Raphael smiled. “I ken ye like her, Dallas. But this should be me own choice.”
“So, why nae find a bride of yer own, then?” When Dallas asked that question, it sounded so simple. Yet, it was anything but. “The lass ye brought here… the English lass.”
“What about her?” Raphael prompted, lifting an eyebrow.
“Well… aye… what abouther?” Dallas asked.
Raphael hated such prying in his private affairs, but he kept no secrets from this man. In fact, Dallas was the only reason he had returned from that ship safe as well as sane. They were now bound by more than just friendship, more than just blood.
Their souls were intertwined, owing each other their lives. That alone warranted nothing but the truth upon being asked important questions such as this one.
“If ye must speak, speak clearly, man.” Raphael frowned.
Dallas, unaffected by the comment, continued, “I always speak clearly to ye, m’Laird, ye ken that. Ever since our destinies intertwined on the ship, ever since we had both saved each other’s lives. Only, ye dinnae like the question, because ye dinnae have the answer.”
Raphael rolled his eyes. As always, Dallas was right, and this time, just like so many times before, Dallas knew him better than he knew himself.
“She is—” Raphael started, but the sudden opening of his study door interrupted him mid-sentence.
Elspeth stood in the doorway, refusing to come in, but still there, omnipresent. Her usually serene countenance was now contorted with palpable anger. Her usually composed features were twisted in displeasure, the lines in her face etched with frustration and disappointment.
The set of her jaw was tight, and her eyes, typically warm and inviting, were now cold and stern. The anger in her gaze was like a tempest, brewing just beneath the surface, ready to unleash its fury.
It was a stark contrast to the calm elegance she usually carried, signaling how profoundly she had been affected by whatever had brought her here.
“Maither?” Raphael stared at her incredulously. “What on earth is happenin’?”
“Ye should be the one to tell me, Raphael,” she replied, her voice so angry that it was on the verge of breaking.
“Tell ye what?” he asked, having no clue what he had done now, but it was obviously something. Something bad.
“Ye’ve won,” she said through clenched teeth, holding the doorknob as if holding on for dear life. “I hope ye are happy. Violet is leavin’, and it is all yer fault.”
Raphael knew his mother was fond of Violet and had hoped for a connection between them. However, he also felt a profound sense of relief, albeit tinged with guilt. Whatever was going on with Keira, the inexplicable connection they had shared, was not something he could deny or wish away.
He met his mother’s gaze, his eyes reflecting the turmoil within. “Maither, I…” he began, struggling to find the right words, for he needed to apologize to them both now.
Elspeth held her hand up swiftly, her anger seemingly subsiding, but only slightly. “I ken it is yer life, Raphael. There are some things we cannae force. But remember, me son, there are expectations when one is the Laird. There are responsibilities.”
“I ken me responsibilities, Maither,” he told her, nodding and understanding the weight of her words. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of freedom, like a prisoner released from the chains of duty that had bound him for so long.
“Somehow, I doubt that.” She shook her head, a look of disappointment in her eyes that hurt more than her words ever could. “If ye did, ye wouldnae let Violet go.”
Raphael knew it was the right thing to do. Though anger and frustration roiled within him, he was a man of honor. He sighed, steeling himself for the conversation he had to have, and nodded to his mother, a silent acknowledgment of her concerns.
“I will go and speak with her,” he said, his voice firm despite the tumult of emotions within him.
Elspeth’s stern expression softened slightly, a mix of understanding and maternal concern coloring her gaze. She walked over to him and then placed a gentle hand on his arm, a silent show of support. “Handle this with care, Raphael. It isnae just about us… it’s about Violet’s feelings, too.”
He nodded, grateful for her advice and the silent encouragement.
With a deep breath, he turned and made his way towards Violet’s quarters, preparing himself for the difficult conversation that awaited him.
His mother was right. It was not Violet’s fault for being paired up with a man who could not imagine himself getting married. She deserved better. She deserved to be happy.
He hoped that his heartfelt apology would at least start to make things right.
17
