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“I suppose we can excuse him, can’t we, gents?” one man said, “The lady has matters to discuss with him.”
Islington’s eyes narrowed, “Mind your words, Garrison, Lady Adelaine is my fiancée. There is nothing untoward and please drag your disagreeable mind out of the gutter.”
Garrison held up his hands and surrender and she felt Islington rest his hand on the small of her back. She curtsied again and uttered her thanks before they walked off.
“What do you need from me?” he asked.
“Let’s find somewhere private,” she said quietly.
Avoiding his questioning eyes, she allowed him to lead them to a room that looked like a reading room. It had shelves, a thick carpet and thick padded chairs. The grate was without a fire however, but the wall sconces were lit.
“What is this about?”
“You tell me,” Adelaine said as she took the crumpled note and handed it to him. “Someone sent this to me not more than five minutes ago.”
Islington read it and paled considerably but his jaw tightened and he crunched the paper in his fist.
“Is it true?” she asked.
His eyes slit open. “Who gave you this?” His sharp tone told Adelaine that she had hit a nerve.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “A servant came up to me and gave me the note. He did not say who it had come from and I did not think to ask, but I ask you again, is it true?”
“No, it not,” Islington said, and just as Adelaine was about to relax, he added. “Not…entirely.”
Her back stiffened. “How is it not entirely? As far as I see it, it is one way or another.”
“A few years ago at Oxford I was reckless,” Islington said tightly. “I had relations with a woman and she claimed she was with child. My father investigated and found it to be a lie but that was after I had sent her a hundred pounds to have it…removed.” He grimaced and turned sorrowful eyes on her. “My foolish mistake haunts me to this day, Adelaine, and though it was buried, many still use it as ammunition against me. No one speaks of it openly but it will forever be a black mark on my past. Despite how I act, I’m not perfect. I want to be but I am not.”
Adelaine felt her sympathy go out to him. The man was not as bad as she had thought but she knew also that though he gained her respect, he would never get her love. Her love was with a man all the way in Scotland.
She sighed, went to him and rested her hand on his arm, “I…I understand. We all make mistakes and I am sorry for dredging up this bad memory for you. Let’s go enjoy this dinner and try to forget it all, all right?”
“I would appreciate that,” Islington said heavily. He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “You really were a saint in the past life.”
Guilt laced Adelaine’s chest even as she smiled through it. Which saint was ever guilty of breaking a man’s heart?
Chapter 30
It had taken them days and long nights but the four men were on the cusp of entering the McLagen Clan territory. They had to circumvent three lowland clans’ lands which had them twisting and turning, sneaking past borderlines and into plains. Finally, they crossed into the Highlands.
Caelan was weary but his sights were stuck on his home. He had traveled for nearly a week now and his body was stuck between tired and inert. He could not tip fully into one or the other and was acting only on pure drive. He had to get home; he had to see his home again, see his mother, see his people. There was no question that he had to get back.
There he could use his herbs to regain his health faster and then draft a party to go back to England. The woman he had left his heart with was the one he was hell bound on getting back to. Adelaine was at the fore front in
his mind day-after-day, hour-after-hour and he saw her whenever he closed his eyes.
The cool winter air kept thinning as they climbed the steadily-elevating land; his weak lungs were fighting for survival and his knees gripped the horse with a tight hold. He felt ashamed that he had lost his touch with being a soldier and a Highlander. This air was in his blood, this land was his bones. Scotland had made him who he was and he would be damned if he lost it.
Silence lay thick over them just as a Highland fog began to creep up the hills. Each time their horses’ hooves struck the stone through the underbrush the sound seemed deafening. This far into the forest Caelan had to let go of the fear that anyone would come after them. Twice the Earl’s attempts had failed and the men up here were much more faithful than those in the lowlands.
He could count on his people to protect him. That was the fealty that came with blood ties. He blinked black spots away from his eyes and focused on the rise that was nearby.
Only a few more miles and I’ll be home…just a few more…please, God…just a few more.
They came to the crest of the hill and Caelan realized why fog was so thick in the air, they were over a large river, deep too if the dark color was any indication. Caelan looked over it with a frown. Why was this river making his mind prickle? He then looked over the following bank and, good God, he saw the tips of a red slate roof he would know anywhere. It was the tip of the tallest tower in his clan’s home!
His eyes dipped to the river, no river ye fool, ‘tis Loch Mahrais. Artur had taken him to the south end of the mile-long loch which to him felt so close to his home. A surge of new strength ran through him much like the powerful undercurrent he could not see but knew he could feel if he so much dipped a toe into his loch.
