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“Not really,” he said curtly. “It’s simply the cost of your pleasure.”
Terese felt the slap as if he had delivered it straight to her face. She didn’t respond since part of her felt deserving of it, for she had hurt him badly. She watched him ride away and forever disappear out of her life.
“I love you, Lachlan,” she murmured. “You take my heart with you, for I shall never give it to another.”
Chapter 20
Lachlan sat in Cavan’s solar, a tankard of ale in his hand, staring at the cold hearth. He’d been home near two weeks and he felt worse then he had when he first arrived. He intended to forget Terese, put her out of his mind and get on with his life as she had so coldly suggested. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was there in his every thought and dream refusing to let go, or was it he who refused to let go?
“Lachlan!”
He jumped and the ale sloshed over the sides of his tankard. He sat straight in his chair and looked to his brother Cavan, a large, formidable man with the same dark piercing eyes of all his brothers except Ronan. Ronan had their mother’s green eyes. “I was lost in my thoughts.”
“Which is where you have been since your return,” Cavan said with concern rather than anger.
Artair settled in the chair next to him. “What haven’t you told us?”
“Nothing,” Lachlan said, hoping Artair would leave it at that, though knowing that was unlikely. He was the most practical of all the brothers, reasoning situations until he drove you mad, though he curbed his sensibility with his wife Zia.
Cavan leaned his arm on the mantel, shaking his head. “That’s not true. Something troubles you. We know it; we all know it, and damn it our wives will not leave us alone until we find out what it is.”
Lachlan had to laugh, though it wasn’t a robust one.
“Zia believes it involves a woman,” Artair said.
“Honora agrees and surprisingly mother has said nothing,” Cavan said and suddenly his eyes turned wide. “You confided in Mother?”
“When requested, our mother keeps things to herself,” Lachlan said.
“Zia and Honora consider you their brother and they worry over you. Please, for their sake, and I beg you for ours”—Artair looked to Cavan, who nodded vigorously—“tell us what is wrong.”
Perhaps it was the need to shed the pain for he blurted out, “I fell in love and she rejected me.”
Thankfully, they looked on him with empathy not pity and before either of them could offer condolences or advice, a knock sounded at the door.
Cavan bid the person to enter and surprisingly it was Bethane, Zia’s grandmother. The woman was tall and slim with an ageless beauty and wisdom that a rare few attained. She was here to help Zia birth her babe, which wasn’t due until the end of summer, a little over two months away.
“I bring a message from your mother,” Bethane said with a smile. “Angus Bunnock has arrived.”
“He wasn’t due until tomorrow,” Cavan said and looked to Artair then Lachlan. “We need to greet Bunnock. I am sure he will want to speak with you, Lachlan. Then later we shall talk.”
Artair gave Lachlan’s shoulder a squeeze before he stood and followed Cavan out the door. Lachlan stood slowly, placing his tankard on the nearby table, and when he turned to leave he came face-to-face with Bethane.
She took his hand and with a smile said, “People aren’t always who we think they are, and yet upon a closer look you will see that she is the one you believed her to be.”
He felt a bit dazed when Bethane released his hand, and she slipped her arm around his to walk out of the room, which he sensed he couldn’t have done without her help.
She left him once they reached the great hall. He shook the dazed feeling from his head and joined his brothers as they greeted the burly man who had entered the room with two stout warriors on either side of him.
“Angus, you are most welcome to Caithness,” Cavan said. “I only wish the circumstances were different.”
“Aye, but I should have known Alyce’s stubbornness would be her demise,” Angus said with more annoyance than sorrow.
“It was illness not stubbornness that took your daughter,” Lachlan said, feeling the need to defend the dead woman.
Cavan shot him a look that warned him to watch his tongue then turned to Angus. “My brother Lachlan—”
“The one who made the journey for me,” Angus said and went to Lachlan and slapped him hard on the back. “I am grateful.” He sniffed the air. “You have had a feast prepared, Cavan.”
And with that they all settled on the benches to feast on the generous amounts of food on the tables. Angus sat with the Sinclare brothers, while his men didn’t even sit before grabbing for the food on the other table.
