"No thank you, Kellie," he told the young man. "I'd prefer to ride."
Sitting in a carriage with no road to watch or preoccupation to distract him would be dangerous. It would give him too much time to think about what he was leaving behind.
"It is more than a day’s ride, sir," Kellie reminded him. "The dim roads could be dangerous, and a carriage would allow you a lantern."
"I shall have cloth and whiskey for a torch should I need it," he told the assistant stablemaster, as he fastened his saddlebags over the gelding's flank. "The air will be good for me, and I'll make it home in better time."
Now that there was nothing for him here, Henry felt a burning need to see his sister. To find his home again. At least when he wasn't feeling completely empty and desolate.
"Aye, sir. Do you have all the provisions necessary for the journey?"
"I believe so. Thank you, Kellie. Feel free to go about your tasks. I'll not hold you up any longer."
The assistant stablemaster was a good man and still seemed unsure as to Henry's choice of ride. It was his duty to see all guests of the Henderson estate sent off with fine horses and suitable stock. A lost shoe or a wrong turn would reflect back upon his care of such visitors.
Henry tried to smile at him to alleviate his fears, but the muscles in his face didn't seem to obey. They had been near-frozen since he had left Belle’s—leftLady Henderson's—bedchamber.
He packed his things and bid farewell to those he needed to. It had taken only a handful of seconds to be suitably dismissed by the laird's wife, Lady Francesca. The only person he had not formally addressed was the one to send him away.
Swallowing, Henry checked the reins, and before unknotting the leading line from the horse's stall. Drawing him out and then unhooking the rope, he steadied and then mounted the animal.
"Are you sure you have to leave, sir?" Kellie tried one last time. "I'll admit that I have enjoyed our morning talks."
Given the time of his lessons with Belle, Henry's morning walks took place too early for anyone but Kellie and a few field hands to see. It had been rare that one had not come across the other and spoken a little in the warming air of sunrise.
"And I, Kellie," Henry assured him. "But I have duties that await me south. And now that I am..."
His words trailed off. Now that he waswhat?Unneeded? Unwelcome? Heartbroken and emotionally destitute? Missing the very reason for his heart to beat?
"...less necessary here, I must tend to them," he finished.
"Of course." Kellie nodded. "In which case, I shall bid you a safe and speedy journey, sir, and will hope for your return in the future. Good tidings to your laird and family."
"Good tidings."
Taking the reins in hand, Henry turned the mount to the stable entryway and kicked him into motion. A soft and easy canter took him to the main gates, which were already opening to release him into the Highland moors. The route took him a few moments, and yet he was tempted to turn back a thousand times. What felt like a stare was trained on the back of his head, but Henry convinced himself that it was his imagination.
She would not be looking.
Belle had made it perfectly clear that the only thing she wanted from him was his absence. If she were watching him leave at all, it would be to assure herself that he had not broken his promise. To look back would only give him another painful memory of her face, cold and detached. He had enough for his heart and pride to handle already.
Beyond the gates, Henry deliberately turned away from the main road. If he continued along that thoroughfare, he would eventually pass by the village road on which Belle's mother lived. Silly and sentimental as it seemed, Henry was not sure he could bear to ride by when there was a risk of her mother spying him upon the road.
Explanations would be impossible.
As he directed his horse along a thinner path, heading on through the lower forests, Henry wondered who would now write Belle's letters to her mother. She had only been at the Henderson castle a little less than two weeks, but he had been plied upon to write at least five letters in that time. She had been fastidious about keeping her mother informed and had accompanying each of her letters with several gold pieces or something of value from her chamber.
Would she attempt to write the letters herself? Ask for help from Coira? Could Coira read and write? He had never asked...
Realizing that his reverie had allowed the horse to slow to an ambling trudge, Henry shook himself back to the present and dug in his heels.
This is why you turned down that carriage,he reminded himself.So you would not be caught up in thoughts of Belle...
As it turned out, this was a vain hope.
Henry was able to keep the horse moving at a steady pace but, otherwise, he did nothing but think of his woman and what he could have done differently.
Memories of what had happened in her suite heated him from skin to core, but they were always dashed with the cooling reality of the dismissal that followed.
