“Not that it excuses our deceptive behavior,” Malcolm added.
“No. It does not. But I think ye were right. I have been perhaps a wee bit in love with the idea of being in love. It is, after all, the grand emotion that poets are best known for. I think my eagerness clouded my judgment. But seeing you two now, together . . .” He paused before asking, “Do ye love each other?”
Viola slid her hand from Malcolm’s waist, down his arm to nest in his palm, a flush coloring her cheeks.
“Ask us again this evening,” she said, her eyes remaining locked on Malcolm.
He understood immediately. Neither of them wanted to declare their love for the first time in front of Ethan. At least, that was what hehopedshe meant.
“Are ye both happy then?” Ethan asked.
“Aye.” Malcolm suspected the stupid-in-love smile currently blossoming on his own face matched the one on Viola’s. “I didnae think it possible tae find such a feeling again. God has doubly blessed me.”
Ethan studied them, eyes moving from Viola’s bonnetless head to her wee hand nested in Malcolm’s grasp.
“Malcolm, if this were anyone else . . . I would be angry for months, maybe years. But . . .” Ethan ran a weary hand through his hair, letting loose a heavy sigh. “I have watched ye grieve, feeling helpless to ease your pain. And though I am still furious and hurt right now—” Ethan pointed a finger at Malcolm. “—I am equally sure that I will forgive ye eventually.” He looked at Viola. “Make her happy, brother.”
Ethan clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. And ever the consummate gentlemen, he sketched a bow to Viola.
“I recommend avoiding me for the next several days,” he said, “as I intend to take Hadley up on his offer to get blistering drunk. By the time I’m done wallowing, it would be lovely if the populace of Fettermill understood what happened between Miss Brodure and myself. I don’t feel equal to explaining the situation to every village gossip who crosses my path. Just the thought of the pitying sighs, the awkward pats on my arm . . .” He trailed off, shoulders slumping even further in defeat.
“I’ll make sure everyone knows tae avoid the topic of Miss Brodure with yourself,” Malcolm reassured him, pulling Viola’s hand closer.
Ethan nodded, and turning around, walked back across the field to Thistle Muir.
Malcolm watched him until he disappeared inside the front door.
“Did he mean all that?” Viola asked softly.
“Aye,” Malcolm nodded, “though once he returns home tonight, drunk and raging, I am sure he and I will have another go. But as long as he’s talking tae me, I ken we will weather this.”
“I’m glad,” Viola whispered, tilting her head back and fixing him with her blue eyes. “You and Ethan need one another.”
“True, lass. That we do.”
Tucking her hand through his arm, Malcolm led Viola out of the field and down the lane toward their swing. Viola leaned into his strength, though he caught her darting glances up at his profile.
Was she still upset over his hesitation yesterday? That he had doubted he possessed the strength to love her?
She didn’t appear too distressed. Her breathing was even, and she had openly embraced him in front of Ethan.
Malcolm had experienced enough of relationships and arguments to see those things as signs of an impending reconciliation.
“Did ye mean what ye said, lass?” he asked.
“Gracious, what part?” she laughed. “I fear I said a fair lot.”
“The bit about writing what ye would like from this point on, regardless of Kendall.”
She sighed, hand resting more heavily on his arm. “Yes, yes I did. Am I insane?”
“Nae, lass. I admire your bravery tae strike out onto unknown paths. History never remembers the weak.”
They rounded the final bend in the lane, coming to a stop before their swing.
“Write what is calling to ye, Viola.” He looked down at her, noting that emotion had heightened the ring of gold circling her pupil. “Those that love you will stand at your side.”
“And will you be one of those that love me?” she asked.
