Chapter Twenty-Four

Bryce didn’t think he could hurt any more than he did already. He hadn’t expected the tiny fragments of his heart to throb in pain as he watched the carriage roll away. From his view on the battlements, he could watch the carriage until it turned into nothing but a dot that disappeared behind the trees.

Dorie was gone.

She was going to England to find a new husband. Someone worthy of her. Someone who could love her the way she deserved. A man better than him.

He stayed where he was until the sun set and the last of the glow had disappeared over the horizon. He sat even when his stomach protested his neglect. He merely stacked that pain onto the pile with the other pains.

When he was certain everyone had gone to bed, he went to his own. He lay there in the dark, breathing in the scent of his wife and remembering the times they’d shared in the short time they’d had together. He spent a restless night thinking and second-guessing his decision to let her go. The honorable man he wished to be warred with the selfish bastard he was.

Eventually honor won out, but dawn had broken by then.

Bad-tempered and miserable, he went to the hall to seek a distraction. After filling his belly, he called his men to the bailey to begin drills and spent the entire morning barking orders at them.

If he could not do anything about missing Dorie, he could focus on the task of taking down the McCurdys. How many times had he planned to go to the Campbells only to have to stay behind to care for his wife because she’d fallen victim to another McCurdy attack?

He no longer needed to worry of such things. He was free to do whatever he wished.

Alone.

Except for the hound that followed him everywhere, looking even more grim than was his normal countenance. Even now Rascal lay at the edge of the bailey with his head on his paws, looking morose.

Bryce wasn’t sure which one of them missed her more. The only difference was Rascal wasn’t even trying to hide it, while Bryce used his misery to fuel his orders.

The drills continued until the sun was low in the sky, and the grunts of his men were overpowered by the sound of their bellies grumbling.

“You must move faster,” Bryce snapped at Liam. “Do you want the McCurdys to take you down? Do you never wish to see a ship bearing the MacKinlay crest sailing home to our own shores?” He raised his sword again and felt his muscles lag with fatigue.

Lach came up behind him. “That’s enough for today. See yourselves fed,” the laird ordered.

Bryce glared at Lach, happy to have a place to vent his anger. His cousin shouldn’t have stepped in and countered his orders. Bryce was the war chief.

“Let’s walk,” Lach said, nodding toward the gates.

Bryce gladly followed. The fewer people who saw his outrage the better.

They strode in silence until they came to a stop in front of the place where his burned-out cabin had been. The first one. This spot was cursed and held nothing but bad memories for him.

It figured Lach would bring him here. No doubt the man had some plan brewing. He’d had enough of Lachlan MacKinlay’s damned plans. He was still reeling from the last one. The one that had brought Dorie into his life.

He looked away from the darkened spot where his life had been ripped to shreds the first time, wanting to block out all the memories, and cursed Lachlan for forcing him to come here.

“I’m your laird,” Lach finally said.

“I’m aware.” Bryce crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. If Lach was going to try to force him into something else, he’d picked the wrong time to do so. Bryce was spoiling for a fight. He and his cousin often disagreed on things. But Lach was the laird and always had the final say.

Maybe it was time for Bryce to move on. Maybe he’d be able to make peace when he visited his father and find a place with the Campbells.

“I’m also your blood,” Lach went on. “And, I hope, a friend.”

Bryce frowned and dropped his stance. He let out a shaky breath before giving a short nod of agreement. The fight went out of him. “You are that.”

It would have been easier if Lach had criticized his orders to the men. Bryce might have had an outlet for his anger. He didn’t want understanding and pity. Never pity.

“You say we’re friends,” Lach said quietly, “yet you continue to wrap yourself in pain and misery, instead of letting me help you.”

“You know well enough there is no help for me. You’ve been trying for years.”

“Dorie healed you. I saw it.”

“You carry battle scars. You ken well enough how those scarred bits are numb. You canna feel them anymore. They’re never the same as they were before. Nothing can make you feel those places the same way again.”

Didn’t the man understand how Bryce wanted the numbness? It didn’t hurt as much that way.

“I didn’t know your Maggie well, but I know Kenna. I know how much I care for her and our children. And I know if she were gone, I would want to crawl into a hole and die rather than live without her. But I also know I’d have to face her some day in the place after this one, and I would bloody well make sure she wouldn’t be waiting there to blister me for not living the best life I could.”

“It’s easy to say the words. It’s another to live it.”

Lach crossed his arms. “I’m sure that’s true, but if we’re speaking of truths, tell me this. Why are you here?” Clearly, he wasn’t going to give up on this conversation. Perhaps Bryce still had a chance to turn this into a good physical fight.

“What do you mean?” Bryce held his hands out. “I followed you here.”

“Nay. I mean why are you still here, breathing, eating, talking? If you’re committed to only living a sliver of a real life, why not just get it over with? End it and be done with it already. What keeps ye here? Why not take that final step off the battlements?”

Bryce pulled his brows together in confusion and irritation. Didn’t the man just tell him he was a friend? What kind of friend suggested such a thing?

“It would have been easy enough to let yourself be taken in battle, yet you fight hard to survive each time I stand next to ye on the battlefield. Why not let go? Just let it happen?”

Bryce continued to stand there staring at his laird as the last of the day’s sun faded away.

The second day gone since Dorie had left him.

Nay, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t left him. He’d let her go. She would have stayed if he’d but asked. If he’d begged her to remain his wife. If he’d only tried.

Lach raised his hand, palm out. “Before you think me cruel, know that I’m asking this with your best interests in mind. For years I’ve seen you—a shadow of who you once were—haunting our lives like a wraith, but not really living. Sure, you’re there next to us in the flesh. Through marriages and children born. As well as battles won and lost. But you’ve not truly been a part of our lives since Maggie died. You keep to the edges of our lives. You never hold my boys, or Lizzy or Aiden.”

Bryce tried to swallow the lump that had grown in his throat, but it wouldn’t budge. “I would lay down my life in protection of any of your wee hellions.”

“I don’t doubt it for a minute. But what sacrifice is that from a man with no life to forfeit?”

Bryce choked and swiped at his eyes. “You ask too much.”

“I don’t think so. You’re stronger than you think.”

“I’m not.” Bryce shook his head, turned abruptly, and left.

The damn dog followed on his heels, but he wanted to be alone.

“Go away!” he yelled when he’d regained his voice.

The dog ducked his head but continued to walk behind him as he stomped through the forest at the edge of the village.

“Leave! Get!” He waved his hands, which caused Rascal to retreat only a few feet.

When Bryce sat on a log by a stream, the dog stayed back and sat down to wait.

“I don’t need you following me about, making me feel worse.” He turned to see if his words had done any good, but naturally the dog remained. “Christ. I should never have let her make you into a pet. You were supposed to keep her company, not pester me to death.”

Good God. Was he so in need for a place to put his rage that he was yelling at a poor dog?

He let out a breath and let his head hang in his hands. “It’s too late,” he muttered. “She’s gone.”

He felt the hot burn of tears a moment before the wetness dripped off his jaw. He wiped them away with the heel of his palm, but more took their place. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gave up and let them come.

Until he felt moist breath on his face and grimaced at the foul odor. Opening his eyes, he found himself face to face with large brown eyes framed in gray fur. The dog nuzzled under his arm and sat as close as physically possible. Bryce chuckled through his tears and wiped them away once more. He scratched Rascal behind the ears and patted the dog’s sturdy shoulder.

After he’d collected himself, he stood and swatted his thigh. “Come. We’ve things to do. What’s done is done. Best we both move on.”

…

After days of bumping along in the carriage, Dorie actually found herself wishing she could curl into a corner of a room alone with a book—something she’d never thought to want ever again after her isolation as a child.

She enjoyed her father’s company. She loved hearing his stories and seeing the way his lips pulled into a smile when he spoke of her mother. But she was always grateful when they stopped for the night at an inn where she could be quiet and still for a little while. And alone.

Sleep had been elusive during their journey. She’d always spent the nights tossing and turning, wondering if she’d made the right choice.

It was midday when they arrived at her father’s country estate in Durham, England. As she stepped out of the carriage with her father’s assistance, a group of people hurried out of the house to greet them. A handful of them were children who came running and screaming in excitement for her father.

“Papa!” they all called and crowded around him. He was smiling as he bent to hug and kiss them all.

He had spoken often of the children on the journey, so she could guess their names by their ages.

“I missed you,” the littlest girl said in an accusatory tone. She must be Geneva.

“I’ve missed you as well, button. Have you been a good girl?” he asked.

“Of course not,” the little boy beside her said as if the idea was preposterous. No doubt this was George.

“And what of you?”

“No!” the boy admitted, causing them all to laugh.

The older girl was watching Dorie, her eyes squinting. Nadia, if she wasn’t mistaken.

“Papa, who is that?” It was the oldest boy who finally asked. He was tall, but his face still held the soft curves of youth. This was Philip, then.

“Right. I guess we should just get on with it then.” Her father seemed nervous.

Just then a blond woman hurried down the steps with a warm smile. At first Dorie thought it was another child, for she was small. But as she came closer, it was clear from the resemblance to the oldest daughter that this was Harriet, their mother.

The woman her father had married even though he still loved Dorie’s mother.

Something made Dorie want to reach for the woman and pull her into an embrace. Some bond of kindred spirits, she supposed. But she suppressed it and remained in place as her half brothers and sisters stared at her expectantly.

“Children, this is your sister,” her father announced.

Four sets of eyes narrowed on her in disbelief.

Little Geneva gasped as her eyes went bright. “You look like me,” she said happily.

“Yes. I see the resemblance.” Dorie smiled down at the little girl, happy to be accepted. “I guess we both look like our father.”

“Why does she talk funny?” her little brother George asked.

Rather than pop him in the nose as Mari had suggested, Dorie laughed. “Because I’m Scottish.”

“I don’t have a Scottish sister,” Philip, the oldest, said in shock.

“It turns out you do. This is Dorie. She’s come to live with us.”

“For how long?” Nadia asked, her eyes still narrowed.

“For as long as she wishes. And I expect you all to welcome her and treat her like a sister.”

Dorie’s smile faltered as she watched George contemplate the request and then smile in the most devious way for someone so young. She made a note to check her bed for frogs—or worse—before sliding beneath the covers.

“Welcome, Dorie. It’s so nice to meet you,” the blond woman offered as she came closer and pulled Dorie into a hug. “Dorien wrote to me of you. He’s so happy to have found you.”

“Are you upset to have me here?” Dorie whispered. She knew the children would come around eventually, but this woman was not blood and had no reason to accept her. In fact, she might hate Dorie for being an intruder, the bastard daughter of her husband.

But Harriet kept smiling. “I’m not upset at all. You’re part of our family now.”

“Thank you.” Dorie squeezed the woman’s hands.

“Come, we have your room ready. You would probably like to rest on something that stays still before dinner.”

“Aye.”

“Aye,” George imitated with a giggle, earning a frown from Philip and Nadia.

Geneva came closer and took Dorie’s hand. The resemblance between them was uncanny. The same shiny black hair and blue eyes that seemed almost too big for the elfin face gazing up at her. Geneva stayed with Dorie until she was settled in her room and Harriet shooed her away.

“Welcome home, Dorie. Let us know if there’s anything you need.”

She gave her stepmother a warm smile. “Thank you.”

Harriet closed the door, leaving Dorie alone in the room. The bed was extravagant and soft. She kicked off her shoes and slipped out of her gown to rest in her shift. But as she lay there, all she could think of was the empty space in the bed next to her. The space that would have been filled with her husband if she were still at Dunardry.

She wondered what he was doing right now.

Did he ever think of her at all?