His eyes softened, and for a brief moment, his hardened exterior cracked. “I care for you more than I’ve cared for anything in my life,” he confessed, his voice low and raw with emotion. “You are everything to me, Jaclyn. Everything.”
She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, her chest tightening. “Then tell me why you’re keeping these secrets. Why won’t you tell me where we are going?”
“Because I cannot tell you yet,” he said quietly, his gaze unwavering. “Please trust me.”
She wanted to argue, to push back, but the intensity in his gaze held her in place. She had to let him have his space. But that didn’t mean she was willing to stay silent forever. She sat in her saddle, frozen for a long moment, before finally managing to speak. “I trust you,” she whispered. “But I am also not going to stop asking you to tell me everything. Trust only goes so far.”
He nodded slowly, as if he had expected no less. “Soon, Jaclyn. Soon you will know it all.”
With that, they fell into a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken words lingering between them. And though they both knew that the future was uncertain, Jaclyn couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever came next, they would have to face it—together, or not at all. She had not lied. Trust would only take them so far, and without it there could never truly be anything between them.
Eighteen
They came to a stop in front of the small, modest inn nestled against the edge of a village on the border of Scotland. The day's long ride had taken its toll, and the deep shadows of evening had already settled in, casting the village in a cool, muted light. The air, fresh with the scent of wet earth, seemed to hold a stillness that made the bustle of the village feel a world away. Kingston dismounted from his horse. He was fatigued, but his mind far from settled.
Jaclyn’s face was pale from the long journey, but she still carried a quiet grace he found enchanting. She was still on her horse, so he stepped over to help her down. Once her feet were on solid ground she took a slow breath of the evening air. Her light-green eyes were full of exhaustion as she met his gaze. Her lips tilted upward as she gave him a weary smile.
“We’ve made it,” she said softly, her voice a touch strained.
“Yes,” Kingston replied, his own tone quieter than usual. “This inn should suffice for the night.”
He led her inside, and the warmth of the fire greeted them both, casting flickering shadows over the worn wooden floors. The inn was simple, but clean—small and homely, a stark contrast to the grandeur of Easton Abbey. Kingston had grown accustomed to such simplicity during his travels, but tonight, the weight of everything he had yet to do hung heavily upon him.
The innkeeper, a stout man with thick gray hair and a kind face, stepped forward to greet them. After a brief exchange, Kingston ensured Jaclyn had a room and ordered a fire to be stoked, though he knew she would most likely be asleep before it reached its full warmth. He watched her carefully settle by the fire with a drink, her shoulders sagging in fatigue. It was then that the gnawing uncertainty within him struck again—he had not yet told her why he had insisted they come to this village. Oh, she knew some of it. They came here specifically to avoid her brother’s search for her. However, that was not the entire reason he wanted to come to this Scottish village. He wanted to marry her, and he prayed he could convince her of the wisdom of becoming his wife.
Before he could second-guess himself, he turned and walked toward the innkeeper. “Tell me,” he said, his voice low but firm, “I wish to marry tomorrow. Do you know where we might have the ceremony performed?”
The innkeeper looked taken aback for a moment, then nodded, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Aye, sir. The blacksmith, Mr. Ferguson, handles all the weddings in these parts. He’s a fine man—conducts a quiet ceremony when the need arises. I’d recommend him if you’re in a hurry.”
Kingston’s mind raced. Of course it was the blacksmith. Wasn’t it always the case for hasty Scottish elopements? He would speak with Jaclyn and hopefully have this Mr. Ferguson perform the ceremony in the morning. She seemed far too tired to broach the topic tonight and he wasn’t quite ready for that conversation.
He nodded to the innkeeper and thanked him. “We’ll see him in the morning.”
The innkeeper offered a kind smile. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall make sure to inform Mr. Ferguson that you will be coming by.”
Kingston turned on his heel, his heart pounding in his chest. As he re-entered the common room, his gaze swept over Jaclyn, her head now resting against the back of the chair as she closed her eyes, exhausted from the journey. He couldn’t help but stare, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. She was everything he had ever wanted, and yet, for so long, he had denied himself this simple truth. Bitterness and so much more had kept him away from her in the beginning. There was one thing that held him back above everything else though. It was fear—fear that he would lose himself in her, that he would lose control. He had been too proud to admit how deeply he cared for her, and even now, when the prospect of marriage loomed before him, his own doubts clawed at him.
There was no going back now though. He could not deny that Jaclyn had changed him. From the moment she had entered his life, there had been no other. His heart had known it long before his mind had caught up. He had not realized, not fully, what that ring meant when he had it sent for. It had been his grandmother’s betrothal ring, and somehow, he had known he would need it. When he first realized Jaclyn was one of the students at Havenwood, something in him knew he should have that ring. Though, if asked, he never would have admitted he thought of asking her to be his in every way. The very idea of marriage had never truly crossed his mind, and yet, he had a ring, and he was ready to do just that now. He may have been uncertain about his path before but there would be no more hesitation. The only path he would ever follow would always lead him to Jaclyn.
His fingers brushed the smooth surface of the heirloom ring hidden in his coat pocket. He had never planned for this. He had never planned to need her. But here, now, in this quiet moment, he could not imagine life without her. He had lived a life of self-imposed solitude for far too long, convinced that no one would ever break through the walls he had built around himself. And then Jaclyn had appeared, unassuming but steady, and she had unraveled him bit by bit.
Tomorrow, he would ask her. He would make it right. He approached her slowly, kneeling beside her chair, the weight of the ring in his pocket pressing against him like a silent promise.
“Jaclyn,” he said softly. “Come with me, love. I have secured a room for us.”
She glanced up and blinked several times and then nodded slowly. “Wonderful,” she said in a weary tone. Jaclyn stood and stretched, and he smiled a little. She was such a lovely woman. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she melted against him. He would always love her in a way that nearly terrified him. Hell, it had terrified him. He had not been ready to face those tumultuous feelings before now. But no more. He belonged to her completely and he hoped she would consent to be his in the same fashion. He did not want stolen moments and scandalous liaisons. He wanted the world to know that she was his duchess and afford her the respect that was her due. “I am rather tired.” She smiled softly and his heart thundered in his chest.
He held out his hand to her. “Then let me lead you to where you can rest.”
She threaded her fingers in his and they headed to a nearby staircase that led to the set of rooms the inn had for let. They reached the room the innkeeper had directed him to, and he pulled out the key to open it. He pushed open the door and held it open for Jaclyn. She stepped inside and sighed. A maid had already been in the room to light a candle and set a fire in the hearth. It was a simple room, but it would do for the night.
Kingston followed Jaclyn into the room, the warmth from the fire in the hearth immediately soothing the chill from the night air. He glanced around briefly, taking in the modest furnishings—an oak bedstead with crisp linens, a small writing desk, and a comfortable armchair by the fire. The room was simple, yet it had a certain charm, the flickering light casting soft shadows on the stone walls.
Jaclyn turned toward him, her eyes soft and tired but filled with something deeper—trust, perhaps, or affection. He could not tell for certain, but the sight of her, standing before him, warmed him more than the fire ever could.
"Do you truly not mind?" she asked, her voice gentle, though there was an undercurrent of concern.
"Mind?" Kingston repeated, taking a step closer to her. He stared at her in confusion. Had she said something he had missed? "What is there to mind? I will not have you in discomfort when I can help alleviate it. You deserve rest, Jaclyn. And I will make sure that you get it."
