Page 14 of Sweet Home Highlander
“Quit yer pinching,” Finlay growled as he stood, taking the roasted leg of chicken he was in the middle of consuming with him.
They bid their mother good evening, and followed their wives from the dais and out of the hall. Slowly, other clansmen and women were taking their leave, the sounds of their departure rising up to the beamed ceiling and echoing in a loud rustle of skirts and clatter of feet and benches.
“It seems ye got yer wish,” Niall said once the noise had finally stopped, and more than three-quarters of the hall had cleared. Julien and Lady Dunrannoch remained, though. Niall’s mother would want to stay and support her youngest son. Still, Aisla’s stomach clenched at knowing how much the woman must despise her, but she couldn’t allow it to keep her silent.
“Well?” Niall pressed. “On what possible grounds do ye think the Crown will grant ye a divorce?”
Julien again closed his fingers over Aisla’s hand, fisted in her lap, and squeezed. Thank goodness he was there. She wasn’t certain she could have done any of this without him. Then again, if it weren’t for Julien or his proposal of marriage, she wouldn’t have even considered asking for a divorce.
“Desertion,” she blurted, the sound of it out loud even worse than it had been inside her mind. “I abandoned our marriage.”
Niall wasn’t quick enough to mask his surprise at the admission, though a moment later his expression had resettled into the well-worn look of apathy.
In her seat, Lady Dunrannoch shifted her weight. “Divorces are notoriously difficult to procure,” she said in a lightly accented voice. She was an Englishwoman through and through, despite having lived in Scotland her entire adult life. “Even on grounds of desertion.”
She was correct. Divorces were rare, though Aisla knew of many married couples who had simply dissolved their marriage by agreeing to live separately. They would be unable to marry again, but at least they would not have to endure their spouse’s company. Some believed it a price well worth paying. Aisla had, too.
However, the solicitor she’d hired had confirmed it was possible—that divorces had been granted for desertion in Scotland for centuries now—though it would be expensive and arduous.
“Aye,” Niall said after a minute of silence. “Although,” he went on, his eyes flicking to Julien, “grounds of adultery could be more convincing.”
“Adultery?”
He arched an eyebrow. “I speak of yer current association. We are still married, are we no’?”
Her cheeks burned, and the air she breathed felt thinner. Why wouldn’t he think it? She’d shown up at Maclaren with the man she wanted to replace Niall with, after all. She would die before admitting that Niall had been her first loverandher last. She’d shrivel up and waste away before she let him know that she’d been alone all these years, while he’d no doubt enjoyed whatever female company he could get his hands on, including Fenella.
Aisla let out a breath, and did as she had done in Paris for so long: pretended. “If that makes it easier for the courts to grant a divorce, then yes, by all means, appeal on the grounds of adultery as well. I abandoned our marriage, and you’ve accused me many a time of betraying my vows.”
Niall spent an eternity glaring at her, the hard lines of his sculpted jaw tensing and softening, as if he was battling some skirmish inside his mind. For a moment, she thought she saw regret there as well, but it was gone too quickly. His hot stare threatened to burn past her stalwart defenses, and Aisla stiffened, bracing for whatever would come out of his mouth.
As if breaking from a trance, Niall rose abruptly from his seat. “I’m finished with this discussion tonight. I’ll send a messenger to Edinburgh to my solicitor to see what can be done. Ye’ll have my answer as soon as he returns.”
…
The bruising, early morning ride had not tamed the storm whipping and railing inside of Niall. Nor had the ones he’d taken the last two nights since Aisla’s arrival, nearly breaking his own neck in the darkness. His body was exhausted, but his mind spun endlessly at the thought of her.
God, she made him feel like a fumbling dunderheid with one look. Time had been kind to her, maturing her beauty with an artist’s touch. Her face was fuller, as was her lush, tempting figure. Knowledge and experience gave her eyes depth. He was no more immune to her than he had been at fifteen when he’d first met her, or eighteen when they’d eloped. Or now…a grown man hardened by life and circumstance.
He’d run into Ronan the night before at the stables at Maclaren after he’d ridden his brother’s prize gelding into the ground. He’d been brushing down the lathered animal when Ronan had entered the stall.
“He runs like a Highland storm,” Niall had said.
“And he has a temper like one.” Ronan smiled, dragging a hand down the horse’s nose. Not one to waste time, he’d cleared his throat. “What are ye doing,bràthair?”
“With what?”
“Dunnae play daft. With the lass.”
He’d shrugged. “I’ll give her what she wants, but I’ll no’ make it easy for her.”
“Ye want a divorce?”
Niall had hesitated. “I want what’s best for my clan,” he’d said eventually. “Ye told me to think about that, or have ye forgotten?”
His brother had shot him a shrewd look. “I think ye still love her. And the one woman ye truly want, doesnae love ye.”
“Are ye joking?” he’d scoffed. “If Iwantedher, she wouldnae want to leave. The lass doesnae ken the new Niall Maclaren.”
