Page 57 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
Even though he’d given her no reason to distrust him, and given her every kindness, still she’d kept her silence. And now it was too late for honesty to matter. The damage was done.
He is right to be angry with me. I knowingly deceived him, even when I knew we were going to be intimate. I was foolish, and clung to my fear and my determination to flee and to hide. Now all I can do is wait for him to decide what he shall do - continue to protect me. or send me away.
Lydia watched Donall pace the room, and watched as his expression twisted through a myriad of emotions. Finally he stopped, looking at her. “Dae ye ken what ye’ve done?”
Lydia bit her lip. “I know I lied to you…”
“Tha’s nae what I meant. ‘Tis more than that, Lydia. Me clan is nae a powerful one, nor a rich one after I was been imprisoned for so long. I dinnae have a great number o’ allies, an’ ye…. ye already ken that I’m nae in the best graces o’ the king. This… Rory Cameron thinks I kent who ye were an’ kept ye from him fer me own purposes. This is likely tae bring a feud tae me clan, if nae an outright war.”
“I…” She got no further before Donall spoke over her, his voice rising with his agitation.
“A war! An’ what am I tae tell me Council when they ask me why Laird Cameron declared war on us? What am I tae tell any allies I might reach out tae, like me kin-by-marriage? Dae I lie tae them, an’ tell them I dinnae ken why we’re being attacked? Or dae I tell them the truth, an’ leave them all askin’ me why I’d shelter a lass who lied tae us, used us, and brought trouble down upon our heads?”
There was no good answer to that, not that Lydia could see. She had no desire to be sent to Rory Cameron, and she was happy to be Lydia the serving maid and healer’s apprentice for the rest of her days - but that was a selfish desire, and one she could not give voice to. Nor could she ask Donall to lie to his clan members to hide her, any more than she could have asked Maisie to keep the truth from her laird if the maid had decided the secret was too important to be kept.
Finally, Donall shook his head. “I have tae think about this. There’s…” He shook his head again, his eyes filled with a twisting morass of pain and anger that made Lydia want to flee and reachforward to embrace him at the same time. “This… yer identity, what ye’ve gotten me clan involved in, our relationship an’ the fact that ye lied tae me, even when we were taegether… ‘tis too much. I need time tae think.”
The words hurt, and Lydia bit her lip to stop her first response which might have been something similar to ‘Do you not love me? You said you did.’
Donall had every reason and every right to be angry, and to require some time to think. Instead of responding with hurt, it was up to her to give him the time and space he needed, especially since she was the one in the wrong.
Lydia bowed her head in understanding. “I… I understand. What do you wish for me to do?”
“Continue working with Evelyn, Corvin, an’ Maisie. But dinnae expect me tae call fer ye. An’ dinnae seek me out. I dinnae wish tae see or talk tae ye right now.” Donall’s words cut like a knife, and all the deeper because she knew they were entirely deserved.
“As you will.” Lydia dipped a curtsey.
“Go.” Donall waved her away, turning to the window and gazing through it as if the garden held all the answers he needed.
She wanted to ask for some kind of reassurance. To offer some apology. It was clear, however, that neither would be well received, even if she could find the words to make the attempt.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Four days.Donall ran a hand through his blond hair and stared out the window of his bed chamber wearily. Four days had passed since his world had been turned upside down by the knowledge of who exactly Lydia was. And still, he had not the faintest idea how to handle the revelation.
The prisoner had passed away the night before, falling into a delirium laced feverish sleep that he’d never woken from, helped along by Evelyn’s remedies. Donall still felt the lingering cold that had gripped his guts when Ewan had reported the man’s death. He knew that he’d done the only thing he could, short of a mercy killing, and still it made him feel sick, so much so that he’d refused to sleep the night before, knowing that his nightmares would only have him vomiting up what little he’d managed to eat.
An’ that’s another thing. The nightmares.
Donall turned and splashed water in his face, grunting as the cold shocked his system. He didn’t want to think about the nightmares, for it only reminded him of the one night he’d slept the night through. A night without dreams or memories haunting him.
And Lydia. The one person who’d been on his mind constantly for the past four days - and elusive in every other respect. True to his request, she’d left him alone and allowed him time to think about their situation. The problem was that Donall had come to no conclusions regarding his course of action.
He’d meant what he’d said. He had no intention of allowing Rory Cameron to take Lydia as a wife against her will. But beyond that, he hadn’t decided what to tell the Council. He hadn’t decided how to handle the encroachment of the Cameron soldiers, or the threat of Rory Cameron on his borders.
And he hadn’t decided what to do about his fledgling relationship with her. A part of him - the part that still stung and snarled at the thought of her lies - wanted to send her away to the MacDougall or MacLean clans. Send her away and tell Laird Cameron she’d fled, and let that be the end of it.
Another part of him wanted to hold her close and tell her that he understood, that it didn’t matter. But that, he knew would be a lie. The fact that she’d lied to him multiple times had hurt, and the fact that he’d had to discover her identity from a prisoner hurt leven more. The trust between them had been, if not broken, then badly damaged, and he wasn’t sure he could truly move past it.
Another part of him wanted to simply put her at arms length. Forget the midnight confidences and the kisses and the night of passion and peace that they’d shared. Maybe he could tell the Council about her, because in some ways, that would be the easiest thing for him.
Donall snorted to himself.
Easy as sleepin’ peacefully seems tae be. And the truth is, I dinnae ken whether it’s that night of sleep lingerin’ in me mind, or because she took me hand an’ accepted me help that day in the forest, but sendin’ her away doesnae feel right.
Donall scowled out the window into the moonlit sky. He should be in bed, and he knew it, but he also knew from long experience that sleep would be difficult to find, and likely as broken as the last four nights had been.
Donall grimaced, then turned and left his rooms, wandering out into the darkened halls in search of some peace or solace. He stalked out into the back gardens, then on a whim, took the steps to the battlements. The northeastern watch tower was rarely used, and he made his way toward it, up the narrow stone stairs to the top. He pushed the door open, then stopped.
