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“If ye believed me once, can ye nae believe me again? I ken yer faither showed ye something to force yer sympathy from me and make ye this defensive but I swear on me life, Adelaine, I ne’er harmed yer brother.” A tight feeling was in his chest and his eyes began to burn. “What dae ye want me to dae to prove it to ye?”
Her hand rose and her finger pressed lightly just under his eye. It was when her hand pressed wetness to his skin, he realized a tear had escaped his eye. Shameful, yes, unfitting of a man, yes, and downright disgraceful of a hardened Scot, absolutely. But what could he do when his heart was breaking, shattering to pieces in his chest? The woman he loved was less than a foot away from him in body but was miles away in her heart as she would never return his emotions.
A soft palm cupped his cheek and in a small voice, she said. “Nothing, you don’t have to do anything…because I still don’t believe you.”
His stomach sank with the weight of lead cannonballs as she pulled away and began walking from him.
“They’re here, Adelaine,” he called desperate to get a reaction from her. “Me people are here and they will find a way to break me free with or without ye.”
She had paused at his words but then kept walking away with nary a look back. When her back disappeared around the corner to the stairwell, Caelan stumbled back, spun around, and planted his fist in the wall with a roar of grief, anger, and frustration all balled up in one. Pain lanced up his arm in a hot jab but he kept slamming his knuckles on the spot until they became bloody.
Only then did he sink to the ground. All was not lost in his attempt to regain his freedom but who truly mattered to his life was lost to him forever.
Chapter 23
He cried. God’s truth, he cried.
Adelaine had never thought she’d see a man cry. She walked away from the keep just as Leicester came forward. He came out of shadows and came upon her standing at the steps with his eyes wide.
“My Lady,” he asked. In his hand was a bowl of food and in the other was a cup of water. “Why are you here?”
“The Scot called me to speak about my brother,” Adelaine said. “He is still professing his innocence.”
Leicester grunted, “Then he is going to be executed.”
“I suppose so,” Adelaine said as she flicked her hood up and walked off. “Good night, Leicester.”
Walking toward the manor, Adelaine took time to walk through the soft mounds of snow. She lingered a little and paused to kneel and scoop up some lumps of snow. She let it flitter through her hands and then dropping the cold lumps looked up to the sky. The moon was bright and the stars were shimmering above.
She tugged her coat tighter and though she meant to go inside the night sky held her still. As a child, she had imagined her mother as one of the stars in the sky, shining down upon her. If there was a time that she needed a woman’s guidance it would be now.
Caelan’s tears had struck her heart with a blow. His eyes had been shadowed but she could hear deep pain in his ragged voice. A cold wind fluttered snowflakes into her face and the bite of the icy touch had her finally moving toward the manor.
She felt comforted by the warmth inside the manor but her soul was disturbed. Her heart felt trapped in a tangle of threads, under pressure and constricted. Walking into her heated room she pulled the ties of the cloak free and tugged off the mantle that rested under it. A few days ago, she had decided to wear the fur-lined garment closer to her skin.
Mrs. Hertha was singing the young man’s praises not too long ago. I can only assume he’s some cocky dandy with a title and a rich faither.
Caelan had sounded…jealous? She tried to tie that word with the emotions she had felt when he had spoked about Islington. No….no, it was not jealousy, it was brokenness, scorn, and resentment. But what right did he have to speak thus?
Could it be…possession? Is that why he wanted me to hold his hand? Does he think he has some kind of…ownership of me?
Her thoughts felt absurd the moment she thought of them. Caelan might have touched her intimately, he might have brought to a height of pleasure she had not known and his kiss had stirred raw desire inside her but he did not own her.
The only person who had any claim on her and who would have any claim on her was going to be her husband. And the forerunner in that regard was Islington.
When the Viscount had proposed they take a ride the next day— while her father was out again—Adelaine had believed a quick change into her riding dress would not take long. However, she had not worn that dress in ages and it was just a tad too tight. She had to suck in her breath when Martha pu
lled in her bodice’s laces.
“Martha,” she grimaced. “Remind me to burn this torture device to ashes when I come back.”
The bodice was so heavily boned and triple lined that Adelaine was reminded of why she had not touched this dratted dress in years. Her flared cuffed sleeve did fit nicely but her chest felt trapped in a cage.
“Are you sure you’ll manage, My Lady?” Martha asked worriedly.
“I’ll manage, somehow,” Adeline said as the dress was tied off and her lungs were able to take in some air. She donned her coat and reached for her gloves as Martha pinned her hat in place.
I bet women in Scotland wouldn’t have to wear dratted outfits like this. The thought came from nowhere where but it lingered.
