Page 69 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

“Are you telling me I employ a groom who’s incapable of handling a pair of horses in some mud? Because if so, perhaps we should employ a new groom. Or two,” he added, because he hated himself, and something inside him wanted everyone else to hate him too.

The grooms exchanged uncertain looks, and Gawyn dropped his voice. “He’s inexperienced, milord. And he’s been at the ale. Give it a day or two for the roads to dry,” Gawyn urged, his tone cold and deferential.

But Si didn’t have a day or two. If he allowed her to stay another hour, he would lock her in her chamber and never let her leave, and besides that, his father could well be dead. “I asked you to drive them, did I not?” he snapped.

“I told ye, my eyes. The dark.”

“Yes, you said.” Another reminder that everyone he held dear was growing older, and they too would move on without him. One day soon, Silas would find himself completely alone.

“I could take them in the morning,” the old groom relented, clearly distressed.

“They leave tonight,” Si said in his lordliest tone, knowing Gawyn wouldn’t argue further.

Trunks secured, Si glowered toward the kitchen doorway, where Len embraced young Bram, whispering something in the wee bugger’s ear as envy slithered up Si’s throat. Bram handed her a parchment, and she kissed his cheek before tucking it away in her valise.

Dorrie clung to the lass’s skirts, and Mrs. Kynoch pressed a wrapped parcel of food into her arms, while giving Si the evil eye. It was enough food to feed them seven times over. Si hadn’t realized the cook had warmed to his bride, but now she was as pained as the rest of them to see her go. They would all make sure her departure was a living torment for him.

And he deserved it.

He destroyed everything he touched, so it was little wonder his marriage was in shambles. If the men gave their oaths tonight, in a year there’d probably be nothing left of the clan at all, though he’d do his damnedest to pull them through the worst of it.

Her goodbyes complete, the lass led the Kintail out the door and over to the carriage, but she waited with the horses, petting Buttercup on the nose, to give the two of them a private moment.

They stared at each other—bleak, silent reflections.

Si half expected a parting, I hope ye know what you're doing, laddie, from his father. But the old man studied him long and hard before saying, “Ye’ve always found your own way of doing things. Just remember that ye’ll never be wrong, so long as you can learn and change based on yer learning.”

Si rubbed his temple to try and keep the tears at bay.

“Fail fast, so ye can win,” the old man added, cupping Si’s elbow in his frail grip.

Then he turned and reached out for Ellen to help him into the carriage. She took extra care settling him in, spreading a warm blanket over his lap and another around his shoulders. Then she glanced back at Si but turned and embraced old Gawyn instead.

“Proud of you. Keep at it,” she whispered, and Si watched the groom blush a deep shade of crimson. She kissed his cheek and squeezed his hands, and then finally turned to Si, though she seemed unable to look up into his face. He was cutting out a piece of himself to give her the freedom she’d always craved, and she couldn’t even meet his eye while he did it.

He cleared his throat. “If you’d rather wait—”

“For what?” she interrupted him quickly.

Si licked his lips and looked around. What was the point of dragging it out? He shrugged. “For the rain to stop. For the roads to dry. For Gawyn to drive you.”

Now Ellen stared hard at him, and he shriveled beneath her gaze.

For you to change your mind, he wanted to say.

“Best to have done with it quickly,” she said, parroting his earlier words back to him.

Funny how easily she seemed to speak to him now that he’d given her what she wanted. His gut twisted. Perhaps her silence had been a ploy all along.

And what of the Mac? She hadn’t written him a letter for several days, but would she have left one with Mrs. Kynoch now, explaining her sudden departure? And how would she explain it? Did she plan to continue writing him from her convent across the sea? He hoped not, but Christ he hoped so, too.

Best to have done with it quickly, advice he should have heeded in confessing to her about those letters. But those words were for doing things you dread. This was her heart’s desire. Wasn’t it?

“Aye, it’s best,” he repeated. “Because you want to leave. You long to be a nun in France.”

Her brows knit painfully together, but she nodded in agreement. “Yes,” she whispered. “I want to leave.”

“Safe journey, then,” he told her stiffly, clasping his hands behind his back to keep from grabbing hold of her and never letting go. There was no use holding on. It was the best thing for her, for both of them.