Page 56 of My Highland Rogue
Sean nodded. “I would have told you if I’d been able to find the words, boy.”
“I’m not a boy,” Gordon said, standing and walking to the window. “I haven’t been a boy for a very long time.”
His life could have been different with the countess and the earl as parents. With all the advantages they would have given him he could have had the world at his feet instead of clawing his way to the top.
And Jennifer...
His thoughts ground to a halt, held in abeyance by a sense of horror so acute that he felt his heart slow.
Jennifer was his sister.
Jennifer was his sister.
The woman he loved was his sister.
It didn’t matter how many times he repeated the words, they didn’t register. They couldn’t penetrate the fog cushioning every emotion.
Gordon had only gotten a few hours of sleep, and no doubt that accounted for this strange sensation he was experiencing, as if he was here but not here. Yet he’d gone without sleep in London often enough without feeling like he was trapped in a soundless bubble. No, this was something different. A feeling of being separate from reality. Perhaps he’d accidentally ingested some laudanum himself.
Time slowed, then stopped. His face was oddly cold. Gordon couldn’t hear his breathing. Nor could he feel it through the numbness that was spreading over his chest. His headache, strangely enough, had vanished. His eyes, however, felt as if each one held a spoonful of sand.
He wanted to find a comfortable place, perhaps beneath one of the pines at the edge of the loch. He would stretch out beneath it and take a nap, at least until the chilled air woke him. He’d dream for a bit. A dream that held more substance than this moment sitting at his dying father’s bed. Not father. Sean wasn’t his father.
Where was Sally? Was she going to stay away for hours, leaving him here? He needed to quit this room. He needed to be away from Sean, most of all.
He could hear noises, but they sounded as if they came from far away. He could feel theshirt on his body, the cuffs at his wrist, even the shoes on his feet, but they were sensations that were oddly distant. As if they were happening to someone else. Or he was inhabiting a strange body that wasn’t his own.
He looked down at Sean, a frail man, who looked even more fragile this morning.
“You stole my future. You stole my life. You lied.” He turned back to the window and tried to compose himself. “I’ve seen a great deal in the past five years. I’ve seen how people could lie and cheat and walk over a friend or loved one to accomplish what they wanted. I’ve seen humanity at its worst, but this? This is so much more grasping and greedy than anything I’ve ever seen or imagined. Congratulations, Sean. You managed to shock me, and I didn’t think that was possible anymore.”
Sean didn’t answer him. His eyes were closed and his breathing seemed more labored than before.
At least the man hadn’t sent him a letter posted after his death. He’d had the courage to look Gordon in the face and tell him the truth.
Or maybe it wasn’t courage after all. This confession was his attempt to get right with his Maker before his death, much as Betty had done to Sean. Is that all that was required? A confession at the threshold of death and all was forgiven?
Maybe he didn’t need to pass judgment on Sean. A higher power would do that. For a moment he wanted to, however. He wanted to condemn him to living, but in continued agony.
He heard the door open and close. Sally was back. He walked to the doorway. Before he left, he turned to look at Sean.
Sean opened his eyes. “You did all right for yourself, even so.”
Yes, he’d done all right for himself, without a father or a mother and now without the woman he loved.
He couldn’t think of a single remark. Not one decent thing to say to a dying man. He couldn’t lie and tell Sean that he forgave either him or Betty. He couldn’t absolve Sean of his sins.
Instead, he turned and left the room.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jennifer was hurrying through her tasks so that she could spare time to be with Gordon.
Today she needed to supervise the brushing of the ornate rugs in the formal dining room. Both carpets were woven for Adaire Hall in Belgium fifty years ago. They were still vivid, with borders of roses and thistles.
The skirling of the pipes sent Jennifer to the window. She opened it and sat on the window seat, pleased that James had dressed in the Adaire kilt and presented himself on a nearby hill without being reminded. It was an Adaire custom to welcome any child of the earl into the world with their march.
They would play when Sean died as well, only then it would be a dirge.
