“Throw away the key,” Benedict ordered as they pinned the raving Lord Lamfort down, securing his wrists in heavy cuffs behind his back. They dragged the screaming man away into the back of a carriage and rode off into the dark night.
Chapter Thirty
With a shuddering breath of relief, Benedict stumbled toward his wife and son, his muscles weak not from strain but stress.
He had never known such pain, such anguish.
Oliver burst into frantic sobs, clinging to his father’s coat. Isla stood still, clutching Oliver. He realized then that she was wearing nothing more than a nightdress, and he shrugged off his great coat and draped it over her shoulders.
Then, he enveloped them both in a powerful, desperate hug, burying his face in Isla’s hair, inhaling her unique scent as if it were oxygen. His rigid control completely shattered as he, too, began to sob.
Isla trembled as she stroked Benedict’s damp hair, coming back to life. She whispered over and over, “It’s over,mo chridhe.”
After a moment, Benedict gently lifted Oliver into his arms. Isla walked beside him, her hand pressed against his back as they strode to the horse. Benedict lofted them into the saddle and cradled the small boy in his arms as they rode Fury back to the townhouse.
Inside, the staff were relieved and weeping as the trio crossed through the threshold, yet respectfully silent as they walked up the staircase to Oliver’s room. Together, in the pale pre-dawn light filtering through the nursery curtains, they undressed the boy and put on fresh, warm pajamas, tucked him into his sheets, and soothed his racing heart with low voices and steady hands.
“Ille bhig gun togainn, thogainn, Ille bhig gun togainn thu,” Isla sang, a soft Gaelic lullaby.
Benedict sat on the edge of the bed, his large hand resting protectively on Oliver’s feet until the small, exhausted body finally surrendered to sleep.
“What does it mean?” Benedict asked softly, lifting his eyes to meet Isla. “The words you sing so beautifully.”
“Little boy, I’ll lift, lift little boy…I’ll lift you,” she replied, tears prickling the corners of her eyes once more. “I fear I will nae run out of tears. It was so awful…Ille bhig gun togainn, thogainn, Ille bhig gun togainn thu,” she sang once more.
As she finally finished the song and with a nod to each other, they moved silently out of the nursery and closed the door. In the dimly lit hallway, Benedict stopped short and turned to Isla,their bodies closer than they had been in so long. The Duke was gone, leaving behind only a broken, desperate man.
“I almost lost you,” he choked out, his voice raw and cracking. “I drove you away… I was afraid and I can admit that now.”
“It doesnae matter, we are safe-”
“I pushed you into danger by not being here to protect you. This… this is where I belong,” he said as he took a step closer to her. “Isla, I swear, when I thought you were gone... It destroyed me. I rode with the hounds of hell to get to you and Oliver.”
“Oh Ben,” she sighed, her emerald eyes meeting his as she took a step closer.
“The thought of losing you, of that emptiness... I never knew I could feel anything that wretched. I thought by running away from my feelings I could protect myself, but by running away I left you vulnerable. I never want to feel this way again.”
“Then don’t,” she whispered.
“I never wish to part from you again, Isla,” he said as he put his hands on his face, the tears he hadn’t allowed to fall since childhood finally blurring his vision.
“I never believed I was worthy of happiness. Not after the cruelty I grew up under. Not after Cecilia, a marriage I never really feltin my heart… not like this,” he choked out as he looked down at his feet. “This is so hard for me, but I have to say it.”
Isla watched the cold façade shatter, the sight of his raw, exposed soul more moving than any grand declaration. She stepped closer but held back from embracing him.
As hard as it is to see him like this, I deserve these words.
“I thought I was too broken, too hardened to ever deserve anything good, especially like you. But you... you proved me wrong at every turn. With your courage, your loyalty, your fire. I love you, Isla. I cannot imagine a life without you now. Please, tell me you can forgive me.”
“Ye hurt me, Benedict,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “I cannot say that you did not do that. Ye took the one hope I allowed myself, the hope that ye could be vulnerable with me, that ye could see me as yer partner… and ye threw it back in my face.”
He listened, his head bowed, not interrupting, just nodding.
“It took so much for me to think that ye could love a scarred woman like me… and when ye took that away…That hurt me more than Lamfort’s pistol ever could.”
“You are right,” he whispered when she was done. “You have always been right. I was a coward. I used fear as an excuse to hide myself away instead of facing my past. I take fullaccountability for every cruel word, every cold distance. I will spend the rest of my life trying to earn your forgiveness and your trust. I promise you that.”
“Truly… do ye promise?”
