She wanted him to argue with her. To tell her she was wrong. To tell her all those reasons why they should be married. Her chest squeezed. To tell her that he loved her. But he accepted her decision with heartbreaking stoicism.
She shook her head. “No,” she said softly, trying to mask the emotion shaking in her voice. Tears burned at the back of her throat. She couldn’t hold on much longer.
He seemed to sense it and moved toward the open door. He glanced back at her one time, holding her gaze for only a second. For a minute, she thought she saw a flash of regret. Of pain so raw that it mirrored her own. “Good-bye, Meg. I—” He stopped. “Good-bye.”
And then he was gone, leaving Meg feeling emptier and more alone than she ever had in her life.
Irony. Delicious at times, bitter at others. For Alex, this moment fit squarely within the latter. Just as he’d succeeded in driving her away forever, he realized just how deeply he loved her. At the very instant he’d destroyed any chance of a future with Meg, he finally, ironically, put a name to the feelings that had eluded him for so long.
Unfortunately, it had taken her broken heart to knock the truth out of him.
The truth hit him squarely in the chest as he watched her face him with that vulnerable pride and strength that had always drawn him. His own feelings became painfully obvious when each anguished emotion that crossed her face was mirrored—no, exceeded—by the agony he suffered inside.
Her eyes impaled him, her heartbreak written plainly across her delicate features, silently begging him to explain that which could not be explained. Ignoring that silent plea, refusing her comfort, was pure torture.
His poisoned arrow had struck her in her most vulnerable, protected spot: her heart. He knew how closely guarded she kept her emotions, hidden behind her confident, intelligent façade. She’d allowed herself to open up to him, trusted him, and shared the precious gift of her innocence, only to have her heart trampled.
He’d never meant to hurt her. The grief and desolation that haunted her face as he’d left the room fell like a cat-o’-nine-tails lashed across his shoulders. It took every ounce of his resolve not to go to her.
Although the realization of his love came suddenly, Alex knew that it had been there, staring him in the face, for some time. Perhaps from the first; even then he’d sensed something different about Meg.
But now he’d had a chance to explore the depths of that initial attraction. He loved her strange combination of serious and naïve, her no-nonsense efficiency, her practical approach to problems. She exuded confidence and capability effortlessly. He loved her compassion, her wry humor, her dedication to her friends and family. In truth, he loved everything about her.
Alex was in love with Meg Mackinnon and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. His sudden epiphany, while personally painful, did not change anything. He would still sail for Lewis, would still fight the Fife Adventurers, would still put her life in danger if he involved her in his plans.
She would still be better off with Jamie.
Even if he could somehow repair the disaster that she’d just witnessed, it would not change their separate future. Letting her go, putting her happiness above his, was the most selfless thing he’d ever done.
He loved her, and she might even love him. But it wasn’t enough. If they were two people alone in the world, with nothing or no one else to consider, he would find her right now and beg her to forgive him for his lies, making love to her until she forgot everything else.
But they weren’t.
They each had people counting on them, depending on them. The only right, honorable thing for him to do was let her find her separate peace, fulfill her separate destiny. As he would fulfill his on Lewis.
Alex sighed, his breath pained. Anguish constricted his chest.
He just never thought he’d be forced to cut out his heart to save his lost soul.
Hours later, her tears at last extinguished, a soft knock on the door broke her reverie. “Meg, it’s me.” She recognized Jamie’s voice. “I know you’re in there. Please, I must speak with you.”
Jamie was the last person she wanted to see. Well, second to last. But she also owed him an explanation. Assuming she could find one. She rose from her seat by the window and straightened her skirts and hair, knowing there was nothing she could do to hide her tearstained cheeks and eyes.
Slowly, she opened the door. “Jamie,” she said in a much weaker voice than normal. “I’m surprised you’re here”—her eyes dropped to the floor self-consciously—“after last night.”
“We’re friends, Meg. Nothing has changed that. May I come in?”
She nodded, relieved that he hadn’t said anything about her appearance. “Of course, if you want to. But I’m afraid I’m not very good company right now.”
Jamie moved into the room and closed the door behind him. “I wouldn’t disturb you if it wasn’t important.”
She nodded and led him into the adjoining parlor, a room that she usually found pleasure in. The neat orderliness was strangely calming. She glanced at a section of books in the cupboard: Seneca, Shakespeare, Sidney, Sophocles, Spenser, every book alphabetized and aligned perfectly. But she felt…nothing. Empty. She wondered if she would ever feel anything again.
There were two seating areas, one around a small fireplace and one near a small window. A vase of white roses was perfectly centered on a small table in the center of the room, two enameled boxes placed in front equidistant from the vase. She indicated for him to sit before the window, then took a seat next to him on the small bench.
Jamie took her hand in his, surprising her. Deeply embarrassed, she dropped her gaze to her lap.
“I need to apologize for what happened last night,” he began.
