No, they hadn’t. Just once. A spectacularly incendiary conversation that shattered everything between them.
Her fingers twisted in the ribbon ties of her reticule.
“What happened?”
Lady Isla paused for a moment and then shook her head.
“The precise particulars scarcely matter now.” Though she mighthave meant the words to be sharp, they emerged soft-edged and forlorn. “Needless to say, Gray was incensed over our attachment and abused me abominably. He claimed he would rather I had died than taken up with a Balfour.”
Tavish made a noise of disgust.
Damn Grayburn to hell.
“Most significantly . . .” She took in a slow breath. “Gray threatened to cast me out of the family.”
“Pardon?” Tavish reared back. “He truly said that?”
“Yes. I believe his precise words were, ‘Let this be one thing in your teetering life that you do not doubt, Isla. Should you so much as nod at a gentleman without my approval, I will see you cast from this family.’”
“I’m not sure Grayburn can do that.”
Isla laughed, a bitter crack of sound. “I assure you, he most certainly can. Dukes can do anything they wish.”
“Aye, but the scandal of such an action . . . Grayburn would wish to avoid it.”
“Perhaps, but you forget that my brother detests scandal and Balfours in equal measure. I cannot say which side his hatred would favor. Given Gray’s wrath over the mere thought of us courting, I cannot fathom his rage once he discovers we are married. I do not think the threat of scandal will stay his hand.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this? Ye were my—” Tavish cut off the rest—Ye were my wife.
Wife. Past tense.
“When?!” The word burst from her. “When was I to have told you? When you betrayed my trust? When you refused to listen, took your commission, and left me so very alone?”
The whip of her hurt cracked across Tavish’s skin.
“I tried to tell you,Captain.” She leaned into the honorific. “I begged you to take me away with you. To not leave me to Gray’s cruel mercy.”
A terrible sort of clanging started in Tavish’s ears. Heshouldhave listened. Heshouldhave known there was more to her furious pleading that day.
But . . . they had both been so young. So inexperienced with love and relationships and the harsh realities of life outside their own wee sphere.
“Ye should have written me,” he bit out. “I begged ye to write me. I would have found a way to send for ye.”
How, he could scarcely say. But Tavish knew his younger self and the wild pattering of his love for Isla. He would have done anything to have her with him.
“Write you? By what means? Assuming I could send a letter without Gray’s knowledge, I didn’t know where to direct your post,” she huffed, eyes glittering. “It’s not as if you wrote me or sent any word to help ease the path.”
“Ye made me swear not to write ye. I honored that vow.”Even though it nearly killed me, he didn’t add.
Pain rose in Tavish’s chest—old and well-worn. It had taken years for the agony of her loss to fade. Endless nights spent staring at the ceiling or tent canvas or the sky full of stars, wondering if she had ever wavered in her disavowal of him. If she would ever forgive him for his actions or repent of her own.
She clearly hadn’t.
He had mourned her loss and was now ready to move on to a new life—one no longer haunted by her shadow.
“Enough.” She scoffed, retrieving a handkerchief from her reticule. “I refuse to wallow in our shared past, Captain. We were both young and foolish and, therefore, behaved foolishly.” She swiped at her eyes. “It scarcely matters now.”
Tavish unclenched his jaw. He was rather sure it still mattered greatly, but he hadn’t the privilege of knowing her inner thoughts anymore.
