Brodie sighed. “I struggle to think of her as such. I couldn’t imagine consummating the marriage, let alone bringing myself to do it. I intended to wait at least two years. Saying our vows in a kirk was the only thing that made it a marriage rather than a betrothal. We were on our way to Kilchurn when our party was attacked, and they murdered Eliza.”
“Oh! Brodie, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Laurel said as she squeezed his hand. Perhaps he hadn’t married the girl out of love, but he’d intended to spend his life with her. When she caught his pained expression, she wrapped her arm as best she could around his shoulders. Brodie inhaled Laurel’s lavender scent and nearly licked her neck. His hand rested on her ribs as he turned his head for a kiss, but she reeled back.
“You tell me your wife died a fortnight ago, you clearly still grieve her, and yet you would kiss me again. Ugh,” Laurel tried to pull away, and Brodie let her. She stood and moved beyond his reach. She watched as Brodie closed his eyes, and she assumed he didn’t wish for her to see his guilty eyes.
“I don’t grieve her, Laurel. Not even the moment it happened. And it makes me a wretched, heartless bastard.”
“What?”
Laurel didn’t realize she drifted forward until she cupped his jaw in her hands. She caught the relief in his expression. When he opened his legs, she stepped between them. The gentleness of her touch was a balm to Brodie’s troubled mind. Neither moved for a long moment before Laurel reached out her hand and caressed Brodie’s chestnut-brown hair. She kept the movement light, but she felt as much as heard his shuddering sigh. Laurel realized it was a moment when she could offer him comfort, just as he had done for her earlier. She draped her other arm over his shoulders, and with a tiny nudge, Brodie laid his head against her middle. He wrapped his arms around her, and they merely held one another.
With a long sigh, Brodie resumed his story. “I know I should, but I didn’t know the lass. She barely spoke enough to say her vows. I’m certain I terrified her despite me reassuring her several times before the wedding and during the journey that I would leave her untouched for years. I wish she wasn’t dead. But that’s only because she was innocent, not because I long for her to still be my wife. I just can’t muster any grief over her death. The guilt I feel is for not feeling enough aboot her. I ken I should, but I don’t.”
“Och, Brodie. If she were but a stranger to you, then how can you blame yourself? You didn’t know her well enough to have aught to miss or regret losing. You can grieve that they killed an innocent woman, but you can’t grieve for something—or someone—you never had. You are not a bad mon for this. That you feel remorse at all tells me more than you or anyone else could put into words. And before you fash, it tells me what I already kenned. You are not a bad mon.” She repeated her final words, praying the emphasis would get through Brodie’s guilt.
“What aboot how I am drawn to you in an inexplicable way, and I have no wish to stop? Not even knowing that I should be in mourning. What aboot how I haven’t thought of Eliza since I last spoke to the king? That was before we even met.”
“Brodie, she wasn’t part of your life. She didn’t have time to be. I have family who I rarely think aboot. I think aboot Balnagown and the Highlands. But I don’t miss my family, and I’ve kenned them my entire life. They’re not part of the life I have now, so there is naught for me to miss. I confess I cannot let go of my anger, but I don’t miss them.”
“But did you grieve their loss when you moved here?”
Laurel paused as she thought back to when she arrived at Stirling eleven years earlier. She’d cried countless times, but it was never for her family specifically. It was for her clan and her life among them. Bitterness and anger filled the hole she supposed should have been gaping from leaving them behind. “No. Mayhap I wouldn’t still be so angry if I had. Mayhap if I’d admitted to myself just how much it hurt me, rather than hiding behind my anger, I would have let it all go.”
“Laurie, I was already forced upon one bride. I don’t wish to do that to another woman. I don’t ken that we can avoid marrying. But if you don’t wish to, and we can avoid it, I will take you to Campbell territory, to Kilchurn, and make sure you have the cottage you want. I can ensure your safety there, and you can have your freedom,” Brodie offered.
Laurel looked down at the head that rested against her belly. She closed her eyes as she imagined what life would be. Her heart was filled with pain rather than hope. Living among the Campbells, right outside Brodie’s gate, would mean watching him marry another. As his cheek pressed against her, she realized the life she thought she wished for meant never having a family of her own. She’d sworn to herself countless times that she would never abandon her children. But she wouldn’t have children without a husband. However, in Campbell territory she would be forced to watch Brodie’s children with his future wife grow up. She couldn’t conjure a reasonable explanation for her visceral reaction against that, but she knew she couldn’t do that.
“Laurie?”
“Aye, Brodie. I was just thinking aboot what you offered. I can’t do it,” Laurel whispered the last four words.
“But I could protect you. You could be a seamstress as you said. Mayhap one day you might fall in love and wish to marry.” Brodie didn’t know how he voiced the last idea without choking on the words. He didn’t want to see Laurel marry someone else, find happiness with someone else. While he thought he could endure the agony of her living within reach but not having her, the notion that someone else would share her life, tore at him.
“Mayhap this is but a passing infatuation between us. But I can’t—” Laurel drew her lips in, unable to admit her feelings, unable to leave herself that vulnerable. Brodie looked up at her before he stood. They fell against one another, their mouths fusing as need clawed at them both. Brody lifted Laurel, and she bent her knees as he moved her over the window seat. Kneeling on it, they were at eye level, making the kiss easier. When they drew apart, both gasping for air, they leaned their foreheads together. Brodie kept his arms wrapped around her narrow waist, while Laurel cupped his jaw and nape.
“I dinna want ye to fall in love with someone else, Laurie,” Brodie murmured. “I will do aught I can to help ye, but I confess I dinna want to spend ma life watching ye with someone else.”
“Neither do I. That’s why I canna.” They both fell back into their brogues, and Laurel realized how much she missed the lilting tones. “I dinna want to wish any mon I married was someone else, and I dinna want to watch ye with bairns that arenae mine. Mayhap this is naught more than lust, but it pains me to think aboot that. I would rather be across the world from ye than to spend the rest of ma days seeing that.”
“It doesnae have to be that way,” Brodie reminded her.
“Brodie, I want to trust ye. I do. But I’m scared to. I’m scared because it would hurt so much more than it did when I left Balnagown or when ma father cut me off.”
“Cut ye off?”
Laurel didn’t have a chance to answer before a forceful rap sounded at her door.
