Page 70 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

He was a fool and a coward for not telling her the truth, and yet this moment was the bravest thing he’d ever done because letting her go might actually kill him.

She stood on tiptoe and reached up her hand to cup his face, stroking his cheek lightly with her thumb, then threw her arms around him, and he buried his face in her neck one last time. He would never be able to stand the scent of lavender after this. He would have every bit ripped out of the garden down to the roots and set ablaze.

“You’re a good man, Silas MacKenzie,” she murmured to his collarbone. “Trust yourself to be a good laird. And if you can’t trust yourself, then trust the people who trust you. They can’t all be clotheids.”

His eyes welled up once more. Some laird he’d be, sniveling like a wean all the time. “Pray for me?” he whispered.

The lass nodded, then swallowed and took a breath like she wanted to say more, but she sucked in her cheek and chomped down.

When he was a lonely lad in Aberdeen, Si often recalled his departure from Leod. His strongest memory of his father had been upon his leaving—of the look in his eye that young Si had interpreted as disappointment, which he now realized might have been disappointment in himself rather than his son—his frown, perhaps caused by the iron taste of regret.

At the time, Si had wanted to beg to stay, but his pride wouldn’t allow it even then. Now he wanted to beg her not to go, but his pride had only deepened over the years. He’d grown accustomed to his new life. In time, the lass would too. And so would he. Somehow. The difference was, she wanted to go. He couldn’t get in the way of that.

It was all for the best.

He would endure it, just as he’d endured the loss of his mother and his own banishment to the coast, just as he would endure losing his father all over again, along with whatever choice the clan made here tonight. Si would endure, broken heart and all, because what else was there for him to do?

Fraser, the young groom, was fiddling with a bit of string, waiting for her to board, so Gawyn stepped forward to assist her, just as Si did.

She looked at Si’s outstretched hand for a moment, and then accepted it, and when she touched his skin it practically burned him, as though she herself were made of stinging nettle.

When she let go, he clenched his fist at his side, certain her touch would haunt him for the rest of his days. He rather hoped it would.

Si watched the carriage until the road curved out of sight, Gawyn and Mrs. Kynoch studying him silently.

He wanted to demand just what they had to say, but he also knew well enough he didn’t want to hear it.

“Milord?” Gawyn asked, reading Si the same way he read the horses.

“Will they give me their oaths, d’you think?” he asked instead.

“Dinnae ken,” Gawyn said shortly. “I don’t really want to after that, and ye’ll pardon my saying.”

Neither would I.

* * *

Ellen rocked with the rhythm of the carriage as it pulled away from Leod, biting her cheek as hard as she could to try and stave off tears while her father-in-law dozed on the seat beside her.

For half a moment, she’d thought Si might ask her to stay. And for half a moment, she’d thought she might agree, beg his forgiveness for every transgression, find a way to start afresh as man and the wife he needed by his side.

But he had looked at her so sternly, repeated her words back to her, that she wanted to leave, and she remembered it would be best for him if she got out of the way. Perhaps in time he would tell them all she died, find a new wife among the bonny lasses of Ross-shire, one who wouldn’t be afraid to take matters in hand like a true Lady Kintail.

Part of her wanted to rage at him for ever agreeing to the match in the first place. She’d had no authority to turn him down, but one look at her should have told him all he needed to know about her. And if he’d said no, even her father would’ve been forced to listen.

Why in Heaven’s name hadn’t he said no?

Her lip trembled, and she bit down hard, reminding herself if he had declined the match, her father would’ve only found someone else to take her off his hands. Someone less gentle and understanding. At least this way she was finally getting the life she’d always wanted. It was only the deepest, most Catholic sense of irony that she wasn’t sure she wanted it anymore.

Though she’d spent so many years yearning for it, some part of her had always believed the Church was out of reach. She had tried so hard to be good, perfect Wee Ellen, as Maggie used to tease her, hoping and praying that she could make herself pure enough and deserving enough to find a home in a convent. After all, what better purpose could one have in life?

Why, then, was her heart so heavy? Perhaps fixing the chapel had finally proven her worthy to have her prayers answered. The Lord had finally said yes.

And yet, she was no more deserving of being a nun than she was of being the Lady Kintail. Somehow, after all this time, that’s what stung the most. She’d fixed up the chapel for all the MacKenzies and for herself, not for Jesus. It was a way to settle into the lot she’d been given, to carve out a place within her new family and her new life. And now she was somehow finally worthy? Now that she’d accepted things as they were? Now that she wanted to stay?

It seemed more like a punishment. Because she’d been weak in her dealings with the mysterious Mac, who might not even be a MacKenzie. She’d allowed herself to form a friendship with a man who wasn’t her husband, and, if that wasn’t enough, there had been her behavior towards Silas: first stiff and cold, and then craving and demanding. She’d allowed him to see her as wanton. Perhaps her boldness had even misled him to think she was experienced in the marital act. Perhaps all those years ago she’d been ruined by intent after all.

Whatever her sins, she was being sent away for them now, and there was nothing to do but atone.