Page 83 of A Gypsy in Scotland
“I probably shouldn’t say this,” the Highlander murmured, his eyes filled with indecision. “The lass is in love with you. Can you walk away from that, Ruthven?”
Lash’s heart leaped at the words. He didn’t want to hear them. He couldn’t stand them. It took all of his damn strength to leave, and those words made it harder. So much harder. Almost impossible.
“Honoria is too smart to love me.”
“Smart or not, she does, and if you are going to leave, I’m not about to let you go without you knowing that, because Honoria has no clue what Adair has done, and it seems you are not going to inform her of your departure.”
Against his will, he found himself asking, “Then why hasn’t she told me?”
At that, Hugh gave a humorless laugh. “She’s a woman, Ruthven. Who knows why? But I can tell you it’s true. Believe it or not, I know my twin better than she thinks.” Hugh paused. “And as you’re aware, Adair already sent one ‘unworthy’ man away because Isla fell in love with him. I never agreed then—not that anyone listens to me—and I don’t agree now. I have arrived at the conclusion, even if my brothers have not, that Honoria and Isla could never fall in love with unworthy men. You should stay.”
Lash’s heart constricted. “Your brother only wants what’s best for your sister.”
“Of course, but Adair is clueless about what is best.”
“Honoria deserves a better man than me.”
“Well, Adair is hosting a ball in three days. Should she choose a husband there then?”
Something fierce and primal rose within Lash. He tamped it down.
“Is that also for the best, then?” Hugh insisted.
Lash couldn’t bring himself to answer that. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his breeches and flicked Hugh a silver coin. “Give this to her. It’s a Spanish reel, to remind her of her fearless spirit.”
“Lord, man, stop,” Hugh muttered in a dry voice. “You’re breaking my heart.”
Lash shook his head, a small smirk seeping through his sorrow. This man was more of a brother than Danior had ever been.
Hugh pushed away from the stall and headed out. At the door, he paused. “For what it’s worth, Ruthven, if you do decide to stay, I have your back.”
Lash’s chest expanded to something painful. He nodded at the Highlander, unable to form a response.
He had found his stopping place.
But was he selfish enough to stay?
“What do you mean, he is gone?” Honoria demanded, glaring at her brother. They had told her Lash had left. Left! What did that mean? Was he in the stables? Had they moved him into another room? Had he gone to the nearest town to stay there?
“He left, Honoria,” Adair said with a shrug. “I couldn’t very well shackle him to the bed, now could I?”
“But why would he leave?” she asked, confused. She cast a questioning glance at Hugh, who looked away. Honoria grabbed him by the arm. “I swear, Hugh, if you don’t tell me, I will run you through with a sword, leave these godforsaken castle walls, and make sure you will never see me again.”
Adair’s eyes thundered, and the low undertone of his voice speared through the great hall where they stood, facing off. “He expressed the desire to search for his family, Honoria, and so I provided him Balthazar, a gift for saving your life.”
“You mean a gift for him toleave,” she snapped. “You could have offered him help with finding his family fromhere. Do not coat your actions with pretty words, Adair. You bought him off.”
“He is a gypsy, Honoria. What else was I to do?”
“They prefer the term Rom, Adair. And you sent him away before you even learned of his character—like you did with Patrick. You believe Lash is no good simply because he is different.”
“He is no good for you,” Adair snapped. “Just as Patrick was no good for Isla.”
Honoria met Adair’s unapologetic gaze. “And who made you the expert on what is good for us?”
“I am your brother, and Rom or gypsy, lass, the man is apeasant—so was Patrick,” Adair said as if that made all the difference, as if that should be the end of it.
“A peasant,” she repeated, her hands lifted to clutch at her temples as she shook her head. “Must you be close-minded?”
