“May I ask you something?” Gwendolen kept her gaze fixed on the window, but from the corner of her eye, she was aware of his eyes on her profile. He gave no answer, so she took that as a yes. “Why did you leave our bed to come here in the middle of the night? And I know this is not the first time.”
He, too, looked up at the Virgin Mary. “To pray.”
“For what?”
She waited patiently to hear his answer, but he seemed determined to take his time. At last, he bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Tonight I started with the usual prayer for my mother’s soul, though I doubt she needs it. She was a saint. At least that’s how I remember her. Then I prayed for my own sins, for the people of Kinloch who have entrusted me with their safety and prosperity, and when you walked in, I was just getting to my own treachery two years ago, and praying not only for God’s forgiveness, but for my father’s forgiveness as well.”
Gwendolen turned to look at him. “Because you betrayed your friend.” She remembered how he spoke of it at his triumphal feast. She had thought of it many times since then. “You did not approve of his choice of a wife.”
“Aye.”
“Do you believe now that you were wrong about that woman? That she was not such a bad person?”
“I never thought she was a bad person,” he told her. “I just didn’t agree with what she stood for. My friend was a loyal Scot, but she was English and betrothed to our enemy, a despicable redcoat who is burning in hell as we speak, and rightly so. I only wish I had put him there myself.”
He glanced at her and seemed to realize that he had spoken out of turn, considering where they were sitting.
Gwendolen cared little about that. This was a place for forgiveness. “Why?” she asked. “What terrible crime did that Englishman commit?”
He faced front again. “He went on a bloody rampage up and down the Great Glen, burning out innocent Scots for their mere knowledge of the Jacobite rebellion.”
“Are you referring to Lieutenant Colonel Richard Bennett?” she asked, her brows pulling together.
“You’ve heard of him?”
“Of course,” she answered. “Everyone knows of him. He was a dreadful villain, and he was defeated and killed by the Butcher of the Highlands two years ago.”
Angus stared at her for a long, tense moment, and again, she wondered if he was keeping something from her. On the night of his invasion, she had asked him if he was the infamous Scottish Butcher, but he had denied it.
“It was your friend, wasn’t it?” she said, putting two and two together, and reeling inside with this new knowledge of her husband. “The man that you betrayed—hewas the Butcher of the Highlands.”
Angus immediately shook his head. “The Butcher is naught but a ghost and a legend. But even if I did know him, I would never say so. Not even to you, lass.”
Gwendolen gazed into her husband’s pale blue eyes and saw, for herself, the truth. She had guessed correctly—that he once rode with that famous Scottish rebel, and that he had betrayed him. She knew the story well. Someone had informed the English army about the Butcher’s whereabouts, which was why he was caught and imprisoned.
Thiswas why Angus was banished two years ago.Thiswas why he harbored such guilt. He was the one who had revealed the Butcher’s hideout.
Angus faced the window. “But I’m beginning to see now that what existed between that Englishwoman and my friend was something I did not understand, and I had no right to judge him.”
She did not push him to confess any more than he already had, for that would only press him to betray this friend further, and she did not wish to do that.
“What has changed, to make you see that now?” she asked, believing she already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.
“Because since the first day I met you, I would have done anything to keep you safe and make you my own. I now know that what exists between us is the same as what existed between them. I was your enemy at first, and you were just a political pawn to me, but it wasn’t long before none of it mattered.” He turned his eyes toward the altar again. “It was the same for my friend.”
“But youtriedto make it matter with us,” she said. “You arestilltrying. You don’t want to care for me, Angus. Admit it.”
“I am the son of a clan chief,” he shot back quickly. “I was raised to be a warrior, for the purpose of serving and leading the MacDonalds, who have honored me by placing themselves in my care.”
“Loving me will not change that.”
She realized too late what she had said, and dropped her gaze to her lap. She should not have used the word “love.” He did not want to love her. She knew that.
“You are a good wife,” he said. “I have no regrets.”
She felt a rush of heat in her cheeks. “Because I please you in bed?”
