It was simply too much.
Alistair’s feet strode out of the cairn, across the stone circle, past the castle, and into the forest of Scot’s pine beyond.
His thoughts tied into such afankle, he doubted he would ever untangle them.
13
Chrissi limped back to the castle and spent the remainder of the day weeping into her pillow.
Never had she hated herself more.
She had been too much of a coward to tell Alis nine years ago. Too hurting over his betrayal—his lack ofseeingher and supporting her most cherished aspirations. And then the misery of his subsequent silence.
But he had deserved to know. And regardless of how he felt about her, he would never have abandoned his child. No. He would have rushed to her side and married her immediately.
But she hadn’t wanted their married life to begin that way, with Alistair essentially forced to marry her. To always wonder if he would have, of his own free will, returned to her.
Of course, she got her answer in time—
He did not return.
And so, in a way, it felt like absolution. That Chrissi had made the correct decision in keeping news of the child from him. After all, the only thing worse than marrying a man who viewed her as property would have been feeling that she had entrapped him.
In contrast, Stephen had chosen her, even knowing she carried another man’s child. He had nurtured her dreams and fulfilled her wish to see her research published.
And yet . . .
The horror in Alis’s gaze when he had realized what she had done. She had imagined it so many times. But the reality had been even more terrible, more awful—to witness his heart shatter, to see betrayal freeze his handsome features into stone.
Perhaps the bleak desolation of her current life was deserved. A just punishment for her actions.
Finally, puffy-eyed and weary, she hobbled over to the window.
It was done.
Alis finally knew the truth she should have confessed years past.
Would he evict her now? Cast her person and belongings out of his castle and return to his placid Miss Rollins?
Chrissi hated the sharp derision of her thoughts.
Pressing fingertips to her brow, she took in several steadying breaths.
A knock sounded on her bedchamber door.
“Come,” she called.
A maid entered, carrying dinner on a silver tray.
It felt decadent to be catered to when surely Alis simply wished her gone.
“Your dinner, Mrs. Newton.” The maid set the tray atop a small table beside the fire and bobbed a curtsy before quietly exiting.
The smell of steak and ale pie filled the air.
Only then did Chrissi see the note placed atop the cutlery, her name scrawled in Alis’s bold hand.
Scarcely breathing, she opened the foolscap, tipping it into the light.
