Previously, Robina had only heard the song sung by her mother, who had a light, lilting voice, but it sounded even better in Alex’s rich masculine voice, which sunk to thrilling depths that her own woman’s voice could never hope to reach. She loved the lullaby, because he had sung it to her on one of the first nights they had slept together, and it had sent her straight to sleep.
“Soon we will be singing it to the baby,” she murmured, then her eyes drifted closed, and Alex watched as sleep claimed her. His heart was so full of love he could barely contain it, but it was hardly appropriate for a big strong man to strut around with his wife on his arm telling everyone he met how much he adored her.
As well as that, he desired her now even more than he had done at first, now that her womb was becoming fuller and rounder. Somehow the knowledge that he had put the child inside her, that his seed and hers had melded together, was a very erotic feeling.
He kissed her cheek and her lips twitched into a smile for a moment and she gave a little sigh. Alex tiptoed across the room, and paused at the door to look back at her.
My wife,he thought in disbelief.And my baby.
Lockie Campbell was seething with anger. Ever since Alex Lindsay had come on the scene he had felt as if the whole world was against him: Robina, Alex himself, and now the whole village of Glengour, who were probably at this moment laughing behind their hands at him. They would be calling him names like Laird Lockie Campbell, the Laird Who Kissed the Feet of Ladies, The Laird Who Ate Humble Pie, The Laird Who Fell on His Backside.
He had expected Lorna to come in, but there was no sign of her. She had not wanted to come to the duel because she did not want to witness any harm done to him. He poured himself a whisky, and another, and another, and another until he was thoroughly inebriated.
Lockie was an aggressive drunk; his anger was unable to find an outlet when he was sober, so by the time he had downed six whiskies, he was like a dam waiting to burst. And he did, in an outpouring of vicious rage.
He threw his empty whisky glass against the wall of the room, scattering shards of glass all over the furniture, then went on to an almost full bottle of the spirit. A completely full carafe of wine followed, flung against his ledger books, soaking them completely.
Quills and inkwells were swept along with a fountain of ink. Two valuable crystal flower vases ended up in tiny treacherous fragments on the floor, along with hundreds of scented rose petals. He pulled candles from their sconces and threw them on the beautiful Turkish rugs that were the products of hundreds of hours of slave labor, completely ruining them.
He dragged two exquisite handmade embroideries from the wall and also threw those on the floor.
Eventually it all became too much, and he gave an almighty, furious roar that came all the way from his stomach. The room was spinning and Lockie was having trouble standing up, but the problem was soon solved as his knees buckled and he collapsed onto the ruined rug.
When Lorna came in from her ride several hours later and saw him, her lip curled in disgust at Lockie’s foul smell; he had been sick in his sleep. She shook her head, picked up some of the roses that had survived the onslaught and kept them for herself, then called four strong manservants to carry Lockie up to his room. Even they could not hide their distaste.
She gave instructions for the room to be cleaned, then went straight to her room. She was afraid of his rage. The child he so much desired was not coming and she was afraid that if things went on like this, she would be the next one he would express his anger on. These thoughts were not helping at all, and that day she did not have any appetite for food.
11
A Visit
The servants’ grapevine was a very efficient way to get news from one end of the village to the other very quickly. The men who had moved Lockie to his room told the guards, the guards told the stable lads, the maidservants told each other, and everyone told the kitchen staff and gardeners. From there it traveled via the delivery man who brought candles and other assorted household items, then it was all over the village, and Lockie Campbell was the laughing stock he had always feared he would become.
When he woke up the next morning he could hardly lift his head off the pillow without feeling as though an axe was splitting his head in two. He had two cups of willow bark tea, vomited them up, then had another two.
An hour later he was just about ready to face the day, but thinking about the day before only brought him more pain. Lorna seemed to be staying out of his way, and he could understand why. He felt embarrassed, ashamed, and angry with himself, and as usual, the man at the back of it all was Alex Lindsay and his wife, whom Lockie had desired but was now coming to despise.
He went down again, and although the room was now clean and tidy, it was completely bare, devoid of all the ornaments that had given it character. He could decorate it again, but he was disgusted with himself for allowing his loss of self-control. It had never happened before. Not like that.
As soon as he got to the breakfast room Lorna jumped up and hugged him.
“How are you, Lockie?” she asked anxiously, kissing his cheeks and looking into his eyes tearfully. “I was so worried about you!”
“Ashamed,” he answered huskily. “But I am glad you are here, Lorna, to be my support.” He actually meant it this time.
She smiled.Was there any hope left?“I am sorry I did not come yesterday, but even though you told me it would not be a fight to the death, I was worried. Come and eat, Lockie. You will feel better.”
“I feel better already,” he replied. “I realized something.”
“What?” she asked, smiling.
“That I love you,” he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I have been inconsiderate.”
Oh my God, he is finally changing.
“I love you too,” she breathed. “I forgive you.”
They shared a long passionate kiss, and when they drew apart he shook his head sadly. “I wish—”
