Page 59 of The Laird's Unwanted Wife
“I spent me life before this unloved and unseen. And when I came here, I made a promise to finally start carin’ for meself. Put in as much effort for me as I would with Mollie.” She finally managed to face him, tear-stained and wearing a smile so bitter, Gerald could taste it.
“I … I daenae think I will ever fall out of love with ye, dear husband. But this is nay marriage … and I daenae wish topretend it is, anymore. What small scraps of love ye offer—it’s nay right of me to cling and hope it will ever be more.”
She stepped across the room, pausing—hesitating—as she crossed his path. Gerald leaned forward, desperate to catch her in a kiss, but he remained still, the weight of his brother’s spirit pressing against his shoulders. This is what he deserved, after all. He took this from Ewan, and Aileen shouldn’t be dragged into this punishment with him.
And yet even as the thought passed his mind, Gerald still found his will weaken as his wife delivered a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Goodbye, Gerald. I will write to you about me progress at MacGunn diligently.” And that was it. That was all his wife had to offer before stepping out of the room, gently closing the door behind and leaving Gerald amidst her packing.
32
Aileen left after lunchtime, wanting to ensure Mollie had a large, home-cooked meal before the long trip back to MacGunn. She sat atop her Clydesdale—a gift from her husband, upon his insistence—watching as her sister gave Gerald hug after hug goodbye.
It seemed his earlier coldness toward her had melted away completely, going as far as to finally pick the girl up and embrace her tightly. She whispered something in his ear and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek, the exact place where Aileen had bestowed her own.
Gerald carried Mollie over, helping her onto the front of Aileen’s saddle. Aileen, in turn, leaned forward to cover her sister with as much of her cloak as possible. She wondered if, perhaps, Gerald would attempt to grasp her hand, but her husband made no such attempt. “Safe travels,” he offered instead.
Aileen could only manage a nod, and with a tug of the reins, her small party set off into the winter lands.
She’d almost forgotten how warm summertime could truly be. As Aileen traveled south through the Highlands, the constant presence of snow slowly melted away as greenery filled the land. Birds twittered loudly overhead as they wove between the foliage of the forests, trotted across the sweet-smelling grasses of the rolling hills, all while the sun warmed their backs.
“It’s too hot,” Mollie complained softly.
Bannock seemed to agree, panting loudly as she trotted beside their steed.
Aileen offered a reassuring pat on her back and as reassuring a smile as she could manage. “It’s only a few more hours now, Mollie.”
Mollie didn’t seem keen about the answer.
Aileen’s nose wrinkled; the heavy silence that hung between them was unfamiliar, and she cleared her throat, putting on an overly honeyed tone for her sister’s sake. “Are ye excited to be headed back to our old home?”
Mollie shrugged weakly.
“I ken I’ll have some work to do while we’re there,” Aileen continued. “But I’m certain Bannock will be wonderful company. And, daenae forget that Sarah’s accompanied us, so ye three can all make mischief while I’m stuck behind a desk.” She thought she sounded playful, but Mollie hardly seemed to react. Aileen sighed lightly, her hands gripping the reins of her horse. Perhaps her sister was simply tired from the ride and not interested in conversation.
And perhaps that was simply an excuse to make Aileen feel better.
Dusk painted the sky a rich purple when their horses finally arrived at MacGunn’s front gate. Even in the twilight, Aileen could make out a dozen or so makeshift graves scattered around the keep’s outer territory, with a handful of men continuing to dig more pits for the pile of shaded bodies. She ensured her cloak obscured Mollie’s sight, focusing on the main gates as they quickly rose for her homecoming. Much to her surprise, the courtyard was filled with clan folk, all clapping and cheering for her arrival. It was, admittedly, an unusual sight. Aileen couldn’t say she entirely hated it.
“Me Lady!” A familiar guard approached her horse, offering a hearty bow and a grateful smile. “Thank goodness ye’re here; we were beginning to worry our letter hadn’t reached ye.” He glanced around her, eyeing the other horses as warriors from MacLiddel trotted past. “Where is the Laird, if I may inquire?”
Aileen offered a light, controlled smile. “He had to remain at the northern keep, unfortunately. We were assaulted by Carswell as well. He sends his regards, but kens ye understand the importance of rebuilding the MacLiddel keep as well.”
There was a brief flicker of disappointment, but the guard was quick to correct himself. “Nay, of course, me Lady. We’re grateful ye made the ride at all. Please, allow me to care for yer horse; the council awaits inside to brief ye of the damages.”
Aileen nodded, gently setting a hand on Mollie’s shoulder. “Mollie, love, ye stay with Sarah while I handle some affairs.”
“All right, Leelee.”
Gracious, but her voice sounded so lifeless. As Aileen watched the guard help her sister to the ground, she swore to find Mollie later and get to the bottom of things.
If Gerald had wished it, he could have remained inside his study for the rest of his life. He had taken the week since their departure to clean it meticulously, removing every trace of Aileen or Mollie’s presence. All but the bookshelf, of course.
There had been moments when, with a knife in hand, Gerald considered gouging into the wood once more—destroying the careful detailing of snowflakes and woodland animals he had carved so painstakingly, destroying even his wife’s face, hermelancholy gaze downcast and as mournful as he felt in his heart.
Gerald sighed, setting the letter he’d attempted to read aside. Everyone had made it safely home without incident—the MacDonnells, the MacKimmons, the Marsdens—with an abundance of pictures sent from both Bonnie and Rosie addressed to Mollie.
Those he’d tucked carefully in his desk drawer, on top of the multiple requests from the other Ladies for a visitation. They wrote of tea parties and cèilidhs, insisting to replay their gracious hostess. All were stored away, in a desperate hope that Gerald could deliver them to their recipients by hand.
