Page 42 of Sweet Home Highlander
She’d seemed surprised to learn of the mines and his success. Though why wouldn’t she have been? All he’d done during the short course of their marriage had been to brawl with Hamish and drink himself into a stupor. Niall stared at his hand…the loss of it had consumed him so much that he’d lost the entirety of who he was. It was only when Aisla had left him that he’d had the courage to find himself. In that one sense, he couldn’t regret her leaving him. If she hadn’t, he doubted he would be the man he was now.
It was a conundrum. In truth, he owed her far more than he’d given her credit for. The man he’d been and the man he’d become were two different people. Everything he had done, every success he’d achieved, had been to prove Aisla wrong. To prove to her and to himself that hewasn’ta useless drunk. But in doing so over the past six years, he’d come to realize that maybe she’d been right to leave in the first place.
“Laird,” a voice said with a knock at the door.
He drew a hard breath, suddenly grateful for the distraction from his disturbing thoughts. He didn’t want to owe her a damn thing. “Enter.”
The foul look on Fenella’s face should have been a warning, but Niall welcomed it. Anything to offset the feeling of guilt that suddenly swam in his veins.
“A word?” she asked.
They’d been friends for a long time. Niall knew that Fenella would have welcomed more, but he’d never acted on the invitation. She was a handsome woman, certainly, but he’d been too focused on bringing Tarbendale—and himself—back from the dead to have time for the demands of a woman. Over the years, she’d become a fixture in his keep, if not his life.
“As ye wish,” he said, indicating the empty chair on the other side of the desk.
She sat, her hands folded in her lap, the sour expression on her face not abating in the least. “She goes, or I go.”
Niall froze, his slitted gaze snapping to hers. “Ye ken I dunnae like ultimatums, Fenella.”
Her mouth flattened, but something like anxiety flickered in her eyes. She was overstepping and she knew it. The bonds of friendship would allow her certain freedoms, but he was laird here. And Aisla was still his wife, for a few weeks more at least.
“The servants are talking,” Fenella hissed, ignoring the clear warning. “Wagering whether yer lady wife”—she spat the last two words—“will be staying on at Tarbendale…”
“What if she does?”
She went on without pausing, “…with her lover.”
The three words hit their intended mark. He flinched. Cold satisfaction shone in her eyes, and Niall felt a muscle begin to tick in his jaw, though he kept his expression bland. He’d known Fenella was a stubborn, hard woman with a proud streak, and that she was protective as well. After he lost his hand, she’d glare daggers at anyone who looked at his stump a hair too long, or made disparaging comments, usually regarding his certain inability to become a Maclaren warrior one day.
He’d known she was fierce, but he hadn’t expected her to be so vicious. It was a side of her he’d never seen. He exhaled. Or had he? Years ago, she’d been the one to whisper about Aisla’s first love sniffing around her skirts. Had she done that out of loyalty for Niall? Or out of spite for his wife? For a moment, Niall wondered how many times Aisla had been victim to this vengeful version of Fenella.
He blinked, drawn back into a memory of yet another argument in their bedchamber.
“Fenella hates me,” Aisla had wept. “They all hate me, yer clanspeople.”
He’d scowled, dismissing her fears. “They dunnae ken ye, Aisla. How can they hate ye? And Fenella is my friend. She doesnae want me to be hurt.”
“She told me ye would never love an outsider, much less a grasping t…trollop who…spreads her legs for anyone who happens by.”
Stupefied, he had laughed at her and scoffed, “Fenella would never say such a thing.”
Now, watching the unsmiling woman sitting across from him, he wasn’t so sure.HadFenella treated Aisla differently all those years ago? When no one was looking? Or listening? Then again, in a drunken haze, he’d been the one to call his own wife terrible names. He’d been hurt and jealous, but that was no excuse.
“Explain yerself.”
Fenella had known him long enough to be wary of such a tone, but she squared her shoulders, her mouth tightening to a bloodless line. A furious, ugly emotion glinted in her dark eyes, and Niall almost recoiled from the force of it. He’d never seen Fenella look thus. Or perhaps he’d been too foxed to notice.
“Will ye allow yerself to be cuckolded so openly, laird?” she said, her blunt words shocking him into immobility. “Will ye allow her to shame yer clanspeople, even while ye welcome this woman into yer home? A woman who fully intends to marry another once she is free of ye?”
“I ken what she plans to do, Fenella. Ye dunnae need to remind me,” he said with clear warning.
Fenella’s voice gentled. “Niall, I dunnae say this to hurt ye, but ye have to open yer eyes. Ye’ve been blind. While ye’re working in the mines all day, she’s off gallivanting with that Frenchman of hers.Alone.”
Niall sank back into his chair, the tongue-lashing he’d been about to give forgotten. “Ye’ve seen this?”
Fenella nodded. “Aye.”
He welcomed the sudden brutal lance of pain.Christ, he was a sodding fool. Hehadbeen blind. “Where has she gone,” he bit out, “with him?”
