“Then, pray tell, what is the issue? What has happened?” she implored, emotion making her voice crack.
He began to pace the floor of the room, scrubbing his hands up and down his face.
She was at a loss trying to understand what was happening. The pain darkening his beautiful blue eyes broke her heart. But she didn’t ken how to fix it. Especially when he refused to tell her what it was.
Pushing off the door, she grasped his hands, forcing him to stop his pacing and dragged him to sit upon the bed with her. She felt the heat emanating off his body through the material of her robe. Mayhap sitting beside him was not the best of ideas. Images of him pushing her back onto the soft mattress, covering her body with his, flooded her mind.
Focus, Lizzie, she chided herself.
Palming his face in her hands, she forced him to look at her. His gaze was pure agony.
“What is it? Whate’er ’tis, it canna be as bad as ye think. Talk to me, Malcolm. Please,” she begged.
He grasped her wrists, leaned his face into her palms. “If I do, ye will hate me fore’er,” he confessed.
She couldn’t imagine what he could possibly say that would have such an effect on her feelings for him. “Nay,” she said with a shake of her head. “I dinna believe that. Malcolm.” She grabbed one of his large hands, enveloping it in hers that seemed so small in comparison. Gingerly, she placed her lips on his warm skin. She kenned the action may seem odd to him, but it felt so natural to her. She wanted to offer him comfort.
To show him that the feelings that filled her heart and mind were true. They weren’t the feelings of a child that didn’t understand what love was.
She did. The realization washed over her.
She loved him.
She loved Malcolm Kennedy.
“I love ye, Malcolm.”
He shook his head violently. “Dinna say such things, Lass. Take it back.”
He said it as if it were something that could be so easily done. As if they were just words that held no meaning. But they did. They held deep meaning.
“I willna. And afore we retired for the evening, I would have wagered a bet that ye felt the same. Something has changed. I just dinna ken what.”
She pushed off the bed and walked around the room, fidgeting with the tie of her robe.
“I just want ye to talk to me, Malcolm.”
“Your brother,” he said quietly. “His name was Angus?”
Her brows furrowed and she frowned. What did Angus have to do with any of this? “Aye,” she whispered. A pang of sadness piercing her chest at the memory of her brother.
“How did he pass?”
“In the war. I believe we discussed this previously. Malcolm, I’m confused.”
She tracked his gaze to her brother’s portrait. It was one of her favorites of Angus. He had just turned three and ten and was posing with one of the family dogs, a huge smile on his freckled face.
“Ye did say he died in the war. But do ye ken what happened?”
Pulling her stare from the portrait, her gaze clashed with Malcolm’s, his eyes intense. Blinking away tears that werethreatening to sprout in her eyes, she nodded. “He died a hero. Tracking close to enemy lines. He was found and executed on the spot. ’Twas awful.”
He closed his eyes and blew out a long breath.
“Who told ye that?”
“My parents.” She cocked her head to the side and studied him. “Why are ye asking about my brother? What does he have to do with anything? Ye’ve ne’er e’en met him.”
He guffawed, a small laugh escaping his lips as he shook his head.
“That is where ye are wrong. I did ken him. Verra well, as a matter of fact.”
“Ye kenned my brother? Why did ye no’ say anything? And why is that aught but good?”
Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didna realize he was your brother until I saw the portrait and recognized him.”
She threw her hands up in exasperation. “I still am missing something. Tell me what ’tis.”
