Page 109 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

“Open the door,” Oscar called through the door. “We have to talk.”

Ceana gathered Daphne’s letters from the chest at the foot of the bed. The blue ribbon with its scorched edge remained folded among them. She then placed the bundle in the chest.

“Ceana,” Oscar called again. “I shouldnae have asked ye that.”

The door shifted beneath the weight of his palm. She could remember vividly how he had slammed her against it.

No, she wouldn’t lose focus now. She wouldn’t be the reason another wave of sadness descended over MacKane. If her absence would restore that, then she would leave.

“Ceana, please.”

She did not answer.

CHAPTER 27

Before dawn the next morning, a footman stepped through the open door, carrying Ceana’s traveling chest.

Oscar stood beside the wall where he had spent the night pacing until his legs ached and then sitting against the stone whenever the silence behind the locked door became unbearable. His clothes bore the creases of the previous day. Stubble darkened his jaw, and sleeplessness left his eyes raw.

Mairi walked past him with a basket containing oatcakes, cheese, and dried meat. A covered flask hung from one wrist. Through the passage window, he could see two stable boys harnessing the horses to the covered carriage.

Ceana was leaving because he couldn’t accept the pregnancy as fact. He couldn’t smile and agree that the child in her belly was worth more than her life.

He no longer doubted her; that much was evident. His fear had found the cruelest words available and forced them out of his mouth before his sense could stop them.

The fear remained. If he let himself look beyond the coming months, all he could see was blood and Ceana’s lifeless body.

The footman turned toward the stairs, leaving the door open.

Oscar glanced into the chamber. The pale dawn light lay across the bed. A green hair ribbon was wound around the carved post where Ceana usually slept. He sighed at the sight. She had left it with the gowns and the other things he had bought her after their marriage.

He was still staring at it when she emerged wearing one of the traveling gowns she had brought from Morrag, a plain cloak fastened over it. Her hair had been drawn into a tight braid. She looked toward the stairs, then at Mairi and the servants waiting below, deliberately ignoring him.

“Ceana, give me a moment.”

She stopped at the landing. “I already did, me Laird. There is nothin’ else ye could say to me.”

The formal address struck deeper than her anger could have.

Oscar crossed only half the distance between them, leaving enough space for her to refuse him without retreating. “I was wrong. I ken ye believed every word ye told me. Ye didnae lie.”

Ceana looked up at his face, though her eyes settled on his cheek. “Yer belief came after ye made our child sound like a death sentence; that is the problem.”

“I was afraid.” His throat tightened around everything he could not say. “Give me time.”

“This is me givin’ ye time, me Laird.”

She descended before he could speak again.

For a minute, all he could do was stand still. Then he found his footing and followed her.

Muriel waited in the courtyard, and he watched as she embraced Ceana and pressed a small packet of dried mint into her hand. “For the road, should yer stomach trouble ye. Write when ye arrive.”

“I will.”

While Mairi showed Ceana where she had placed the provisions, Muriel stepped up to Oscar.

“Ye cannae help me stop her? She doesnae have to leave.”