Mrs. Wembley looked at him warmly. She seemed to understand the gravity of the situation without him saying a word.
He knew he was dying, and she knew it too. No explanations were needed between them. Her quiet presence said what neither of them could: time was slipping away. In her eyes, he saw the hours they no longer had stretching thin between them.
“I trust ye willnae be wastin’ a drop of me soup.”
“I cannae go until I’ve filled me belly with yer soup.”
“Savor it, then. I am nae lookin’ to get rid of ye so quickly.”
She fluffed his pillow and helped him sit back against it. At least she tried to. When she realized she could not lift his frail frame, she looked back at Isla for help.
Isla rushed to them, quickly forgetting about her burned hand. It no longer hurt anyway. Careful not to bruise his shoulders, they heaved him up until a tray could be placed in his lap.
“I will stoke the fire for ye,” Mrs. Wembley said forlornly.
It had taken a lot out of him to sit up. He wouldn’t even be able to feed himself. She did not want to look at him anymore; it would be impossible to hide her grief.
“Nellie.” Duncan’s fingers twitched against the blanket. He would have grabbed her wrist if he could. The effort alone cost him. “Daenae bother. The cold I feel cannae be chased away.” His voice was thin but steady, as if he’d made peace with it already.
Isla stood a step back from the bed, her hands clasped tight. She felt out of place, a stranger in a room full of goodbyes. She knew he was referring to his imminent death. There was no mistaking the finality in his tone, the way his eyes didn’t quite focus anymore.
And the worst part was that she feared she was intruding. This was meant for Mrs. Wembley, not for her.
Yet neither of them told her to leave. So she stayed where she was, breathing quietly, bearing witness to a moment she had no right to and couldn’t bring herself to walk away from.
She caught Duncan’s gaze, and he seemed to remember something.
“Nellie, would ye excuse us for a moment?”
Mrs. Wembley’s lips thinned, as if she feared she would return to a ghost if she took her eyes off him for one second. Despite the protest in her eyes, she left his side wordlessly, throwing one last smile in Isla’s direction.
“Forgive me audacity, me Lady. I never should have summoned ye here.”
Isla drew closer to him, her curiosity piqued. She sat by his side and put her hand over his. “Daenae say that.”
She had known him when he was a man full of life. Back then, he’d been her father’s shadow, always a step behind, always watching, with broad shoulders and a voice that filled an entire room. A commanding presence that had made her younger self feel that nothing could get past him.
To see what he was reduced to now broke her heart. The bed looked too big for him. The blankets swallowed his frame. His skin was pale, his breathing shallow, and the old fire was absent from his eyes.
He wasn’t much older than her father. That was the thing that gutted her most. And yet her father was as boisterous and healthy as ever, shouting orders in the hall just that morning.
Standing here, Isla couldn’t reconcile the two men. Time had been cruel to one and kind to the other, and she didn’t know which felt more unfair.
“Daenae look at me with such pity, me Lady. I deserve this sufferin’. Me conscience willnae let me rest with this secret I keep.” Duncan turned his hand under hers and gripped her fingers. “I have carried it for twelve years. I cannae carry it into the dark.”
Isla drummed the fingers of her free hand in her lap.
Duncan looked haunted, terrified. Just what was this secret that he was willing to strain himself for?
“Ye can leave it here with me.”
“Yer faither.” He spat out the words. Not with anger, not with hatred, but with exertion, as if he had been fighting against his tongue.
“What of him?”
Fear struck her heart at the mention of her father. She glanced at the door, as if speaking of him would make him materialize in the room. She did not want him to know that she’d disobeyed his order to remain at MacDonnell Castle. She did not want him to know she was speaking to the man he had discarded to the back house when he was no longer of use to him.
She feared his retribution if he were to find out.
