Page 53 of Sweet Home Highlander
She stared into his eyes, as if searching for a crack in his vow. Something for her to point out and use against him. But she didn’t find it. Instead, she nodded slowly.
“I believe you.”
They were the sweetest three words he’d ever heard her say. Other than another three, of course. Those three words he couldn’t hope to ever hear again.I love you.
Aisla licked her lips, her eyes glistening. “And I hope you accord me the same consideration when I tell you, once and for all, that I was never with Dougal. I gave myself only to you, I chose you, Imarriedyou.”
There was so much pain, and yet so much hope in her eyes right then…hope that he’d believe her the way she’d believed him. Again, he felt the familiar jab of the spear. No more guilt, he’d promised himself. But he was tired of running away from it. The woman seated beside him, looking at him with so much openness and heart, baring herself in ways she hadn’t since her return. This was the girl he’d known at Montgomery. This was Aisla, before they’d snuffed out their marriage.
He squeezed her arms gently. “I believe you, too.”
She sucked in a breath of air and nodded, leaning forward to bury her forehead against his chest. “Do you think of her?” she whispered. “The babe?”
He nodded solemnly. “Every single day.”
“Me, too. I wanted her so badly. Ilovedher even though she and I had only known each other a few months. She was special.” She exhaled on a half sob. “She would have been loved, wouldn’t she?”
Niall’s throat grew tight. “Aye.”
She sat a moment, frozen and unblinking. And then the corners of her mouth tipped downward and trembled, as if it was all too much to keep buttoned up inside. Aisla sobbed, the smell of ale and whisky mixed with the fragrant roses she’d rustled on the shrub. He stroked her hair and back, until finally her sobs fell off into rhythmic breathing. Aisla’s weight against his side and chest had grown limp. Niall tucked in his chin and peered down to see her lashes splayed out against her pink cheeks.
God, he hadn’t held her like this in years. She hadn’t trusted him to. No, she’d kept him at arm’s length and for good reason. Hehadn’tdeserved her trust.
And now the tables were turned so thoroughly, it would be funny if it wasn’t so painful. She was an adorable, if furiously cantankerous, drunk. Most of what she’d said had been yelled in anger, he knew, but that much hurt could have only been born from a place of love. He would wager his entire fortune on the fact that some of that affection was still there, and he had fewer than four weeks to make her see it.
Four weeks to win back his Highland bride for good. Not for the sake of a wager or for anything else beyond the two of them. But simply because he wanted her to stay.
For the first time in years, he felt the hollowness in his chest ease.
Chapter Fourteen
Why in God-awful hell did it feel like she was on a ship?
A sinking ship caught in the middle of the English Channel.
The room was lurching and careening before she even cracked an eyelid. When Aisla finally managed to open her eyes, she winced against the bright sunlight streaming in through the parted curtains. At least the room was no longer whirling, though everythinginit spun. She moaned as she rolled over, her mattress and pillows cradling her body and yet somehow making her feel even worse, what with her churning stomach and her throbbing head.
Blasted ale and whisky. And her blasted loose tongue! She pressed the heels of her palms against her temples, each one pulsing in matched pain, and felt a new rush of sickness. This one sourced by guilt, and not an over indulgence of spirits.
Good Lord, what had she said?
Bits and pieces came back to her. Makenna’s hurt expression, and Julien’s disappointed one. Niall’s fury as he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her away to stop her from making an even worse arse out of herself.
She tried to sit up, but the pain in her head didn’t allow her to make much progress. The door to the bedchamber opened, and in bustled Pauline. She carried a stack of linen and one of Aisla’s favorite gowns.
The maid propped one thin brow and inspected Aisla, concern and pity in her eyes. “Ah, my lady, you are finally awake. I will ring for a bath immediately.”
“Is it so very bad?” Aisla asked, sniffing the air. She recoiled at the stench that greeted her nostrils. “Don’t answer that question. A bath would be lovely.”
Pauline bowed her head and set the linens on the table beside the copper tub. “You must have had an eventful afternoon at the festivities, my lady, to be asleep before dinner last night.”
Aisla didn’t have the energy to take her maid to task for digging for gossip. “You’ve heard all about it by now, I am quite certain, so don’t pretend to be ignorant, Pauline. Tell me…how angry are they?” She’d said horrible things about Maclaren and its people. Loudly, too. Aisla then sat up a little higher as confusion descended. She peered around the bedchamber at Tarben Castle. “And how did I get here? I was at Maclaren…”
In the garden with Niall. Curled up against him as she’d let loose the tears that had taken her by surprise. He’d believed her about Dougal. It had been such a relief to hear him say those simple words. And oddly enough, it had been a relief to tell Niall that she believed him about Fenella. She’d wanted to let go of those old hurts so desperately.
But everything else…the awful things she’d blurted out in the courtyard before…how could she face Makenna now? Or Julien, or any of the other Maclarens? She’d behaved dreadfully.Abominably.
“The laird brought you back here,” Pauline said, opening the window. A breeze gusted in, warm and sweet smelling. “And I’m not sure how angry the others are. They all clamp their lips shut as soon as I enter a room.” She scowled suddenly. “Except that Miss Fenella. She has a right vicious mouth on her.”
