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Chapter Eighteen
Catriona
My family meets me at the Inverness airport. I'd rung my sister Fiona to tell her I was coming home, and I couldn't stop myself from crying while I talked to her. So naturally, she told everyone, and I wind up being greeted by not just my five siblings and my parents, but also a number of my cousins and aunts and uncles. Even my grandparents show up.
By the time the plane landed, I'd recovered my composure. No, I will not let Alex Thorne ruin my life. I love him, but I will get over that one day soon. Aye, my heart will ache for him, but not forever. I mean to move on.
How long will that take?
My family waits for me just outside the terminal doors, and the second I step out there, my mother drags me into a suffocating hug. She kisses my cheek and babbles things I can't understand. Though I receive similar treatment from my sisters, I don't expect that from my brothers. But they each hug me fiercely and vow to "skelp" the "bod ceann" who hurt me. I'd rather beat Alex with my own fists because the dickhead deserves it, but I appreciate the sentiment from my brothers.
I love Alex Thorne. Only time will ease the pain.
For the next week, I mostly hide in my bedroom, in the house where I'd grown up, and try to forget about that man. Aye, the betrayal is still too fresh for me to move past it yet. So I lie in bed, hugging the bears Alex had given me, and I cry.
On the seventh day of my self-imposed isolation, I force myself to go out into the world. I start by having breakfast with my family instead of sneaking into the kitchen to steal a snack. Then I accept Fiona and Jamie's invitation to go for a walk and get some fresh air. My sisters use that time to blether about our clan's antics, and aye, hearing all the good gossip does cheer me up a wee bit. My brothers do their part too—by recommending lads I might want to date. I'm not ready for that. I slept with the same man for the better part of two years, and I cannae sweep that all aside, not just yet. But I love them all the more for trying.
Though I've stopped hiding in my room, I still hug those bears every night while I fall asleep.
After a month of missing that man and sometimes crying over the loss, I decide enough is enough. Why should I let Alex Thorne make the rest of my life miserable? I'm young and bonnie and clever, three things any worthwhile man should appreciate. Since I'll be leaving for Edinburgh soon, to continue my doctoral studies, I'll have a much larger pool of lads to choose from which means I will definitely forget aboutthatman. I still haven't told anyone the name of thebod ceannwho broke my heart. But I need to call him something since everyone keeps mentioning him, and their nicknames for him are ridiculous. Lachlan calls him "the wee shit I'm going to batter one day." If I invent my own nickname for Alex, maybe everyone will stop talking about him.
Three weeks before I'm meant to leave for Edinburgh, I announce my new name for Alex. My family is having a barbecue, and my youngest sister, Jamie, gives me an opening.
"When will ye ever tell us that British scunner's name?" she asks. "We have a right to know."
"No, you don't," I say. "The British Bastard doesnae deserve to have his name spoken."
I think my relatives have decided the Limey Louse drove me off my head, and they mean to humor me whenever I mention him. Aye, I just created another nickname for him. A few days later, I invent yet another one when my cousin Iain asks how I'm recovering from my heartbreak. I tell him, "The Soulless Sassenach will never fash me again. I'm getting on with my life."
The move to Edinburgh is temporary, only until I finish my dissertation and earn my PhD. Then I will find a job as an archaeologist, either in the field or as a teacher, and my life will go on in spite of what the British Bastard did to me. During my first week on campus, I meet my two supervisors who will guide me through the rest of my program. Luckily, they've arranged it so I won't need to start over and all the work I'd done in America will count toward my doctorate. That means the Soulless Sassenach has not destroyed my professional dreams, even if he did shatter my heart.
But no, I don't cry anymore when I think of him. Anger has replaced the heartbreak.
That's why I decide to exorcise the demon once and for all. My sisters reluctantly help me gather what I need, and they watch me perform the ritual. I've acquired a small pile of twigs and a bottle of kerosene. Now I light the twigs with the flammable liquid, and once the flames have grown to a good height, I bring out the teddy bears Alex had given me. Then I douse them with kerosene and drop them onto the fire.
Yes, Alex no longer exists in my world.
As the months go by, I do date, though not often. That has nothing to do with the Limey Louse. I'm so busy with my dissertation and field work that I have little time leftover for personal matters. Who needs romance? It's a waste of time. I want to spend my life researching and preserving the past as well as teaching others about the rich and exciting history of our country. That's all the satisfaction I need. The fact that I occasionally dream of Alex, and those dreams are intensely erotic, does not mean I pine for him. The lads I date might not be as good in bed, but at least they don't hide their pasts from me or get me arrested.
Never will I tell anyone that every night as I'm falling asleep, I pray I'll dream of Alex Thorne, or that when I'm alone in my room, I often push myself to orgasm while fantasizing about him. Fantasies donnae mean I still have feelings for him. I absolutely do not.
But sometimes I remember our last night together, and I wonder. When he had whispered "Catriona, my darling, my love," it hadn't felt like an offhanded statement. I believed he had meant that he loved me, though he couldn't say it outright. Whatever Alex felt or almost said doesn't matter anymore.
The British Bastard will never again darken my doorstep.
