by Lauren Smith
For a long while he didn’t move. He stood behind William’s desk, thinking back to the day he’d ridden up to the house and saw his brother in the window, heard the shot that rang out across the grounds, and the awful silence that followed. His heart had frozen in that instant as he had tried to reach his brother. Too late. Always, too late.
“I’m sorry, brother,” he whispered to the silent room. He could almost feel William there, as though he paused on the other side of an invisible veil. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and he closed his eyes, speaking again. “I love her. I can’t cling to both love and hate. She fills my heart, so there’s no room left for anger and pain and hatred.”
He thought for a brief moment that a hand touched his shoulder. An infinitesimal pressure, one of reassurance and comfort. He reached up and placed his hand where he felt the slight weight.
“There is nothing to forgive,” the words came in William’s voice.
His mother would need time to heal, to understand. Right now, he needed to speak to Daphne. She deserved to know the truth. But first he had to prove his love for her. Only then could he confess the truth behind his original intentions in marrying her.
As he exited the study, he heard something roll along the wooden floor. He glanced down and saw two dozen white beads that had scattered when his foot brushed them. He knelt and picked one up. They were pearls. Not his mother’s, because she hadn’t worn any.
With a gasp, he frantically tried to retrieve the pearls, clutching them in his palm. Blood roared in his ears as he reached into the nooks and crannies of the hall, desperate to reclaim every precious orb. But Daphne had gone upstairs, so how…?
“May I help you, my lord?” The young maid, Mary, knelt beside him, cupping her hands to receive what he’d collected so far.
“Take these and put them somewhere safe. We must find every one,” he said. His voice began to fill with panic, trying not to think about the implications of this moment.
The maid tucked the pearls into her apron pocket. “My lord, the countess is gone.”
His stomach grew heavy as his fear began to materialize, but still he refused to believe it. “Gone?”
“She was crying, and I feared you didn’t know. She called for a coach and left.”
There was no more denial left in him. Daphne must have listened at the door. He stared at the floor where the pearls had fallen. She always touched them when she was anxious. She must have ripped them from her neck before she fled, when she heard the awful truth behind their marriage.
“How long ago did she leave?”
“Half an hour?” Mary guessed.
“What? Why did no one summon me?” He stumbled to his feet.
The maid stepped back but was brave enough to answer, “She was most upset when you were in the study and begged the staff who saw her not to say a word. But when I saw you come out, I knew someone had to tell you.” Her gaze shot to the open door behind him and he understood. No one bothered him when he was inside his study. They believed he went in there to seek peace, to feel close to William, and it was true.
“I’ll take care of the pearls, my lord,” Mary promised, one hand touching the pocket of her apron.
“Thank you.” Lachlan sprinted down the corridor and called for the nearest footman to have a horse saddled. He donned a coat and gloves as he rushed down the steps to the drive. He studied the road leading away from Huntley Castle but saw no sign of the coach carrying Daphne away from him.
Lachlan nodded at the groom who brought him his fastest gelding and mounted. He prayed he would not be too late to reach the other half of his heart before it, too, was lost forever.
Chapter 10
Daphne could barely breathe.
She lay curled up in the coach, a fisted hand pressed against her mouth to mute the sound of her sobs. Why had she gone back downstairs? She had hoped to render aid to Moira in some way, who had clearly been distressed, but then the words she’d overheard had stopped her cold and eventually broken her soul.
Until that moment, she’d survived everything. Her father’s scandal, the loss of her former life, her home and friends, but none of it hurt quite like losing her heart. Everything had been a lie. Every kiss, every look, every vow to love and cherish each other. All she’d had to hear was that her marriage to him was a lie and she’d fled the house.
I was nothing more than a part of Lachlan’s vengeance.
She reached for her neck. The skin was bare, yet it stung where she’d grabbed her mother’s pearls and ripped them off in panic as her world fell apart.
She’d had recurring dreams of drowning in her youth, of being pulled down into an endless darkness, her mouth and lungs filling with water. Lachlan’s words were worse than those nightmares. They weren’t just pulling her down, they were burying her so far below the surface that she would never survive.
“It was a marriage of spite and revenge.”
Tears leaked from her eyes as she recalled the heat of his kiss, the whispered words of affection in her ear, and their bodies pressed close.
All lies. He had treated her well. So, when had he planned to spring his trap? She didn’t want to stay and find out what his form of revenge would be.
She tried to breathe again, but air got trapped between her mouth and her lungs, unable to flow. The coach rocked suddenly and a voice outside shouted, “Halt!”
Lachlan’s commanding tone was all too clear. It jolted Daphne’s heart back into rhythm. The carriage bumped to a sudden stop.
“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 e
very 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 don’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 carr
y 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.