Page 38 of The Return of the Heir

“It is not you who needs to make amends. Garrick should pay for what he did to us.”

“There will be dire consequences. I promise you that.” Alastair straightened. “Are you ready to continue?”

She nodded and glanced at him quickly. It was long enough for him to see that her eyes were still misty, but the pain in those beautiful blue eyes had vanished. She took her seat, keeping her gaze lowered so that he could not read any further emotion reflected there.

“Continuing on,” the solicitor announced, turning to Alastair. “Laird MacLeod, did you ever petition the courts to have Gwendolyn Harris declared legally dead after she went missing for five years?”

Alastair tensed. “Nay. It did not occur to me since we found bloody clothing and a swathe of her hair along the shoreline. We all assumed she was. . .dead.”

“Yet she was not dead.” The solicitor’s lips thinned. “I presume you also did not pursue a legal dissolution of marriage?”

“Nay.” His jaw tightened.

“Now you are betrothed to another?”

“Aye.”

Geordie set his pen down and sat back. His gaze shifted between Gwendolyn and Alastair. “Under Scottish Law, and in the eyes of the courts, you, Laird MacLeod and Gwendolyn Harris are still bound by your original betrothal.”

Alastair’s first emotion was pure elation. Then he thought of Beatrice and a prick, as sudden as a dagger thrust, pierced through that joy. How many nights had he lain awake in the dark, wondering if he could have done something to avoid Gwendolyn’s death? How many times had he walked the shores of the loch, hoping to see her walking along the shoreline as well, returning to him unharmed and alive? And now, Gwendolyn sat beside him, very much alive as he’d always hoped for. They were still legally betrothed, and yet he had betrayed her by committing himself to another woman.

Geordie assumed Alastair’s silence was a signal to continue. “There are several ways to move forward from here. Laird MacLeod, if you would like to break the betrothal to Miss Harris, then there will be a financial penalty, such as forfeiting the bride price. Since none was paid, Gwendolyn, you may consider suing Laird MacLeod for breach of promise.”

“There will be no need to sue me. I would gladly support Miss Harris with an annual sum whether we stay betrothed or not.”

Silence settled over the room as he and Gwendolyn simply looked at each other, neither knowing quite what to say.

Geordie cleared his throat, breaking that silence. “Then the last thing I must inform you of is if you wish to uphold your original betrothal to Gwendolyn Harris, then you will still have to forfeit whatever bride price you paid to Miss Beatrice Lamont.” Geordie released a long breath. “How would you like me to proceed?”

A flash of fear shone in Gwendolyn’s eyes before it was gone. She stared off into the distance, no longer meeting his gaze. Would she remain silent? Certainly she had an opinion about her own fate. And just when he started to think she was unaffected by the news that they were still betrothed, he saw the flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. He stared at the rhythmic pulse in fascination, warmed by the evidence that she was not unaffected by what had transpired here.

Finally, she straightened and looked at him. “We are both reasonable people, are we not?” Her blue eyes filled with resolve. “Do what you will. If you wish to pursue your relationship with Beatrice, I will not stand in your way.”

He reached out blindly to clutch at the arms of his chair as a surge of anger moved through him. Would she not fight for what they could have had together? In the next moment his sanity returned. Some of the tension left his body. Gwendolyn was not trying to hurt him any more than she already had. Quite the opposite. She was allowing him to take the lead and choose the path forward for himself. Except, he did not know what path he preferred: Gwendolyn or Beatrice.

Profound weariness weighed him down as he returned his gaze to Geordie. “Might I have some time to consider what to do? This decision affects others as well as myself. I need time to think things through.”

“Of course.” Geordie gathered his papers and returned them to his satchel. “Instead of returning to Kilmuir, I will find a room in Dunvegan village.”

Alastair stood. “Nonsense. You will take a room here. There are plenty, and I know Callum will enjoy spending time with a friend.”

Geordie smiled. “Thank you, Laird MacLeod. I accept your hospitality.”

“Let me summon Becks or Mrs Morgan to take you to your chambers.” He moved to the bellpull and tugged it once.

“I can take him to his chamber,” Gwendolyn offered.

“Nay. You and I still have much to discuss.” He broke off as his steward appeared in the doorway.

“Ye rang, m’laird?”

“Becks, please escort our newest guest to a chamber in the south wing. He’ll be staying with us for a few days.” At the steward’s bow, Alastair turned to Geordie. “Once you are settled, you can find my brother in the great hall. Join him there.”

Geordie bowed and followed Becks from the chamber. When they were gone, Alastair turned back to Gwendolyn. She stood by the window now, looking out over the rear courtyard. The strong sunlight streaming through the window highlighted her skin with a burnished glow, making her appear even more ethereal than she had looked when Garrick had thrown her image with the pane of glass. The gown she wore hugged her small waist and fitted snugly over the swell of her breasts. She was of medium height, but she appeared much taller, for despite all she had suffered, she carried herself boldly, proudly, and with grace.

He could feel himself harden just looking at her. She was his if he wanted her. The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his lips.

She turned, and seeing the evidence of his desire, her cheeks flushed. “Thank you for encouraging Samuel to join the others in sword practise.”