The sting of this hit her with force one sunny Thursday.
Leah was overseeing the hanging of new curtains in the great hall, as the remaining pieces of her ordered items had finally arrived.
A burst of giggling through the window sent her across the room to look down into the courtyard below.
Fox chased Madeline across the flagstones in a complicated game of tag that only the two of them understood. Grinning, Fox swooped in and snagged the girl from behind, lifting her high in the air. Madeline’s shrieks of laughter rang up the castle walls and through the crevices in the window pane.
Leah’s heart exploded in her chest.
Oh!
How she loved this man. He was difficult and secretive and, at times, so broken. But he was also endlessly kind and patient. Leah saw it in the way his hands held Madeline right this moment. How he kissed her chubby cheek before setting her back on her feet, grinning widely, ready to begin the chase again.
How silly to think that the emotion Leah had felt for him before their marriage was love. That had been infatuation, a mere calf love.
But this . . .
Thisfeeling was all-consuming. It fluffed and stretched and stuffed Leah’s chest so full of longing she struggled to breathe.
Leah loved Fox.
Thoroughly and utterly.
As completely as a woman could love a man, she suspected. There was truly nothing she would not do for him, no part of herself that she would not share.
But she also knew the reverse was not true.
Fox did not love her. Not as a husband loves a wife.
Part of Leah pointed out her good fortune. She had this man’s name. He had chosen to align his life with hers. He was a kind and decent man, who had overcome so much. She was his wife in truth.
But another part of her, a bolder part, felt greedy.
She didn’t merely want Fox’s attention, name, and body.
She wanted his heart and soul, too.
She wanted him to need her as much as she needed him, to fight for her love and affection, just as she would fight for his.
Leah wanted it all.
In the entiretyof his adult life, Fox had never known such personal contentment. Such peace.
Life with Leah was . . . effortless.
His household ran with seamless efficiency. Rooms were scrubbed and dusted, fires laid, clothing cleaned and pressed . . . all without Fox needing to spare a thought for it. William and the footmen were now outfitted in smart livery, and Laverloch smelled of beeswax polish, nutty linseed oil, and clean linen.
Fox appreciated Leah’s household management, but over the ensuing weeks, he learned to value her kind, patient, affectionate nature. She was unspoiled, his wife. A touchstone of endless strength and good humor.
And his efforts at sobriety and the new rapport in their marriage had put a happy, rosy glow in her cheeks. He was inordinately proud of that glow.
Fox filled his daylight hours with fishing, discovering tremendous peace in the repetitive motions of line and fly arcing over water, of the calculations and planning needed to convince a fish that his was the bait to take. He found himself wishing that Malcolm could come up the glen more often, but as Aileen had entered her confinement, his brother-in-law awaited the birth of their child.
And each night, when he retired, Leah was there. A lush armful to cuddle to his chest as they slept.
He should have thought to take a wife years ago.
The bottle still called to him, but Fox pushed his way through the cravings, busying himself. He could not succumb. He never again wanted to suffer the torment of breaking his body of the habit of addictive substances. Moreover, thoughts of Madeline, of his love for her, of the memory of Susan, of his promises to Leah . . . all kept him from searching for a bottle of whisky.
