Chapter Eighteen
The Barclays wouldhave received a letter after Angus’s execution. Along with a visit from an officer or two, as well.
An investigation would have been conducted to ensure Angus acted alone and the elder Barclays had absolutely no part in his treachery. Since they’d kept their status and estates, naught had come from the inquest, but surely they were aware of what their son had done.
He wrestled with what to tell Lizzie. It was clear that her parents had not informed her of the true account of her brother’s death. More than likely to save her impression of the brother she dearly loved.
Malcolm could understand that, but it made his position worse than it was before.
“Did officers visit Tolton Hall after your brother’s death?” he asked.
Lizzie sighed. “Of course. I wasna privy to the conversations that were held, obviously. But afterward my parents took me aside and explained what had happened and that Angus wouldna be coming home.” She dabbed at the tears that filled her eyes. “I am sorry. I still miss him so.”
He nodded. “I understand. I’ve no siblings myself, but I can only imagine the special bond ye must have shared.”
She sniffled and bobbed her head. “’Twas. I am still at a loss as to what his death has to do with whate’er ’tis that’s happening.”
He blew out a breath. He was at a crossroads. Did he tell Lizzie the truth and lose her forever? Or did he make up some farce of a story, break their courtship, along with her heart, and lose her forever?
Both options ended with him alone and Lizzie’s heart broken.
He grabbed the bottle of whisky and took a long pull. He made a mental note to ensure he left payment for the bottle he’d consumed.
No matter what, there was no getting out of this situation with his heart intact.
Lizzie straightened her shoulders and pierced him with a serious gaze. “When I was in my room, thinking about the conversation we’d shared in the kitchen, I was kicking myself for ruining e’erything.”
“Nay—”
She held her hand up, stopping him from saying aught else.
“I had thought my forwardness, which Mama always said would get me into trouble, finally did just that. My idea to come in and apologize, to let ye ken that I would rein in my urges to speak afore I think.”
“Lass, I would ne’er want ye to change.” He approached her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Ye are strong. Ye’re fierce. Dinna e’er change that. For anyone.”
She laughed and stepped from his touch.
“That was my original thought. That ’twas me. Something I had done. But all of this talk of my brother has led me to believe that ’tis something else.” She sat in the chair set by the small fireplace and met his eyes. “There’s obviously something about my brother’s death that I am unaware of. And apparently ye do. So, tell me what I am missing. Now.”
Her strong countenance was commendable. But he was still torn on what he should do. It really should be her parents to tell her. He didn’t want to see the look of disdain when she learned that he was the reason for her brother’s death.
How could she ever love him after finding such a thing out? It didn’t matter that Angus was a traitor. That he was working against the crown. That wasn’t the brother she kenned. The brother she remembered was kind and loving. Someone she had grown up with. An innocent boy.
But he wasn’t. Far from it. But he still couldn’t tell her.
“’Tis no’ for me to say, Lass. I believe that is a conversation to be had betwixt ye and your parents. Ye need to return to your room. The hour is late, and your father would have my head if he found ye in here with me—in your nightclothes, no less.”
“Ye arena going to tell me?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, her hip jutted out to the right.
If the situation were different, he would find her stance most attractive. But right now, it just broke his heart. He needed her to leave his room. To return to her own.
He just shook his head. Not trusting his voice to say anything.
For a few long moments, she stood there, glaring at him, searching his face for answers that he wouldn’t give her.
He just hung his head in defeat.
Finally, she took a deep breath and jutted her chin out defiantly. “I bid ye a good night, Malcolm.”
