Page 82 of Sweet Home Highlander
If their marriage wasn’t legal in the eyes of the Scottish courts, then that meant Aisla was free. And if she didn’t have someone who was willing to marry her, she would have been ruined. Though, he couldn’t imagine a paltry thing like ruination stopping her. His Aisla was fearless. Niall sobered. She wasn’thisAisla. According to these documents, she’d never even been. He sucked in a breath with a rush of guilt. Yet one more thing that he could have done differently. He should have married her properly, with the presence and the blessing of both their families. He’d failed her, yet again.
Doomeddidn’t begin to cover it.
Without a word, Ronan slid the bottle of whisky and the empty glass over to him, but Niall shook his head. “Nae, I’ve had enough, ye ken.”
“What will ye do?” Ronan asked.
“What I should have done from the start—let her go.”
…
Aisla wanted to scream her frustration at being confined to bed. She was more than recovered enough to not be coddled like a child. She wanted to go for a walk, she wanted fresh air, and most of all, she wanted to see Niall who had avoided her ever since he’d returned from Edinburgh. And Aisla had learned from the servants, and the ever-resourceful Pauline, that he had come back and retired at once to Tarben Castle.
She eyed Makenna who was readingRomeo and Julietto her. Aisla hadn’t heard a word of her sister-in-law’s recital, though she knew the play well. She’d loved it as a girl, but to tell the truth, now she loathed it. She hadn’t had the heart to tell that to Makenna, however. Instead, she’d let her mind wander, imagining all the ways she could stage her escape, and find out why in hell Niall had decided to finalize the divorcenow, of all times.
No one would tell her anything!
Not even Pauline could find out, only that the laird had left in a hurry, taking only his horse and not even a change of belongings. He hadn’t returned immediately, either, spending a few days there. But now he was back, and she deserved answers. Ones, it appeared, only he could give.
“Good night, good night!” Makenna read with a soft sigh. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
Aisla rolled her eyes. If she were Juliet, she’d search out Romeo and demand that he well and truly publicly ruin her. That would be the quickest way to the altar, she thought with grim humor. Secret marriages never turned out well. She’d idolized the play in her younger years, the tale of the doomed, star-crossed lovers fodder to her young, romantic heart. It’d been the reason she’d eloped with Niall, after all. But now, she was older and wiser. Betrayal didn’t always come from external forces. And the marriage bed wasn’t made of roses.
She thought of Dougal. And Fenella. Both wanting what they could not have and coveting it to their own detriment. She thought of herself and Niall, and their shared tragedy. They had loved each other, but sometimes, it took more than love. It took grit and determination. It took fight.
“I’ve heard he’s returned,” she said decisively, interrupting Makenna.
Her sister-in-law shot her a blank look. “Who?”
“Your brother.”
Makenna closed the slim volume and folded her hands in her lap. “Oh, has he? I hadnae heard.”
Aisla sighed. “Please don’t play games with me, Makenna.”
“Oh, very well. Aye, he’s back, but hasnae spoken to anyone. Apparently, he’s in a devil of a mood, too. Ronan’s gone over there to talk to him, and find out if everything has been finalized.” She smiled sadly, her lips pinching. “I suppose once it’s all over, ye’ll head back to Paris.”
Makenna’s bleakness hit her like a heavy spear to the breast. Her lungs tightened almost painfully. “No, that’s just it, I—”
But the sound of voices in the hall downstairs—one in particular—drifted up, making her halt all conversation. Niall. She strained to listen, but there was no more forthcoming. Had it been him? She pushed herself up in bed, groaning at the pressure of her healing torso, and slid her legs over the edge.
“What are ye doing?” Makenna gasped. “Ye cannae—”
“I can and I will.” It was a colossal feat that she managed to get herself standing, one driven by pure determination. But she’d barely taken two steps to the door when a footman knocked, carrying a silver salver with a black file and piece of folded foolscap.
“A note for ye, my lady.”
Her heart hammered as she closed the distance to the doorway. “From whom?”
“From the Laird of Tarbendale, my lady.”
She snatched the folded paper and read the first line:
Dearest Aisla, I’m sorry to have to write this…
Aisla saw red. Now, that was simply outside of enough.
Nearly shoving the poor footman aside, she rushed to the balustrade and shouted with all her might, uncaring of whether she sounded like a maniacal shrew or that there were servants and clansmen milling about. “Niall Maclaren, dunnae ye dare take the coward’s way out with a bloodynoteand not face me, do ye hear me?” She sucked in a breath, ready to unleash hell when she heard a low chuckle, and then a voice…hisvoice.
