“Journey?” The word felt foreign on his tongue. “What journey? Where did they go?”
“I daenae ken exactly, me laird. But I heard them talkin’ about the Douglas lands. About going home.”
Home, she’d gone home. Iris had actually left.
“Me laird?” Aliana’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “Are ye all right? Should I fetch some water?”
“Get out.” The words came out flat, dead. “All of ye. Leave me.”
Codie’s eyes snapped up, and his brows furrowed together. “Da, are ye alright? Where did Lady Iris go?”
“Aye, lad.” He forced his tone to be gentle. “Go with the servants to yer chambers. I will see ye later.”
The servants scattered like leaves in a storm, taking Codie with them. The boy shot him one last confused, worried look before disappearing through the doors.
And then Elijah was alone in the great hall, standing beside an empty chair, staring at a half-eaten meal that would never be finished.
She left. She actually left.
She hadn’t been making empty threats to get his attention. She’d meant every word she’d said, and now, she was gone.
Four hours. She’s been gone for four hours, and I’ve been sittin’ here like a fool thinkin’ she’d come crawling back.
He moved without conscious thought, his legs carrying him through the corridors to their chambers. But when he burst through the door, the space was empty. Cold.
Her things were still there, her dresses in the wardrobe, her brushes on the vanity, but something essential was missing. He could feel the absence of her like a hole where warmth used to be.
On the bed lay a single piece of parchment, folded and sealed with wax. His hands shook as he broke the seal and unfolded it.
Elijah,
I’m taking Lydia home as she’s afraid to travel alone. I’ll return for my things once I’ve decided what to do next. Don’t worry, I won’t cause a scandal by seeking an annulment. You’ll have your convenient wife back eventually, properly chastened and knowing her place.
Iris
The formal tone, the cold words, felt like daggers. But worse was what she hadn’t said. No anger, no accusations, no emotion at all. Just clinical distance, as if she were writing to a stranger instead of her husband.
This is what ye wanted, isn’t it? To push her away before she could hurt ye?
The thought made him want to destroy something. He crumpled the letter in his fist then smoothed it out again, reading the words over and over as if they might change.
They didn’t.
“Ye bloody fool.” His own voice sounded strange in the empty room. “Ye absolute bloody fool.”
Because this was his fault. All of it. He’d been so terrified of being hurt that he’d lashed out like a cornered animal, saying the cruelest things he could think of just to make her leave before she could choose to leave on her own.
And it had worked. She was gone.
But she said she’d come back. She said she’d return for her things.
The thought brought a flicker of hope that died almost immediately. Because she’d also said once she “decided what to do next,” which meant she hadn’t decided yet. Which meant there was a very real possibility she wouldn’t come back at all.
Four hours. They’ve been gone for four hours. If I left now, I could catch them by tomorrow evening.
The urge to chase after her was overwhelming, primal. To ride through the night, to find her and drag her back, and?—
And what? Apologize? Beg forgiveness? His pride balked at the thought. The Laird of Clan McMurphy didn’t chase after runaway wives. Didn’t grovel. Didn’t show that kind of weakness.
