ELENA DID NOT REMEMBERcrossing the yard or climbing the stair, only the steady insistence of Jacob’s voice at her back—go straight to yer chamber.She’d obeyed without question, her legs moving while her thoughts lagged somewhere behind. By the time she reached the keep, her hands were trembling badly enough that she had to pause just inside the door, pressing herpalms together until the shaking eased, until the world felt solid again beneath her feet.
How grotesquely unfair that the one moment she had longed for all her life should finally be hers, only to be chased immediately by discovery, transforming triumph into catastrophe in the span of a breath.
She’d gone straight in search of her mother, fortuitously finding her inside her chamber, setting aside a cloak as though she had only just returned herself. Isabel took one look at Elena’s face and did not ask a single question. She closed the door behind her and guided Elena to a chair before the hearth.
“What happened?”
“Jacob kissed me,” Elena cried to her mother, unable to keep the joy from her expression or voice, even as tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Oh, my,” Isabel had said, not recoiling, though her hand did slide up her chest, concern etched on her face.
“Mother, he’s nae indifferent,” Elena confirmed to her. “He’s nae. I always wondered,” Elena said, speaking swiftly, “whether it was only me. Whether I had imagined everything—every look, every kindness. I told myself it must be so, because he never said anything, never gave me cause to hope. And now I ken—” She broke off, laughing weakly, the sound caught somewhere between joy and despair. “Now I ken I was nae wrong. I didn’t imagine it, Mother.”
“Elena,” she said hesitantly, her brow knitting, hinting at caution—clearly torn between joy for her daughter and concern over the fallout—which promptly reminded Elena of the travesty of it all.
She winced and told her mother, “But we were seen. Lord Kinnard stumbled upon us—he turned and ran immediately, straight to Lord Hamilton, I should guess.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Isabel breathed.
“I’m so happy,” Elena admitted unnecessarily, “but it’s tangled now with fear.”
“Understandably,” her mother allowed, chewing her lip. “The fear is nae misplaced, I’m sorry to say.”
Elena swallowed. “Da will be furious.”
“Aye,” Isabel said calmly. “He will.”
“And Thomas—” Elena shook her head, the words failing her. “I never wished to shame anyone. I dinna mean to make things harder for ye and Da. I only—” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I only wanted to ken. And now I do, and I dinna ken how to bear it.”
Isabel leaned forward then and brushed her daughter’s hair back from her face, the gesture deeply familiar, loving. “Listen to me,” she said softly. “What ye feel now—the joy and the fear together—is the price of truth. 'Tis rarely ever clean. But 'tis better than doubt, even when it wounds.”
Elena closed her eyes, breathing in slowly, clinging to that steadiness. Somewhere beyond the walls of the keep, voices rose and fell, the world continuing as though nothing irrevocable had just happened.
“I dinna regret it,” she said finally, almost in a whisper. “Nae matter what comes of it, I dinna.”
Isabel’s mouth curved, just slightly. “Nor should ye,” she replied. “But ye must be prepared, love. Knowing a thing changes everything.”
Elena nodded, her heart aching and light all at once, and sat there beside her mother, suspended between happiness and dread, waiting for the rest of the world to catch to her.
She didn’t have long to wait.
The door opened without warning not five minutes later.
Elena straightened instinctively, her breath catching as her father entered the chamber and closed the door behind him. Elena held her breath, and rose to her feet, deciding that LiamMacTavish did not look like a man in the grip of fresh fury; he looked instead like one who had spent it already, leaving something heavier in its place. His shoulders were squared, his expression drawn, and when his gaze moved from Isabel to Elena, there was a flicker of something quick and unsettled before it was gone again.
She was accustomed to her father pacing when he was displeased and was trying not to holler at his children. Just now, he sat on the edge of the bed and crossed his legs at the ankle, looking far more casual in posture than in expression.
“Ofallthe things ye could have done, Elena,” he said, his tone measured, “ye choose this—this. Have ye any idea what this looks like? What it means for yer future? For ours?”
Elena lowered her gaze briefly, not out of shame but because looking at her father when he was like this felt like facing a gale. “Da,” she began, “I ken it seems—”
“Do ye?” he ground out, cutting her off. “Do ye ken what stories will spread before nightfall? Do ye ken what Strathfinnan is likely saying already? His son washumiliated. Humiliated by ye and Jacob. In broad daylight, Elena,” he said, as if this were her greatest mistake. He placed his hands on the mattress on either side of him. “God’s wounds, lass, did neither of ye consider the consequences? Years spent on this alliance in the making, building trust, currying good will, and ye undo it with a single—” He caught himself abruptly, words snarling in his throat as he searched for a phrasing fit to be spoken before his daughter. “—a single lapse in judgment.”
Elena’s cheeks warmed with something that wasn’t shame, precisely—something more complicated. Still, she dared to confess, “It wasn’t a lapse.”
Liam’s jaw dropped. He stared at her, waiting.
“I did it on purpose,” she murmured.
