Silence for another moment.
“Ye must know, Fletch, how sorry I am that matters played out as they did. I never meant to deceive ye in such a way.”
Fletch waved a magnanimous hand. “Though I have been stung by the loss of Lady Isla—she is, as you say, a remarkable lady—over the past week, I have begun to see matters more clearly. For one, I do not wish to marry a lady who still feels affection for another gentleman. Like yourself, I want to be first in my wife’s heart. And second, I understand that you couldn’t have behaved in any other manner. Your loyalty should remain with your wife, not myself.”
Unaccountably, emotion rose in Tavish’s chest. “Thank you. Though I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I will grasp it with both hands. Ye will always be a brother in arms.”
Crossing back to Fletch, Tavish extended his hand. His friend didn’t hesitate to grab it. Tavish pulled the man to his feet, clapping him on the back.
“I must say, Balfour, this visit has been illuminating in the extreme.” Fletch dropped his hand. “I didn’t realize how little I know you.”
“Pardon?” Tavish frowned. “Ye know me better than just about anyone.”
Fletch paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “Perhaps . . . it’s only that . . . I’ve never seen you so animated. You’ve spoken more over the past hour than I remember you speaking in an entire year. On the topic of Lady Isla, you wax voluble.”
Heat tinged Tavish’s cheeks. “Aye, well, I did say from the beginning that she is a bonnie lass.”
“Yes, I’m sure that is part of it.” His friend gave him an assessing look. “But I also wonder if I only ever knew a shadow of you—an echo of the real man. The heart of you, however . . . I believe you left that in Lady Isla’s care.”
“Possibly. Or perhaps, it’s just that happiness sits well with me.” Tavish turned and began collecting shot and black powder.
“Perhaps.” Fletch’s tone implied doubt. “Regardless, this conversation is actually not why I am here. I came to warn you.”
Tavish lifted an eyebrow, one hand on a leather bag.
“Grayburn found a way to vanish your marriage.”
Fletch’s words spun in Tavish’s mind like a whirlwind. He struggled to make sense of them.
“Pardon?”
“Just that. A few days ago, I received a letter from Grayburn, saying he had destroyed all evidence of your marriage to Lady Isla. Matters are as if the marriage never occurred. It was his understanding that your marriage had not been consummated—obviously, no longer the case—and if I wished to continue my courtship of Lady Isla, assuming she was amenable, Grayburn would support my suit. As I said, I no longer wish to court Lady Isla, but I wanted to make sure you knew what had occurred.”
“That bloody bastard! So that was the purpose behind his summons.”
“I presume you are referring to Grayburn?”
“Aye. Isla left yesterday afternoon. Grayburn demanded her presence, and she went willingly, thinking she would say goodbye to Lord Matthias, fetch her things, and return to me. She was supposed to send me word, but I have received nothing.” Tavish waved a hand toward the bag. “Hence, my preparations. I fear Grayburn is up to no good.”
Fletch’s chin went up. “A soldier’s instinct?”
“I can’t say. When it comes to my wife, my reasoning is clouded. But something has occurred, or a message from Isla would have arrived by now.”
“I think your worry is justified. I sensed something off with Grayburn’s message.”
Tavish’s concern ratcheted higher. “I need to go.”
Grabbing his rifle and leather bag, he turned for the pegs to the right of the stairs, the ones that held his greatcoat and top hat.
“Absolutely! We should be on our way!”
Tavish looked back to his friend. “Pardon?”
“I’m coming with you.” Fletch tapped his hat on his head.
His friend’s ready declaration of support tightened Tavish’s throat.
“Are ye quite sure? I should hate for ye to make an enemy of Grayburn for my sake.”
