“And so she was—then. The irony is, ‘twas your own insistence that men and women canna be true friends that started me looking at her differently. And I found I liked what I saw, verra much so. In fact, I had the devil’s own time, after that, keeping m’hands off o’ her.”
Archie closed his eyes with another sigh. “Then I hae some apologizing tae do. I’m afraid I may hae influenced her rejection o’ ye.”
“Dinna be absurd,” Duncan scoffed. “You canna change how she feels.”
“Nae, but from the talk I had wi’ her, I may hae convinced her tae no’ admit how she really feels.”
Duncan went very still as he stared at his grandfather. “What talk?”
“I thought I was doing the right thing—
“Whattalk?”
“Last week, when I saw her in Oxbow. I warned her that ye might be coming tae her for marriage, if ye could get oout o’ marrying the Reid lass, but that it’d be for the wrong reasons if ye did.”
“Bedamned, you told her I felt nothing more’n friendship for her?”
Archie cringed, though Duncan’s tone wasn’t as harsh as it sounded. “Aye, but then I was sure that is all it was, when ye had assured me o’ just that, and I didna want tae see the tae o’ ye making a serious mistake in thinking ye could base a marriage on it.”
Duncan’s scowl suddenly turned into a grin when he realized, “Do you ken this means she really loves me?”
“Aye, that is a possibility.”
“More’n that. I’m realizing what a fool I was no’ tae listen tae my heart, when I know she has more’n a tepid care for me. I let a few words o’ denial destroy my common sense last night.”
“I’ll talk tae her, lad,” Archie said gruffly. “And tell her my mistake.”
“Nae.” Duncan shook his head with a smile. “She needs convincing that I really love her, and if I canna do that m’self, then I dinna deserve her.”
“Ye can forgive me then, for interfering?”
“Dinna fash yourself, Archie, I know you meant well. But for this devil damned headaching that’s going tae keep me from going tae her right this minute, aye, you can wallow in guilt a bit longer for your part in that.”
Archibald snorted and headed for the door. “If I’m going tae do any undignified wallowing, then ye might as well suffer the full brunt o’ yerownfoolishness,” he said, and slammed the door shut soundly, knowing full well he’d be leaving some serious groaning behind him, which he did.
Fifty-four
She couldn’t get to sleep, of course. Sabrina hadn’t thought she would, any more than she’d been able to last night. It was odd how a broken heart did that to you, made sure you fretted and analyzed and went through every imaginable “what if,” and in the end, still stayed broken, when if the heart would just have a bit of pity, the pain could be ignored for a brief time in sleep.
She tried reading this time, though, and had brought to bed a book that had put her to sleep numerous times before. It didn’t work. Had she really thought it would? When deep down she knew that she was probably going to lose even her friendship with Duncan now? How could what they had shared ever be the same, after all, when he had foolishly tried to make more of it, without having the real feelings that were necessary to make more of it?
He was deceiving himself, and in the process, had nearly deceived her as well, but only because shewantedto believe that he could love her. She did know better, and somehow had lost sight of the simple facts, that she wasn’t a great catch, wasn’t the type of woman who could turn men’s heads, didn’t possess the kind of beauty that could attract someone as handsome as Duncan was. She had tossed aside her common sense because of a few kisses and.
Well, they really hadn’t been friendly kisses. But then making love to her hadn’t been a friendly type of thing to do either.But—and this was what she had overlooked—that was in her opinion, a woman’s opinion. Men must obviously view it quite differently.
She was doing it again, analyzing, dissecting, driving herself deeper and deeper into moroseness, when the facts simply weren’t going to change. She left her bed. She paced some. She stopped by the window, opened the drapery, but the moon was hiding, giving her nothing much to look at outside. Perhaps a long walk—no, then she’d have to dress again, leave her aunts a note.
She moved to the fireplace, which was keeping the room pleasantly warm. She should put it out, turn off the lamps, too. Of course, a completely dark room hadn’t helped last night. A warm glass of milk then. At this point she’d try anything to get some sleep so she could stop thinking.
She fetched her robe and went down to the kitchen, but shortly thereafter she was dragging her feet as she returned to her room. The milk hadn’t made her drowsy. She was still wide-awake, and even more so when she opened her door and found Duncan sitting on her bed.
She doubted her sight, of course. Her imagination had brought him there, had even removed his coat for him, because she knew how indoor heat tended to bother him rather quickly. Just wishfulness. He wasn’t real.
“Since it was already late t’day afore I felt fit enough tae come,” Duncan told her, “I decided tae make sure it was late enough that there’d be nae aunts peeking through windows this time. O’ course, I hadna quite figured oout how tae get tae you wi’oout waking the whole house, until you appeared at the window.”
It was the brogue, which she knew she couldn’t duplicate with any degree of accuracy, that convinced her he wasn’t just a trick of her mind, that he was really there. “You came through the window?”
“Aye, and had a devil’s time reaching it. That tree oout there didna want tae cooperate. I think I broke a few o’ its limbs.”
