Page 82 of His Forgotten Highland Bride

Your wife,

Brenna Grant

The guilt he’d expected filled his chest as he took in the bold slash across the “T” at the end of her name. He felt the happiness in those lines on the page. The hope in each word. He read through the other two letters where she’d shared castle news as well as how the babe was moving and the clothes she and the ladies had started making in preparation. It was clear she was excited.

She’d asked him what he wished to name the child and suggested Marcas in honor of his father. Ronan ached knowing that she’d waited for an answer that never came.

The last letter was sent just before Christmastide. He noticed the blurry marks where the ink had smudged, as if it had been written outside in the rain. It didn’t take him long to realize the drops hadn’t been made by weather, but by his wife’s tears.

Dear Ronan,

I’ve lost the babe. He was a beautiful, strong boy who held on to life for a few breaths despite his early arrival.

Geordie and Moira insist it’s not my fault, that these things happen, but I should have been stronger. I should have fought harder against my body when it betrayed me and pushed our son out into the world before he was able to survive.

He was buried yesterday, and it feels as if my heart was placed in the ground with him.

I will await your confirmation before I have the name carved into the stone, in case you do not approve of the name I suggested.

I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.

His tears dripped onto the paper, some overlapping hers from years ago. She hadn’t signed her name, and he crumbled to the floor from the emptiness she must have felt back then. The stone he’d seen between his father and grandfather still remained blank. Still awaiting his approval. God, how selfish he’d been. He hadn’t even been able to give her that one simple thing.

He needed to remedy this wrong immediately. He left the castle and hurried to the village until he found the stonemason, practically dragging the man and his tools off to the kirkyard. He watched as the man carved the name of his child into the stone.

Marcus James Innes Grant

James was Ronan’s own middle name, and he wanted the boy to have it, as well.

When the stone mason left him, he sat in the grass until the sun dipped in the western sky, telling his son all the things he wanted him to know. But especially how sorry he was that he wasn’t there when Marcus came into the world and left it too soon.

It was late when he walked back to the castle. Rudy, one of his older guards, was waiting to speak to him. The man had just gotten word from his daughter who’d married a MacKenzie that Deirdre was there and planned to marry the MacKenzie laird.

He could hardly believe how quickly his mother moved around the Highlands. She’d been the wife of the MacPherson laird for many years before he left her widowed several months ago. Then he’d gotten word she’d married the MacColl laird only to run off with the contents of his coffers. He was struck down by the MacPhersons, leaving Deirdre a widow yet again.

And now she planned to marry the MacKenzie laird, no doubt planning to rob him and leave him soon enough. Shane was looking for Deirdre, and now Ronan knew where she was.

Well, Ronan would gladly help his brother recover his coin and stop Deirdre from victimizing another clan. He would stop her, not just because he despised what his mother was doing, but because it would give him a wanted distraction from facing his own wife, at least for a short time.

Ronan knew a few days wouldn’t resolve anything. He’d not be able to find the words of apology to offer his wife, for no mere words could impart how sick he was with regret over what he’d done. He could give her a few days to not have to look at him.

With that thought, he gathered a few men, and after telling Malcolm and Gabe where he was going and asking them to watch over his wife, he rode out just an hour before dark. They wouldn’t get far that evening, but at least he would be gone.

***

Brenna spent most of the day sitting by the window in the solar, looking out over the fields and the crofters tending them. How many hours had she spent sitting by the window in the other chamber? At least she couldn’t see the kirk from this room.

Was Ronan still standing there? She couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment.

She’d already cried for her baby until she’d had no tears left, but they collected in her eyes now and leaked down her cheeks. She grieved for her child, but thankfully he was in the loving arms of his grandparents, safe from his father’s disinterest.

Her tears today marked her loss of a husband she’d never had. She’d been a fool over him from the first day she saw him as she’d slid down from her mount in her father’s courtyard. She’d known before they were wed that he didn’t want her, but she’d thought she could change his mind. That if only he’d give her a chance, she might win his love, but that was never going to happen. He hadn’t cared enough about her to even read her letters. She’d poured her heart out to him, and it had been all for naught.

Another sob escaped, and she knew she needed to leave this room. She made her way to the kitchens. Once inside, she crumbled from the weight of her sorrow. But her friends gathered to help ease her pain. She remained while the late meal was served. She may have been hiding from her husband, but she wasn’t ready to face him. She was angry, desolate, and ashamed in equal measure.

“You have a right to be sad and even more so to be angry, but you’ll not think yourself responsible for what happened,” Corrine said. “These things happen. There was nothing you could have done differently. It just was.”

“I canna believe he wouldn’t have read your letters. I can’t wait a second to open a missive on the rare occasion I get one from my lad. How did he not go mad from not knowing what they said?” Ada shook her head.