by Lauren Smith
“I do. I also recall forbidding you from sharing that particular story,” Lachlan said, his tone teasing. He leaned back in his chair, smiling. Daphne was fascinated by this change in him. He seems so at home, so alive and warm around Cameron. The ghosts of the past seemed, for now, to have been banished by their guests.
I wish I could always see him like this, smiling and happy.
Eliza snickered. “Go on, tell us what happened, Cameron.”
Cameron toyed with his fork, grinning devilishly. “Well… Lachlan climbed into the back window of the bakery and started stuffing cherry tarts into his trouser pockets. But he forgot about the fat green toad we’d recently captured at the loch.” He paused to let Lachlan shake his head with a rueful smile.
Daphne couldn’t resist asking, “And?”
“The old baker came storming into the storeroom and saw Lachlan standing there, pockets full of tarts and me halfway out the window. He grabbed us both by our necks and gave us a good shake. Then he demanded we empty our pockets. Lachlan reaches down, pulls one out and slaps it into the man’s hand. There, covered in red cherry sauce, is that toad, bug eyes wide and its throat pulsing as it croaked. The baker yelped and tossed the toad in the air. It landed on the bakery racks by the bread. Lachlan and I dove out the window and took off running before he recovered.”
“I still hear that old man’s bellows in my nightmares,” Lachlan laughed. “If he’d ever caught us…”
“Neither of us would’ve been able to sit down for a month, that much is certain,” Cameron finished. “So, you see, my dear Miss Westfall, you are marrying a veritable outlaw. I hope you’re prepared.”
Daphne beamed at Lachlan. “Have no fear, Mr. McLeod, I shall keep the cherry tarts safely under lock and key.
“Nonsense. You need only keep plenty about for me to eat.” Lachlan’s casual tease felt so natural, so wonderfully sweet. It was the way she’d dreamed a husband would be with his wife. She longed for a man who would be sweet and amusing and intimate with her in all the aspects of his life. And right now, she felt that she and Lachlan had that chance.
Perhaps I might find a way to banish the ghosts in his heart the way Cameron does.
Lachlan grinned boyishly. “Enough about us, Cameron. I wish to hear Eliza play. It’s been some time since anyone has used the music room.”
“Eliza?” Cameron looked to his wife and she blushed and nodded.
Moira clapped her hands and stood. “Let’s be off. I, too, long for some music.” She joined Daphne and Eliza. “Do you play, Daphne?”
“Me? Oh… No, but I sing a little,” she admitted.
“That’s a good thing, for I do not,” Eliza mused.
The music room was just off the dining hall. A thick, lushly carved harp sat in one corner and a pianoforte held a prominent place with several chairs facing it. A servant had thought to light a fire in the room and the candles on the two tables by the chairs were lit. Eliza seated herself at the piano, facing the small crowd over the gleaming wood of the instrument. Daphne joined her, but remained standing. A treacherous flutter of nerves made her place a hand to her stomach. Lachlan was watching her keenly, the intensity of his focus making her inwardly flounder.
“Do you know the song, Drown it in the Bowl?”
“Why, yes I do,” Daphne said. It was a very unusual song, not one she would expect to sing in parlors, but she was happy she knew it well enough to sing while Eliza played.
“Ready?” Eliza asked.
“Yes.” Daphne’s voice wavered, but she cleared her throat as she listened to the notes of the piano, then closed her eyes and began to sing.
“The glossy sparkle on the board,
The wine is ruby bright,
The reign of pleasure is restor’d,
Of ease and fond delight.
The day is gone, the night’s our own,
Then let us feast the soul,
If any care or pain remain,
Why drown it in the bowl.”
Daphne opened her eyes and saw the open admiration of Cameron and Moira. It buoyed her spirits and she sang louder. As her gaze met Lachlan’s, a shock ran through her, sizzling along her skin as she continued,
“This world they say’s a world of woe,
That I do deny;
Can sorrow from the goblet flow?
Or pain from beauty’s eye?
The wise are fools, with all their rules,
When they would joys control:
If life’s a pain, I say again?
Let’s drown it in the bowl.”
She pictured the moment the officers of the law came to her house and dragged her father away; the spectators in the street who watched her eviction mere weeks after her father’s sentence was announced. The cold, frightening agony and loneliness of the streets, the smooth comfort of the pearls against her fingertips, kept like a talisman against the ill will around her.
Her voice carried stronger now and she saw not only the past but a future, one she hoped to share with Lachlan. Sunny days on heather-filled meadows and nights in bed, his kisses setting fire between them.
“That time flies fast the poet sing;
Then surely it is wise,
In rosy wine to dip his wings,
And seize him as he flies.
This night is ours; then strewn with flowers
The moments as they roll:
If any pain or care remain,
Why drown it in the bowl.”
Eliza played the refrain once more, then lifted her hands off the keys and laid them in her lap. Her eyes met with Daphne’s and she was surprised to see the woman’s eyes aglitter with tears.
“You sing beautifully,” she said at last.
Daphne’s throat constricted, and she looked at the small audience before her. Cameron was wide-eyed in admiration and perhaps a bit of shock, while Moira had a bittersweet smile upon her face. But Lachlan… His face was a storm of emotions.
Then, without a word, he stood and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. Cameron exhaled a low, painful sigh before he rose and joined Daphne and Eliza.
“Eliza, why did you pick that song?” He brushed the back of his fingers over his wife’s cheek. “You know it was his favorite.”
“Whose favorite?” Daphne asked. “Lachlan’s?”
Cameron’s face turned to hers. His usual gaiety had vanished, replaced by deep grief.
“William. It was William’s favorite.”
“I’m sorry.” Eliza stood, crossed to Moira, and hugging her. The older woman wiped away stray tears. “I had forgotten. Please, forgive me.”
“No, it was beautiful. Thank you,” said Moira, then looked at the shut door. “But I fear the moment has affected poor Lachlan differently.”
“I’ll go talk to him,” Cameron said, but Daphne caught his arm.
“Let me. I want to.”
Cameron studied her. “Perhaps it would be best.”
Daphne rushed from the music room and caught sight of Lachlan farther down the corridor. She followed him and realized he was headed toward the terrace. The back door to the hothouse was located near the terrace.
Lachlan entered the hothouse. Daphne slipped in behind him. The interior of the glass structure was warm, its windows fogged with moisture. A few abandoned yet blooming plants interspersed those that had withered and now stretched helplessly over dusty pot edges, their decaying vegetation filling the air with a bittersweet scent of death. Empty watering cans littered the floor, and wind whistled eerily along the windows while pale moonlight illuminated the house in creamy patches of light and shadow. She had settled her bit of rose bush here earlier in the day, having filled its pot with fresh soil.
Lachlan stood in the back of the room with one hand braced against the glass, his head bowed like a dark lord over a magical garden that slowly died around him.
“Lachlan,” Daphne whispered. Her slipper trod on a dead leaf. The sharp crackle caused her to flinch. He di
d not move or speak.
She came up behind him, curled her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his back. He tensed but did not pull away.
“Tell me about him.”
After a long moment, he relaxed. The sigh that escaped him held a century of pain. “My brother was a good man,” Lachlan said, “but plagued with sorrow. All of his life, a shadow hung inside him. No matter how bright the day or how pretty the girl smiling at him, he never…” The words roughened in his voice and she held him tighter. “He never saw the good. You understand?”
“I do.” She rubbed his stomach with one hand. He reached up to take her hand and held it for a long moment. The simple connection seemed to root her, giving her hope that she could grow here beside him, two well-tended plants, twining their hearts together as plants would their roots.
“I never knew what to say to banish those clouds. I loved him fiercely, but my love was not enough.”
He thought his love wasn’t enough to save his brother? No wonder Lachlan and his mother suffered such pain. An accident was unexpected, but suicide… There was a helplessness to people who lost loved ones this way.
“What happened to him was not your fault,” she said. “Your love was enough, but sometimes sadness is too much to bear, and it comes from deep wells that are of no one’s making. It doesn’t mean they do not love, do not care.” She remembered all too clearly the young woman whose family had cared about her, but she too had taken her life by plunging into the Thames one night and perished. “Focus on his life, not his death. Times when he knew and felt your love for him. Those are the memories you must burn into your heart. Only light can banish shadows.”
Only love can banish sorrow... Daphne held him, willing Lachlan to feel her heart speaking to his, to feel her love. I want to love you. Let me. Let me help you heal.
He turned to face her, but she didn’t let go. When he looked into her eyes, she saw a glimmer on his cheeks where tears had run down his face.
“You’re not at all what I expected. Not what I wanted,” he murmured as he cradled her face in his hands.
“Not what you wanted?” The words hurt, but he suddenly smiled, though it was tinged with melancholy.
“No, you’re far better. I don’t believe I will ever deserve to have you as my wife.”
She relaxed and smiled back. “Lucky for you, I’m bought and paid for. I’m all yours.”
His hoarse chuckle tickled her ears as he leaned down and placed a soft, lingering kiss upon her lips. With that kiss, she was pulled deeper into him, this beautiful wild Scotsman with his broken heart that called to her own. He kissed her slowly, wrapping her in his strength and warmth until every worry and every fear she had faded away. There was only this moment.
Tomorrow, this wonderful man will be my husband. Tomorrow...
Chapter 8
Lachlan stood at the entrance to the church, his black breeches and black waistcoat accented with gold embroidery. A red and green tartan sash was pinned at his chest with his father’s brooch, which bore the Huntley seal. Beside him, Cameron stood unusually silent. A faint breeze rustled the dead leaves that were covered in frost, making the leaves look like shards of ice dancing between the tombstones when morning light illuminated them.
The castle’s coach arrived and stopped at the end of the cobblestone path that led to him and the church behind him. He held his breath as the coach door opened. Eliza and his mother emerged, both smiling broadly before they stepped aside.
From the darkness of the coach, a slender hand appeared on the frame of the door. Then a dainty foot in an elegant white shoe took its first step outside. His breath caught and his chest tightened. Daphne exited the coach, the fullness of her gown now filling the doorway. He swallowed hard as she stepped to the ground. The pale crème lace netting over the white skirts was old-fashioned, but the silver threading in the shape of swans on her pale blue bodice was exquisite.
His mother caught his eye and smiled again. He recognized the gown as his mother’s wedding dress.
Daphne looked like a fairy queen. Her dark hair, bronzed by the light, flashed with hints of auburn and gold. How had he not noticed that her hair was more than simply dark? Daphne lifted her head and their gazes locked. She reached up, her fingertips touching the pearls around her neck. Emotion flooded him, blinding him with an intense inner light and heat that stole his breath and stopped his heart.
The vulnerability in her gaze was overshadowed by a trust so deep he knew he could never hurt this woman, never betray her. Whatever his reasons for bidding on her that night at the marriage auction no longer mattered. She was to be his wife, his partner in life. He would seek her counsel, seek her love and support. It was what he always longed for, even as a foolish young lad. Love had always been his dream.
Now I have it, at a terrible cost. Indeed, had he not lost his brother, had he not been driven by vengeance, he never would have met her—and she, in turn, never would have saved him. I have been rewarded with a priceless prize.
Daphne lifted her skirt and started down the gravel path. The sun lit glints of silver on her gown so she glowed and sparkled like a gemstone. He’d never been one for angels and God, at least, in the literal sense, but in that moment, as he watched her approach, he believed in something better, something wondrous and endless. It made him feel small, yet connected to everything around him—the wind in the trees, the stones collecting moss by the road, even the chatter of the larks in the heather. For two long months, he’d barely lived, his grief so strong, it threatened to drown him. But seeing Daphne coming toward him, hope shining her eyes, he breathed again for the first time in ages. His gratitude, his affection for her, was overpowering.
When his bride reached him, he raised her hand to his lips and knelt on the ground on one knee, then bowed his head, sending a silent prayer to the heavens that he would never lose her, his precious pearl. All his anger, all his sorrow had been banished by her light.
“Lachlan, what are you doing?” Daphne asked in a confused whisper. He pressed her hand to his cheek before he finally let go and stood.
“I…” He had no words, no way to tell her what lay in his heart at this moment.
“Forgive him, Miss Westfall,” Cameron chuckled. “He seems to have swallowed his tongue.”
“Aye, I have,” he agreed with a smile and held out his arm to her. They entered the church together, the stained glass lighting up the pews with brilliant splashes of color.
The vicar, Mr. McKenzie, waited for them at the altar. Eliza and Cameron flanked them as the priest began his speech. Lachlan spoke his vows and stared at Daphne, smiling as they swore to love, honor and cherish each other until the day death parted them. The priest then pressed her right wrist against Lachlan’s, and wound a plain white cloth around their hands. It was an old handfasting custom. Lachlan saw Daphne’s puzzlement and fought off a chuckle. Then the priest spoke in Gaelic, and, in quiet whispers, Lachlan translated for her, “Two souls made one, two hearts made one. Let none tear asunder what the heavens have brought together.”
Daphne’s eyes widened as she looked up at him, but he saw only excitement with a hint of nervousness within her eyes, no fear.
“All right, lass?” he asked.
“Yes.” As she spoke, a loose curl from her coiffure brushed her collarbone. He was arrested by the contrast of that lock against her pale skin, and the gleaming pearls that hung around her neck like frozen dewdrops along a delicate spider’s web.
My lady in pearls.
“You may kiss your bride,” Mr. McKenzie announced.
Lachlan leaned down, his free hand still curled in hers, their other hands bound fast, and kissed her. Tonight, he would see her in his bed, wearing nothing but those pearls, and he would make her smile, make her laugh, make her as happy as she was making him in that moment. When their lips broke apart, he heard her breathless sigh and reached up to brush her chin with his fingertips.
“You finally belong to
me.”
She caught his wrist and stroked his skin beneath the cuff of his shirtsleeve. “And you to me.”
“Indeed.” I will not let the past destroy us. The pain of William’s death was finally muted, like a painting left in a sunny room, the colors bleached white, leaving barely a hint of what had once been so vivid. Daphne would paint new memories for him, ones of joy, not sorrow.
His throat tightened as the priest removed the hand bindings.
“I present Lord and Lady Huntley.”
Cameron clapped loudly along with Eliza and Moira, who both wiped their eyes. For some glorious, ridiculous reason, Lachlan laughed, unable to contain the joy in his heart.
“I suppose you have a feast ready at home, Mother?”
Moira smiled despite her tears. “Of course. It’s not every day my wee bairn takes a wife.”
“Wee bairn?” Cameron laughed harder than Lachlan. “He’s not been wee in over twenty years!”
“Mother, you mustn’t embarrass me in front of my wife,” he teased. “No man wishes to be thought of as wee on his wedding day.”
Cameron laughed. “Indeed! Or Daphne will worry what else is wee on you tonight when you—Oomph!” Cameron doubled over as Eliza elbowed him hard in the chest.
Daphne giggled and Lachlan curled an arm around her waist.
“I promise, lass, there’s nothing wee about me.” He laughed again as she blushed scarlet.
The small wedding party exited the church and for the first time in two months, Lachlan embraced the warmth of the sun on his face. Daphne was his wife and tonight he would show her a world of pleasure. Perhaps Anthony had been right after all.
She will heal me. She’s already begun to.
Married. I am married.
Daphne couldn’t stop smiling as she waited in Lachlan’s bed chambers. It was close to midnight, but she wasn’t tired. They’d spent the remainder of the day feasting and playing games in the drawing room with Cameron and Eliza. It had been the most fun she’d had in such a long time.
She plucked nervously now at the nightgown she’d changed into. The only thing she wore aside from it was her mother’s pearls. Lachlan had stopped her in the corridor just before she’d left to change for bed. He caught her by the waist and leaned close to whisper, “Wear the pearls, and nothing else.”