The truth was terrible yet liberating: he’d been the unlucky product of an illicit affair and the target of a deranged woman.
Alaric had shed tears; so had Emma.
When even that had been insufficient, they’d made love with a frantic rawness that forged them body and soul. The scorching intimacies of the previous night spangled warmth over Emma’s skin, and when she slid a look at Alaric, she saw the answering smolder in his beautiful eyes.
“Well, Kent and I had best be off,” Mr. McLeod said.
“Bring your families for a visit soon,” Alaric said. “We welcome their company.”
“Thank you, your grace.” A smile in his eyes, Ambrose pulled her aside. “Is there any message you’d like me to pass onto the family, Em?”
“Just this.” Emma rose on her tiptoes and hugged her brother fiercely. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, “for everything. I’ll miss you.”
“Be happy, Em,” he whispered back.
Next to them, the McLeod brothers eyed one another warily.
Mr. McLeod spoke first. “I guess this is goodbye then.”
“For now,” Alaric said quietly. “If you change mind, if you want to take up what is rightfully yours—”
“Nay, you were the one who suffered for it. You’ve worked to make the dukedom what it is. I wouldn’t know how to be a duke and wouldn’t want to learn,” Mr. McLeod said. “In my eyes and that of the world, youareStrathaven.”
After a moment, Alaric gave a terse nod.
Extending his hand, Mr. McLeod said gruffly, “Seems a pity, though. Just when matters were settling between us, it turns out we’re not brothers after all.”
“You’re my brother, William,” Alaric said, “in every way that counts.”
Heat prickled Emma’s eyes as her husband took his sibling’s hand—and pulled the other into a fierce hug. The embrace between the two big Scotsmen lasted approximately half a second before they broke apart.
Mr. McLeod coughed into his fist. “I’ll, ahem, be seeing you then.”
“Aye,” Alaric said, equally red-faced.
“Give our love to everyone,” Emma said.
Alaric put his arm around her, and together they waved as their family departed.
When they were alone, she turned to look at her husband. Touched a hand to his jaw.
“How are you?” she said softly.
He nuzzled her palm. “Never better.”
“After everything with your aunt and now Mr. McLeod leaving—”
He placed a finger against her lips, stemming the flow of words. “Don’t fuss, love. I’m better. Better than I can recall ever being. You see, I came to several realizations this morning.”
Searching his brilliant gaze, she tipped her head to the side. “What were they?”
“The past is over. Patrice is dead, and her soul will be judged for her sins. I don’t want to be imprisoned by hatred—it’s not my cross to bear.”
“No, it isn’t.” Emma’s throat thickened at his courage. Despite all the suffering he’d known, he was choosing freedom, the higher path. “She can’t hurt you anymore.”
“Aye. Even better, when I woke up this morning, you were there beside me.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “You held me through the night, were so soft and wet and ready for me when I made love to you at dawn. And do you know what I realized then?”
The wonder in his voice made her eyes sting. “What, my darling?”
