, and her flesh to sleep against. Though once he again has a keep to offer, he will return here to demand his wife come home. We both ken how stubborn he can be when his mind is set,” Declan teased.
Daring a glance at the face that studied her, she caught a flash of mischief in his eyes. “Then he had better come armed,” Emma retorted.
He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek, leaving heat and tingles creeping down her spine. “The laird will come on his knees begging for his wife to be his again. He longs for quiet conversations and heated arguments, and he loves his wife above all. The man is the same, though freely admits his wrongs and how empty his world is without you.”
Emma sighed, hating the void that had become her world. She missed all those things and more.
“Tell me there is hope for us,” Declan implored. “While I would spend the whole of many nights groveling, I need to ken you wish me to continue.”
Truth and intent warred within her, along with the certainty that he meant every word, though it mixed with a heart full of hurt and guilt over his deception. Smiling at the floor her eyes studied, she said, “I’m still talking to you.”
“I am a greedy man who would have all you can give,” Declan whispered to her. His gaze held hers with a twinkle that made her ache for what had been. Then it vanished, and solemn eyes closed as his breath spilled out in a rush. “I had no idea . . . I can never ask you to forgive me for what we lost . . . I am so sorry.” His voice choked, and guilt trickled over her wounded heart.
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “I can’t do this. I can’t lie to you.”
“Do you pretend to consider taking me back into your heart?” Declan asked, his voice rose with the question.
“No. Being the fool I am, I’m trying to balance out what happened versus what you intended,” Emma started to explain. “But we are lying to you, and it’s eating me alive.” She knew the lie was a large part of why she couldn’t sleep.
“About what?” Declan asked, his patience clearly starting to wear thin.
While she knew she could keep quiet until she figured out what she wanted, she couldn’t bear the agony he was in thinking she had lost their child. This cruelty is not fair. “I never lost the baby,” Emma blurted out.
“What are you saying to me?” The laird asked her.
“I’m still not talking to the laird,” Emma quipped.
Declan stilled beside her and took several deep breaths, but carried accusation in his tone. “Was there a child to lose? I dinna ken what you are saying.”
If there was a worse way to handle the conversation, she doubted she’d be able to find it. “I’m telling you that I am with child,” intentionally using a phrase he would follow.
“You are with child?” he questioned before he rose to stand before her and glare at her with wide eyes. “I have been here for days mourning the loss and you are with child?” His voice roared through the still cottage.
“And you expected me to tell you given everything you put me through? How dense are you? I don’t trust you, you hurt me, you ended our marriage, and yes, I am with child. I’m alone, thrown away, and expecting a baby.” Emma yelled back at him. “Do you honestly think I am happy about any of this?”
The rage on his face transformed to shock as she spat the words at him. Before he could utter a sound, Cortland threw open the front door. “Enough. I heard your argument too many steps from my door. Declan, leave my daughter in peace.”
Turning his fury on a new target, Declan demanded, “How dare you lie to me? You told me Emma lost our bairn.”
Cortland stalked to put his rain-soaked frame between her and Declan. “I told you what I thought best given the fact you ended your marriage. If Emma decided to tell you, ‘tis her concern. Though I doubt her wisdom given your reaction. You should be on your knees begging her forgiveness for placing her in such danger. You should be thanking the heavens the child still has a chance at life. Instead, you react with anger and blame all besides the one at fault . . . you.”
Declan staggered back as if Cortland had physically struck him. “You dinna think I deserve the child. You plan to stay here and raise the wee one without me.”
Assuming the harshly whispered accusation was for her, Emma replied, “Honestly, I thought that was my only option.”
Declan closed his eyes. “Never forgive me, Emma. For I will never forgive my deeds that left my wife thinking she was alone and with child.” With that said, he grabbed his boots and walked out the door into the steadily falling rain.
Fresh tears slid from her eyes while she stared at the door. Speaking more to herself than Cortland, she whispered, “That didn’t go well.”
~ ~ ~
Cool rain washed over him and did little to ease the ache in his chest. Declan stomped in the mud and let the guilt fill his soul. Drenched to the bone, he overheard fragments of the argument between Cortland and Emma, and he knew only he could be the source of their strife. Never once have they ever said a foul word to other. How much strife and pain am I able to cause?
While certain that he had succeeded in saving Emma and their child, the cost remained beyond his scope of reason. He could not envision a day where she would ever forgive his deceit or his cruelty. Emma’s body was covered in bruises, battered, and still held the promise of
life. Each wound might as well have been inflicted by my own hand. He had spoken horrendous words before the whole of the clan that no man should ever utter, ended their marriage, and left her alone in the world. In his heart, he knew that she had been correct to keep the child a secret. He deserved such a punishment. All I have done has left my daughter alone to face unfathomable danger. I am the last man who should be gifted with another bairn.
The drops of rain soaking his skin did nothing to mask the heated argument from inside the cottage. Of all he had done, the argument between Cortland and Emma confirmed he was the worst of men. Their words were unintelligible but, clearly, they were at odds. For heartbeats beyond counting, the verbal battle waged, followed by quiet and stillness within the dwelling.
The door at his back opened and closed, and footfalls sounded behind him. “Go back inside and see to your daughter, old man,” Declan told the rain. “Our talk left her upset. She is in need of comfort.” He left out that he didn’t have the strength to face judgment.
“Upset is an understatement,” Emma’s voice told him.
He whirled to see her outline in the dim light from the cottage windows, covered with a plaid. “Go back inside before the rain chills you to the bone. You have enough worries without sickness.”
“We need to finish this, Declan,” Emma said, taking a step closer. “I’m sorry I told you like that. It wasn’t right.”
Her anger is justified. “You were nay planning on telling me, were you?” he asked her shadowed figure.
“Not right away. But I couldn’t handle your guilt at my deception. While I never asked Cortland to take it that far, he did it to prevent you from asking me about it.”
“Your da is correct. I deserve naught,” Declan grumbled.
“Probably, yet here we are missing our daughter and wondering what future we have to offer this promise of a child,” Emma told him. “What’s going to be our future?”
Declan stilled at the question that caused his heart to hope. Stepping close enough to see her wary pale blue eyes, he said, “I would have you as my wife in all ways. I would see us together raising our bairn as we planned, as I once promised you.”
Emma nodded and looked past him into the darkened night. “I want to believe you because I can’t imagine a life without you. Our child should have a father. The problem is, I don’t know where to start.”
“And my deeds hide our path,” Declan confirmed to the eyes that finally held his.
She nodded and tilted her head. “Are you happy about him?”
A wide smile pulled at his lips at thought of a son and proper heir. “Our son or daughter will be loved and cared for all the days of my life, as will you and Mary. My heart holds only joy at the glad tidings.”
“I’m not quite sure I’m ready to answer as wife. We still have a long way to go,” she told him. He heard the hesitation in her voice.
“Yet you stand before me with my bairn growing inside of you, a child we made together in our marriage bed”—or baths, the study, or even the kitchens, Declan thought, but decided the lighthearted banter had no place in the conversation—“Such a truth binds us,” Declan tried to reason with her.
“I need time,” she told him.
“Time is never one of our allies, sweet wife. At any moment, William may ride in with Mary and I shall leave to win back your home. I would have us together before I leave,” he told her.
Her heavy sigh filled the air. He took comfort that rejection had yet to spew from her lips. Daring a step closer, he wiped at the rain that touched her face. “‘Tis a poor excuse of a husband who leaves his wife to stand in the cold rain. Come inside and dry yourself.”
Taking her arm, he led her back to the door, pleased beyond reason that she used his support to make up for the lack of her walking stick. The door opened to Cortland’s harsh glare and a drying cloth held out for Emma; one was thrown at him.
“Change your clothes and come dry yourself before the fire,” Declan said to Emma. “We can continue talking if you wish or merely share the heat for a bit.” Without a word, she limped into her chamber and closed the curtain.
“You push too hard,” Cortland harshly whispered at him. “Emma needs rest, nay more.”
“She needs to ken I love her still and would ease all pain from her heart. My wife needs to ken that I welcome her child and would do all for her.” Declan replied loud enough for Emma to overhear. “Save your anger for another day. For now, let us rejoice that a bairn is to come, Grandfather.”
Cortland shook his head in disgust, yet Declan saw the grin the old man tried to hide. “Only for the moment to allow Emma peace,” he grunted. “On the morrow, you will face my wrath for the tears I saw on her face upon my return.”
“Aye,” Declan agreed. When Cortland threw a dry plaid at him, he nodded in thanks. He stepped before the fire in the hearth, added more wood, and shed his wet clothing. That he sat wrapped in borrowed goods did not escape his notice. His wife was barely speaking with him, and he couldn’t even provide clothing for himself. The laird in him cringed in disgust at how far he had fallen and silently vowed he would one day be able to provide Emma all she would ever need in life.
“Warm yourself, Emma,” Cortland said after the curtain at his back swooshed.
Declan turned to see a hesitant Emma come to the table dressed in a simple shift and wrapped in a blanket from her bed. Her skin was pale with cold, and he doubted their conversation had aided in her recovery.
A shaky breath left her lips. “You can go to bed, Da.”
“I would stay,” Cortland told their backs. Declan didn’t fault the man for wanting to protect Emma from him.
“After I’ve set the bread dough to rise, I’m going to bed,” she told them. “Besides, you can hear every word in your room.”
“And listen I shall,” Cortland told them. He stepped to Emma and placed a kiss to her head. “Sleep this night. You have settled enough for the moment . . .”—Cortland’s gaze turned to Declan—“Enough.”
It wasn’t nearly enough for him, but he nodded in consent. Emma would have no more than she could bear. He turned back to the flames, content to have her by his side, even if silence filled the room.
She shook away his gesture to sit by his side. “If you want bread tomorrow, I need to get to work.”
“You are chilled. We will survive without bread for one day,” Declan suggested.
Emma brought her supplies to the table, along with a large clay bowl. “You are the one who was soaked. I’m only damp.” To prove her point, she ran her hand over his wet hair. Her touch is like nothing I have ever known. His head tilted to nestle her palm that lingered. She added, “For once, be smart and dry off before the fire.”
“You chastise me in a way that reminds me of my wife, Emma,” Declan attempted to tease while he watched her hands measure, pour, and mix what would fill his belly in the day to come. Not for the first time, he wondered if she would have been happier married to a simple man who could have spent his spare time at her side. Then he threw the thoughts away, knowing she was meant for him alone.
“Sounds like your wife was the intelligent one in your marriage,” she threw back at him.
“Oh aye, she was wise indeed,” he agreed. “That she was also beautiful to gaze upon, had a heart great with love, and was kind to all was more than any man should ever ask.”
A hint of a blush crept over her cheeks at the blatant flattery; instead of continuing their banter, she focused on her task. Flour was added, and he knew the moment she was pleased with the dough when a hint of a smile crossed her lips.
“When do we look for the bairn?” he asked, daring to disturb the peace between them.
“Late winter, according to Kathryn. I don’t think that’s really much of a guess. I could have done that math,” Emma q
uipped as her hands hit and beat the dough.
“I would see you safe and warm when our child enters the world. Such is my pledge to you.” Declan couldn’t help but notice that Emma’s eyes still showed the red from the tears he had caused.
“I know,” she admitted with a small nod. “What I don’t know is what to do now.”
Unable to bear the rift between them, Declan rose and took the two steps necessary to be at her side. He pressed his forehead to her temple. “I love you. Do you ken that?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Her hand quickly grazed his cheek before it fell back to the bowl. “I know that. If I didn’t love you, none of it would hurt so much.”
He lifted his head to place his lips against her forehead. “‘Tis enough that our hearts ken our truth. There is love between us, as always.”
“Maybe you’re right and that’s enough for now,” her tired voice answered. Emma washed her hands and covered the dough with a clean cloth.
“What happened to change your fury to what we share now?” Declan asked her back as she placed the dirty dishes on the counter. The question risked her wrath, but the change had been too much to ignore.
“I’m trying to have faith in what you said and what you intended.” Emma turned to face him. There was no smile on her face. “I want our child to have a father. But I will only do this once. Do you understand me?” Her voice broke with the question.
“Never again, Emma. You are my life and deserve to be treated as such all of my days,” Declan vowed to her scrutinizing gaze.
Her small nod answered for her. When tears again threatened, he pulled her close, burying one hand in her hair. “I love you, wife,” he whispered against her head. While she didn’t wrap her arms in response, her hands gripped his bare waist. The feel of her skin against his filled him with a promise of what might be again.
The Draig's Wife Page 42