by Aubrey Wynne
She sat down on the bed next to him, turned to the place marked with an ivory satin ribbon, and began to read. His head lay against the bolsters, eyes closed, his breathing slow and rhythmic. Blinking back tears, she cleared her throat to make sure her voice was steady. Fenella found the simple act of reading consoled her as well, and an hour passed with only the sound of her recitation.
Then he leaned forward and flipped the pages, his finger running along the passages and stopping. “This one.”
Curious, Fenella skimmed the printed words, her throat growing thick. With a deep breath, she read from Thessalonians:
“Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.”
“Do ye believe it to be true?” he asked roughly. “That he’s in a better place than this cruel world?”
Fenella didn’t trust her voice but nodded.
“If I dinna believe that, if I canna find some comfort in all of this, I’ll surely go mad.” His eyes shone again with tears, and once again he held out his arms.
Lachlan’s ravaged face was more than she could bear. Wrapping her arms around him, she clasped his head to her chest and rocked him, murmuring words of reassurance. He clung to her, his grief different from the soundless tears of fury earlier, questioning a God who would be so callous. This time, as his body relaxed, she knew he washed his soul of the doubt and accepted his loss.
The early evening light cast shadows across the room. Alfred had brought a tray of cold repast and taken the dog to the kitchen to be fed. Lachlan had eaten little. She lay next to him, his arm around her, her chest again the soft linen of his nightshirt. A little voice whispered to her about improprieties, but she ignored it. He needed her, and she would do whatever was necessary to help him through this.
“Ye should be getting back soon,” he murmured against her hair. “I’ll be all right now. I promise.”
She looked up at him, not wanting to leave the warmth of his embrace. He bent his head and kissed her, a whisper of lips against lips. She heard his intake of breath, and then his mouth was on hers, like a man desperate and searching.
“My sweet, sweet angel, how ye soothe me,” he said against her temple, his fingers threading through her hair, stroking the nape of her neck. “I dinna want to let ye go, yet I must.”
Fenella shook her head, heart pounding. “No, you don’t. I’m here for you, Lachlan, however you need me.” She pushed up on one elbow, turning into him and touched her lips to his.
He moved over her then, a man hoping for succor as he ravaged her mouth, leaving a burning trail down her neck, across her collarbone, between the valley of her breasts. She felt his desperate need for physical solace. Again, that muted voice whispered to her. Again, she ignored it as his fingers tugged gently, almost reverently, at her bodice. His mouth suckled one then the other peak; her body arched and the voice faded. The scripture might have soothed his soul, but he needed a more corporeal bond to ease his body.
“Make me feel alive, Fenella.” His lips found hers, his touch hungry and demanding.
She gave in to the heat that raged within her core, throwing her head back as he worked her body, stroked and teased her with lips and tongue and hands. His palms kneaded her breasts, her belly; the rough pads of his fingers grazed her most sensitive spots.
“Ye’re so beautiful, my sweet angel.” His eyes, dark with passion, held hers. “So verra beautiful.”
Lachlan’s kiss was slow and deliberate, stoking the fire within her as he had that night in the garden. When he cupped her mound, tickling the tight curls, the pounding between her legs became an ache. Lifting her skirt, he skimmed the back of his hand along her inner thigh while his mouth muffled her whimpers. Her mind was consumed with new sensations, the blood roaring in her head, sweat beading her forehead. His finger, then another, dipped into her wetness; his thumb traced slow circles around her womanhood. Her back arched as his tongue swept inside her mouth, his fingers delving in and out, increasing the pressure building inside her. Fenella cried out against his lips. Her muscles clenched around his fingers. Warmth spread through her as waves of pleasure shook her body. She clung to him, nails digging into his back, her body trembling and weak.
His palm continued to caress her folds until the ripples subsided. He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her mouth. Then his arms encircled her, his chin resting on her head. “I love ye, Fenella. With all my heart and soul, I love ye.”
Her pulse slowed as she drew in deep gulps of air. She nuzzled her cheek against the soft linen and kissed his neck, her muscles heavy and languid. “I love you too, Lachlan. And I’m so sorry.”
“I need ye, like I need the air to breathe.” His embrace tightened, his voice weary. “Ye understand what I’m going through. Ye’ve lost a father, and I’ve lost a brother.” His lips brushed her hair. “Ye ken how this kind of pain grips yer soul.”
Fenella tensed, not understanding. Her mind echoed with the scene at the mill. The first time she’d met the MacNaughtons, her interview with Ian and Colin.
“Is yer father in Glasgow? He approves of ye applying for a position here?”
“He’s gone,” she said, looking at her hands folded in her lap, trying to think of what she should say. “These past few—”
“I’m sorry to hear it, Miss Franklin,” he said. “I willna pry into any more of yer business.”
When the realization hit her, Lachlan’s steady breath told her he was asleep. Her stomach churned and twisted, and she forced down the bile rising in her throat. Lachlan thought her father was dead. A misconstrued comment that now came back to haunt her. A misunderstanding that should have been cleared up long ago. But the matter had flown from her mind when Ian had left and the whirlwind named Lachlan had taken his place.
Untangling herself from his arms, she stared at his sleeping face. She had to tell him the truth. But not now, when he was dealing with this grief.
Not now, when he had just proclaimed the sweetest, tenderest words she thought she’d never hear in a lifetime.
With all my heart and soul, I love ye.
Heaven help her.
Chapter Twenty
The Long Road Home
The next day, Fenella stood outside MacNaughton Textile. The employees had gathered outside the building, waiting for Lachlan and Colin to carry Ian’s body past the mill on his final journey to the Highlands.
The wagon made its solemn progress down the thoroughfare, both men sitting in the front, backs stiff and eyes ahead. The coffin had been covered with several plaids of the MacNaughton tartan. Colin guided the vehicle in front of the mill and stopped. She saw the Scottish deerhound sitting in the bed of the wagon, her nose pushed through the bottom slat of the wagon bench, between the two men.
The chords of Amazing Grace echoed against the stone walls of the mill. Each employee stood tall, in respect to a man they had loved and trusted. All the clan members wore kilts, scarves, or plaids in their respective tartan. Passersby paused to acknowledge the procession and listen to the husky voice of Sorcha as she accompanied the bagpipe.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
We have already come.
T’was grace that brought us safe thus far
And grace will lead us home,
And grace will lead us home.
The last notes faded into silence. Colin snapped the reins and the pair of bays moved forward. Not a body moved until the wagon had turned the corner and was out of sight. Silently, the employees made their way back into the building. The workday resumed, though the air was heavy with grief.
*
That evening
Fenella sat in the parlor, staring at the dark hearth. She’d told her grandmother most of the details concerning Lachlan. “Grandmama, please help me, tell me what to do.
” Guilt clawed at her chest, and she swiped at her wet cheeks. “How could I correct him when he was filled with such grief. When he said he loved me, I…”
“Afraid ye’d ruin yer chances?” Her grandmother shook her head in dismay. “I canna believe ye let them all think yer father was dead. It’s bad enough ye never told him that yer mother despises her own kinsmen.”
“I didn’t mean to mislead anyone. I meant to correct Ian right away, but then he began asking more questions and I just…. Then he went home, leaving Lachlan, and it never came up again.” She took an unsteady breath. Would he understand? Would it change the way he felt about her? “I’d forgotten the entire conversation until last night.”
“When he comes back, ye’ll just explain as ye did to me and hope he understands. I ken ye didna mean to lie, but the poor mon has been courting ye.” Aileen gasped. “That’s why he asked my permission. Why he said he couldna ask yer father. I thought he meant Sir Horace was too far away.”
A sob escaped her raw throat. “I’m so afraid. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose him.”
“If ye’d been honest to begin with, ye’d only have this one thing to explain. But now it looks as if ye’ve been deceitful all along.” She patted her granddaughter’s hand. “Do the right thing and clear yer conscience. It’s all ye can do, lass.”
*
The next day a letter arrived from her mother. Fenella broke the seal with unsteady hands. Though she and Evie had maintained steady communication, her mother had only added infrequent notes along with her daughter’s letters. This was the first time Lady Franklin had written to Fenella on her own.
My dear Fenella,
I would like to be the first to give you some wonderful news. While your sister wanted to write, I insisted this come from the matriarch of the family.
Lord Brecken has asked for Evelina’s hand! Your father has agreed, and they are betrothed. The bans are to be read at the end of August, and the wedding will take place in mid-September. I am sure you will want to be here for the ceremony. Enclosed is an invitation for your grandmother. Please make haste with travel arrangements. As you can imagine, your sister is anxious for you to be by her side during this time of great joy.
Your affectionate mother,
Lady Franklin
Before the week’s end, Evie had sent a letter in her own words, saying if Fenella could not leave Scotland, she would understand. Reading between the lines, Fenella knew her younger sister would be devastated.
“So, we’re to have a countess in the family. That works out well for several people, I’m thinking.”
“Grandmama, I am happy for Evie, and the fact I will no longer be pressured to marry. But the timing is dismal.”
“It canna be helped, my dear.”
“Lachlan may only be home a few days before we must leave. I’ll barely have time to tell him before going to London.”
“Some time apart after yer declaration may no’ be a bad thing,” her grandmother pointed out. “He’ll need time to think it through.”
“Or think the worst of me.”
“Be that as it may, ye’ll put on a smiling front for our Evelina.”
*
Late August
MacNaughton Castle
Lachlan sat by the hearth, the burning peat embers taking the chill from the stone walls of the castle. It had been a long two weeks. The journey home, with his brother in the coffin behind them, had been sorrowful yet thoughtful. His mind sorted out the events of the past summer. He tried to think if there had been anything he could have done to change the outcome. No more than Colin. His cousin still blamed himself for not being able to save Ian. Lachlan had tried to convince him that a man made his own decisions. Short of locking Ian in their room at the inn, nothing would have stopped his brother from attending the demonstration. Lachlan’s words had given neither of them any comfort.
Sorcha had sent word ahead to inform the family. Once they’d been within sight of the castle, it had seemed an eternity before they arrived in the courtyard. The family had gathered, waiting for Ian, as he made his final ascent up the lane. He’d heard his mother’s cries before he could see her tear-stained cheeks. Lissie had run to meet them, shaking her head and hanging on the side of the wagon, her hand caressing the coffin as they slowly trudged up the hill. Never had his heart been so heavy. But he did not shed another tear. He stood strong for his family and thanked Fenella for the ability to do so.
“What are ye thinking, Son?” asked his mother. Glynnis’s hands stayed busy; her steel knitting needles clacked together as she worked on her piece. “Will ye return to Glasgow soon?”
He nodded. “Aye.”
“Anyone waiting for ye there?” she asked, never taking her eyes from the pale green yarn.
Lachlan wasn’t ready to share that news yet. The situation with his grandfather hadn’t been decided. He’d hoped to settle it on his next visit, but this stay was about Ian, not the living brothers. “Truth be told, Ma, I like running the mill. I’ve missed my family here, but I prefer to work in Glasgow.”
Glynnis nodded, her auburn hair gleaming the same streaks of red and gold as his own. Her fingers stopped and her MacNaughton blue eyes held his. She kens, he thought. She’s always kent my mind.
“Weel, I canna say I’ll be glad for ye to leave again. If it were up to me, both my remaining lads would stay by my side.” She set the knitting on her lap. “But what I want most is for my children to be happy. Brodie would be miserable living in the city. I canna see him taking Ian’s place.”
“Will ye be all right, Ma? Ye’ve lost a husband and now a son. I can stay if ye need me.” He sighed, thinking of a willowy blonde, eyes the color of a frothy waves. He longed to hold her close again, let her warmth seep into his soul. “It may be Grandda willna let me have my way.”
“He’ll be content if his grandchildren are. He loves ye with a fierceness he doesna always show. Just give him time.” She smiled and picked up her knitting again. “I’ll have Brodie and Brigid. And Lissie has agreed to stay. At least for now.”
“Is she…” Lachlan knew if his sister-in-law was with child, she would stay at the castle with the bairn. Otherwise, he’d assumed she would return to her parents’ home.
“Nay, the poor lass was devastated when she kent she wasna pregnant. But she’s belonged to Ian since she was a girl. I think she draws as much comfort from us, as I do from her. So, for now, she remains.”
They sat in silence a while longer. “Did ye send any letters with Colin?”
“Aye,” she said, “I’ve written to Sorcha. She’s been a good friend, and her letter to me gave me succor.”
Guilt assailed Lachlan, watching Colin return so soon after the funeral without him. Yet, he could not leave his clan so soon. The memories, the stories, the well-wishers still dropping in that had missed the funeral were all part of the healing process. The balm his family provided with their closeness and shared grief gave him strength. The memories and stories told by friends and relatives helped them remember the joy Ian had given them in life rather than the anguish of his loss.
Glynnis stood up and stretched. “It’s time for me to find my pillow.” She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “Fate works in its own time. Things will work out, ye’ll see.”
*
Early September
Glasgow
Lachlan hated leaving Brownie behind but his grandfather wanted to breed her. Calum’s own hound was growing old, and he’d argued she’d give them some fine pups. Lachlan agreed, though the howls as he left had been brutal. Now that he neared Glasgow, his mood brightened. He had dreamed of Fenella and woken in a cold sweat, hard with desire, more times than he cared to admit.
He’d made his decision on the long ride back. With so much time in the saddle, Lachlan had sorted through his feelings. The devil with his grandfather or his clan. He loved Fenella and would ask her to marry him. He’d be honest; he didn’t know where they would be or what t
hey would do. But they would be together. Grandda could accept Lachlan for what he was, and accept the woman he loved, or he would not be a part of their life. Lachlan had not come to such a conclusion easily, but he would hold firm. If his mother was right, it would all work out in the end.
Lachlan didn’t stop at the townhouse. Instead, he went straight to Fenella’s and pounded on the door. She’d probably throw her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless. Then he’d apologize to Mrs. Douglas, and she’d invite him in for supper. He smiled as he lifted the knocker again, only to find himself face to face with a scowling MacGregor.
“Lachlan,” the older man said with a curt nod. “Hope ye’re well.”
“Is Fenella at home?”
“Aye.”
Lachlan’s eyes narrowed, his fists clenched as he held on to his patience. “May I speak with her?”
“Aye,” the man said and called up the stairs. “Miss Franklin, yer beau is here.”
He stood, willing his heart to slow, longing to swoop her into his arms and kiss her till she gasped for air. Now that he’d made up his mind, he was anxious to get on with the rest of their lives.
Light quick footfalls sounded on the steps. She froze halfway down, and it took all his willpower not to meet her on the stairway. Their eyes met; his breath caught. She was stunning. Her soft blue gown clung to her long slender limbs as she resumed her descent, her smile tremulous, her light eyes sparkling with emotion. Fenella loved him, and it shone in the movement of her body and the emotion that flitted across her face. Reaching the hall, she held her hands out to him. He took her fingers and tugged her close.
“I need to see ye alone, my sweet,” he said softly. “Now.”
She nodded and led him into the parlor, closing the pocket doors behind her. He caught her to him, one hand pressing her against the length of his body, the other cupping her face. His mouth covered hers in a hungry kiss.