Five minute*must have passed before the door creaked open behind him, perhaps another five before he turned to stare at the stony face of his best friend.
"I've lost my wife." The words sounded hollow in his ears.
"You do not deserve her."
He did not wince. His face felt slack with the truth of it. He did not deserve her, and wasn't that the problem?
"Did you really expect to find her here?"
Fergus's voice had grown so solemn that it drew Collin's gaze back to his face. He no longer looked hard with anger. No, grief had softened his eyes to a terrible sadness. Collin was shocked at the prickling behind his own lids.
"I did not want to."
"But you thought ye would."
"No. No, I didn't, and that is why it killed me to see . . . to think I saw her . . ."
The door swung out to reveal a red-haired bundle of rage, her chin impossibly high above a stiff neck. She rushed forward to grasp Fergus's outstretched hand and stared at Collin through slitted eyes.
"Jeannie," he croaked.
His name was a curse on her lips.
He glanced to Fergus, back again. "What are you about here?"
Jeannie growled and Fergus tucked her tight beneath his arm to glare. "You'd best see to your own business, Collin, if you're able. It seems to me you have your hands full without bothering yourself with my woman."
"Your woman?"
"Aye."
"Her father will not approve."
"I am right here," she snapped. "Do not speak around me."
"I am aware that her father willna approve. Why in hell else would she be here without a priest's blessing?" She pushed away from him in irritation and Collin watched her, studying this girl who was like a sister to him, and sighing with a sudden weariness at the whole damned world. "I will speak to him," he finally said.
"
I
will speak with her father," Fergus barked, and her face brightened even as she shook her head.
"You're both mad. And what are you about anyway?" Her eyes drilled into Collin. "Finally driven your bride away, have you?"
He felt his lip curl, felt his teeth clench in a snarl of frustrated rage. Fergus said her name as a warning, but she pulled away from him and glared in return.
"He has broken her heart, can't you see that? Can't you?" Her jade-green eyes swung back to him, and Collin fought the urge to close his own, to shut out the truth. "You and your stubborn pride. When did you last see a light in her?" Collin swallowed the roughness of her words. "She is your wife, and your responsibility extends further than keeping her under your thumb! She should have left weeks ago."
"Jeannie," Fergus murmured, his voice not a caution now, but a plea.
Tears glinted in her eyes, but she stepped again out of her lover's reach. "She loves you, Collin. She thinks you a good man. And you have made her something less than she was before she met you."
"Jeannie, stop."
The urgency of the words reached him from a buzzing distance, past the thought of Alex's eyes, eyes like blue joy until the daring had slowly seeped away from them. He thought of her laugh and of his helplessness as it had come less and less often and never with him. She smiled so easily with Fergus and that had been the start of it—seeing her more happy with his friend than with her own husband.
Jeannie pressed her face into Fergus's shoulder as his hand stroked over her hair, slow and gentle and steady, just what a man should be for his woman and everything that Collin had not been for his wife. He watched Fergus breathe her in and whisper into her hair, watched as she drew strength from him and grew steadier. He felt shame to see them together, to see their love given with no hesitation. He had been too weak to risk that with Alexandra.
"I'm sorry." Lurching toward Thor, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder before he could mount. He pressed his forehead against the warm strength of the stallion's neck. "I'm so sorry, Fergus."
Jeannie watched Collin's bowed head and fought back tears. She wanted to go to him as Fergus had, but she was still too angry to offer comfort.
"Shall I come with ye?" Fergus asked him. Collin did not raise his head.
"No, it's my own mess," Jeannie heard over the growing wind. "Tell Jeannie that I'm sorry. Tell her I'm happy for you."
Her heart lightened at his words, then threatened to fly away when Fergus spoke. "Will you stand up for us then? Even without Kirkland's blessing?"
As Jeannie walked toward Fergus, Collin eased his head away from the great black stallion. "You would ask me?"
"Aye. You're like a brother to Jeannie and to me." Fergus's arm fit around her shoulders as if he'd always rested it there, or had always wanted to. "And every family must have a mad one about. You can be ours and we'll be glad to have ye."
"Ha. Fine then. If her old man doesn't kill you, I'll host the wedding myself." Collin pulled Fergus into a rough hug, then turned to Jeannie.
"I'm sorry if I caused you any shame, Jeannie," he offered, voice breaking. He pressed a light kiss to her forehead. "I hope you can forgive me."
'"Tis not I you must worry about, you great lout."
"I know."
He swung into the saddle and raised a hand before wheeling about. Fergus's "Godspeed" was lost in a thunder of hooves. "Good luck," Jeannie added quietly.
They watched until his hunched shoulders disappeared over the hill.
"I should go with him," Fergus murmured.
"No, he must bear this burden alone."
"Still. . . He's near broken."
"He will be fine if he can catch her. And you have your own burden to worry over, Fergus Mac Lean."
She watched his jaw angle into a smile before he looked down at her. "So I do." The love in his blue eyes spread heat over her skin and through all the places he'd touched during the night. "I canna offer you anything more than a wee cottage and a warm bed, Jeannie."
"Fergus—"
"But I pray it's enough, because we'll be wed within the fortnight, and here is where you'll stay."
"Good," was all she managed before she began to cry. Her lover cursed her for a fool before he carried her back to his warm, welcoming bed and compromised her one more time for good measure.
Chapter 21
Nothing was the same when Collin walked through the doors of Westmore. The comforting bustle of the great hall stuttered to a halt as soon as his shadow fell over the floor. People—his people—stopped to stare at him with wary curiosity. She was not here, he knew that without asking, just as he knew she was not at the Kirklands'. No, she had not run to a friend to wail and whimper. She had not flown somewhere to wait for him to follow. She was gone. Gone to her own home, no longer willing to fight for a place in his. And she should not have had to.
He did not bother cursing himself for a fool and a bully. He would not grant himself the release of self-flagellation. His guilt would not ease her. He could only change, could only redeem himself.
Ah, God, he loved her. He admired her and feared her, truth be told. But he had never wanted to hurt or break her. He'd only meant for the fear to cease its endless scratching at his gut, only needed to stave off the inevitable end of his good luck. At least he did not have to fear it anymore. She was gone. The suspense had ended.
The servants and workmen who'd gathered stood frozen under his lost stare. Some had begun to show grimness, a few sported smug mouths. He had no idea what he should say, if anything.
"My lord! Collin . . ." Rebecca pushed past a housemaid, her cheeks in high color. He watched as she hurried toward him, face smoothing itself into sympathetic concern. "Do not worry yourself over such as her."
A vibration thrummed over his nerves as he pulled his eyes from the curving edge of her lip and swept the roomful of faces.
"Did anyone see her leave?" Eyes widened, darted back and forth. One young boy flushed and looked hard at Collin's belt. "Ben?"
The boy blinked and his nose seemed to wrinkle into his brow.
"I saw her." Rebecca's words rushed into the quiet room. He did not look at her, could not stand to. He knew what was coming, knew now what Alex had tried to tell him and what he had thrown back in her face.
"She snuck out to the stables this morning while you were at the new house and took her horse north, Collin, over the hill. I often see her ride that way, so I thought nothing of it."
"North. And Ben? What did you see?"
A lump jumped visibly in the boy's dirty neck as he swallowed. "I. . . I saw that Frenchie maid o' hers hide somethin' in the grass, and then her ladyship come out and fetch it. But she didn't go north, sir. She headed south at a fast trot. 'Twas a big bag she hitched up out o' the meadow and she tied it right up behind her."
"When?"
"Hours ago. Long 'afore noon." "South, hmm?"
Rebecca's shadow jittered on the floor at his feet. Ben was wise enough to keep quiet. She was not. "Where is your man, then?" she hissed. "Where is Fergus?"
A gust of wind blew through the open door behind him, scattering leaves into the hall with the smell of snow. Snow.
"I want Thor watered and packed for a week on the road. And you—" He slashed Rebecca's face with his gaze. "You are to be gone from this house when I return."
When his hand flew out, gasps filled the room, one woman cried out, but not Rebecca. She glared daggers into him as he tore the circle of keys from her apron and tossed them to Mrs. Cook.
"She gets a fortnight's pay and nothing more."
"You are a fool! Fergus is not the only one she meets," Rebecca hissed as he started to turn away. "There's another man. I've seen him in the woods. He says that your fine wife is nothing more than a whore who tricked you into this marriage. I cannot stand to see you brought low, Collin!"
"What," he ground out, "do you mean, there is a man in the woods?"
Red rose to her cheeks. "He is a gentleman, not some beggar. He says he was a friend to you and that you parted ways over that doxy."
"John."
Rebecca took a step back. "I only wanted to help you, Collin."
Collin reached out and snatched her wrist into an iron grip. "What have you done?"
"Nothing." She tried to pull away. "Nothing! I only met him three days ago. I was to make sure that you were occupied tomorrow, so that she could go to meet him. And then . . . Then be sure that she was caught sneaking back in, be sure that you saw the evidence of her infidelity."
"My God, you would send my wife out to be raped?"
Rebecca sniffed, "Hardly," but then began to claw at her wrist. "Collin, You're hurting me."
"I. . ." Collin tried to loosen his fingers, but he could not feel them. "I should beat you for this. Beat you like the spoiled child you are. If she comes to harm . . ."
He let her go and watched as she stumbled away. "But I am as much to blame. More. Do not be here when I return or you will regret it."
The crowd parted before him. He stalked toward the stairs to take them two at a time and was bounding back down in minutes, armed with winter cloaks and blankets, his pistol and dirk and a small bag of gold.
The hall had emptied, though a frantic murmur filled the whole house like the swell of pigeons in a barn. But Collin's soul stayed quiet. It had nothing more to say to the likes of him.
Something dripped from the tip of her nose and plopped to her sodden cloak. Tears or melted snow—she no longer had any idea. Self-pity had set in about the same time as the wet snow and she had since descended into depths of misery the likes of which she'd never imagined. Why had she not stopped at that dark cottage she'd spied through the gray mist? Why had she not turned back?
Brinn snuffled behind her and nudged her arm, but Alex ignored her. resenting the horse's damned delicate leg that hadn't held up past the first patch of ice.
They hadn't passed an occupied home since the start of the bad weather and only one rider had overtaken them. She hadn't even met the man's eyes much less asked assistance. His muttered, sing-song cursing had reached her long before his mule had drawn even.
Clouds parted above her for a bare moment of palest moonlight. The sliver of moon would provide little light even on a clear night, but during this snow . . . It wasn't nearly bright enough to warn her of the ice that sent her feet skidding.
Her own scream scared her more than the fall. She was so cold that she barely felt the pain in her knees, but frustration overwhelmed her and she knelt in the cold and wept.
Another mistake, this flight. Another misstep in her life. My God, she was only twenty. How many bad decisions were still ahead of her? When she got to Somerhart—if she got to Somerhart—she would do best to avoid the outside world entirely. She would hide in her room during parties to avoid lecherous men. Visit convents for holiday to keep her body cool. And perhaps if Hart married, she would simply retire to her cottage and transform herself into a crazy spinster.
