Haunted & Revered: The Scotsman's Destined Love (Love's Second Chance Book 15) Read online

  Spring had been well on its way when Deidre had woken one morning to find her little daughter lying still and cold in her crib. For a desperate moment, Deidre had believed her asleep, her blue eyes closed in peaceful slumber, the red tuft of hair on her head as wild and unruly as ever.

  Rory, they’d called her when she’d been born three months before. Rory, the red-haired lass.

  A promise of happiness.

  Of a future longed for with all her heart and soul.

  Of love and family.

  And then her precious child had been gone.

  No longer did Deidre hear the soft cooing sounds when Rory wanted to nurse. No longer did she wake in the night to find her daughter fast asleep, an innocent smile tickling her face. No longer did she feel her child’s warm body in her arms, a comfort and joy if ever she’d known one.

  No longer.

  It had all come to an end far, far too soon.

  A year and a half had passed since they’d buried Rory, and sometimes Deidre still felt detached from the world around her. More often than not during the first year after their loss, her heart had felt numb, unable to produce any emotion except for the soul-crushing pain that lingered as though determined to make her suffer, forcing tears from her eyes that seemed to know no end.

  Alastair too had been a mere shadow of himself; however, unlike her, he had not retreated, had not shied away from those around him. Instead, his face had been stoic, his eyes all but dead, and yet, he had moved among the living as though nothing had happened.

  There in body, but not in heart and soul.

  And while Deidre had found a way to feel again, to return from the black abyss her daughter’s loss had thrown her into, Alastair was still lost. They had not only lost their child, but also each other. Before, when a pregnancy had ended early, they’d turned to one another, sharing their pain and finding comfort in each other’s arms.

  But after Rory’s death, they’d both fallen apart, lost to each other, unable to connect, their bond thinning with each day that passed.

  Would it snap eventually?

  Cold fear gripped Deidre at the thought, and a part of her wished the dam around her husband’s heart would finally break, freeing the torrent of pain and sorrow that lived within, while another part of her feared that should it truly break he would never be able to recover. That she would lose him for good.

  Was that the warning Moira had felt in her dream two years ago? The loss of one another? Hearts broken beyond repair?

  Oddly enough, through all the heartache she’d suffered in the past year and a half, that thought gave Deidre strength. For it told her that there was a way back. That not all was lost.

  Aye, she’d lost her child. There’d been nothing she could’ve done to save Rory. Deidre knew that, even though it did not lessen the pain. However, she would be damned if she lost her husband as well. For him, she could fight.

  And she would.

  And so every day, Deidre looked for the blue flower Moira had written to her about, wondering when the marked day would finally arrive, hoping with all her heart and soul that the threat of another’s love would eventually shake Alastair awake.

  Would he fight for her if his place in her heart were threatened by another? Not that that could ever happen.

  Still, sometimes doubt was good. Sometimes it helped to make one see more clearly. Sometimes it could shake one awake.

  For she wanted him back. She needed him back.

  And he needed her as well, even if he was too stubborn to admit it.

  So Deidre often rode to the ruins that sat atop the tall cliff face, not truly expecting to find anything or anyone, but only to have a moment to herself. To remember her beloved child. To gain strength for the fight ahead. To remind herself not to give up.

  Inhaling an ice-cold breath, Deidre tugged the hood tighter around her head and then turned, heading back to the only remaining part of the old ruins that still offered some shelter. There she’d left her trusted mare, Aurora, out of the chilling wind as the sturdy walls and the remnant ceiling held it at bay.

  Mumbling words of comfort to the white mare, her coat a perfect match for the snow-covered hills around them, Deidre wrapped her arms around the animal’s neck, enjoying the comfort of her warmth. A soft nicker answered her, and Deidre smiled into her Aurora’s soft coat. “Aye, ‘tis cold. We should head back.”

  Stepping back, she reached for the reins when a shadow fell over her from behind. The breath lodged in her throat, and Deidre spun around, her eyes wide as they fixed on the dim outline of someone walking toward her through the swirling snow.

  Panic surged through her heart, and it hammered wildly against her ribs as she backed away.

  “Deidre!”

  At the sound of her husband’s voice, Deidre’s knees almost buckled in relief and for a short second she closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against her mare’s neck. “’Tis only Alastair,” she whispered as though it had been her trusted mount that had been spooked.

  A moment later, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into the small space sheltered from the outdoors. His boots were encrusted with snow, and his coat looked almost white with the myriad of tiny flakes clinging to it. He pushed back his hood, revealing his dark blond hair, tied in the back, as well as his piercing blue eyes; eyes that had always been full of tenderness when they’d looked into hers.

  Now, they reminded her of an icy lake, frosted over and treacherous. Dull and cold and distant as they could not see what was right in front of them.

  “What are ye doing out here?” His gaze shifted over her, lingering on her reddened cheeks instead of her eyes. “Surely, ye must be mad to seek out this place in such weather.” His jaw clenched, and despite his rough demeanour, Deidre could see the tension that held him. He’d been concerned for her. He’d followed her because he cared. He no longer told her so, but she knew it to be true.

  Still, the distance that lingered between them sent a chill through her heart that not even the freezing coldness of a winter’s day could match. “I came here to think,” she told him as she stepped closer, her eyes seeking his. “To remember our daughter.”

  Instantly, he shied away. His gaze dropped from hers, and he shuffled backwards, his teeth clenched. “Ye can do so in the safety of Greystone Castle. Let’s head back.”

  As he made to leave, Deidre reached out and grasped the front of his coat, pulling him back, determined not to let him leave. Not like this. Not today.

  That morning, she had not woken determined to seize this day in such a daring way; however, her heart told her in that moment that she had very little to lose. “There’s something I need to tell ye.”

  His blue eyes dropped to her hand where it still rested against his chest, her fingers curled into the fabric of his coat. Then they rose to meet hers, and for a bare moment, Deidre saw something old flicker to life there, and she knew a part of him still remembered what they’d once had and longed to have it back the same as she did herself.

  “About two years ago,” Deidre began, her skin crawling with fear as well as excitement to have finally reached this moment so unexpectedly, “I received a letter.”

  Alastair’s gaze narrowed, and his shoulders pulled back as though to force more distance between them.

  In answer, Deidre’s grip tightened. “’Twas from yer sister.”

  Anger flared to life in her husband’s eyes, and he made to shrug her off. “I’ll not speak about her.”

  “But I will!” Deidre insisted, holding on tight, her gaze hardening to match her husband’s. She did not care that he towered over her like a giant. He’d never frightened her. Not in that way. What frightened her now was the coldness that seemed to claim his heart a little more each day. A coldness that little by little replaced the love he’d always had for her.

  Once, his heart had been hers, and she wanted it back.

  “She wrote to me about a dream she’d had.”

  Alastair’s lips thinn
ed for although he’d always disliked his sister’s ability, he knew as well as Deidre did that it was real, and he’d always feared it for it made him feel powerless. A worse feeling Alastair had never known; a feeling he was well-acquainted with as he’d held her hand through countless miscarriages, unable to help, to take the pain, to soothe the loss.

  Aye, he knew the feeling well, and the hard line of his jaw told her that he was determined not to allow it into his heart again. Was that why he was pushing her away?

  Deidre inhaled a deep breath, the thought to add pain to his heart settling like ice into every fibre of her being. “She wrote that on the day marked by a blue flower, I’d find a great love up here by the ruins.” The words flew from her lips as she forced herself to hold his gaze.

  Although her husband barely moved, Deidre could see the shock that gripped him, clutched him in an iron vice, cutting off air and warmth and stirring pain and sorrow anew. Jealousy flared in his eyes, and anger surged through his muscles as his hands flew forward, gripping her arms. He hauled her against him, bringing her face closer to his, his warm breath brushing over her chilled skin as his blue eyes burnt into hers. “Is that why ye’re here?” he snarled. “D’ye want to run off?”

  Deidre rejoiced at the emotions she saw, proof that the passionate man her husband had always been was still there, deep inside. “I havena yet seen the blue flower,” she told him, her chin quivering as she held her breath, fighting not to let him see how much his reaction pleased her. If he caught a glimpse of the game she was playing, would he banish her from his heart for good?

  His grip tightened. “Then why are ye up here?” he growled, his arms all but lifting her off the ground as he pulled her closer still. “Are ye hoping the bastard will find ye here?” He shook her as his voice rasped with rage. “D’ye intend to leave?”

  His lips almost touched hers, and Deidre could feel her breath come fast as her blood boiled with emotions she hadn’t felt in a long time. In too long. “Would ye let me go?” she dared him, striving closer to brush her lips against his, nothing more but a feather-light touch, but it shot through him like a bolt of lightning.

  His eyes drilled into hers, and for a moment, Deidre found herself looking at the man she’d married so long ago. Tears misted her eyes, and a gasp was torn from her lips when he suddenly crushed her into his arms, his mouth closing over hers.

  Passion flared as Alastair kissed her with an almost desperate need, like a man drowning, afraid to let go, afraid to lose the one he loved the most. Emotions buried under a thick layer of ice fought to the surface and fuelled his blood, breaking down all the barriers he’d set up over the course of the past year and a half.

  Deidre was swept away by the power of his response. Her head spun as she clung to him, and she felt shivers dance along her skin where his hands reached under her cloak, feeling her through the thinner fabric of her dress.

  Awakening, her body responded to him with a fierceness Deidre had all but forgotten, and she kissed him back, her hands striving to hold him closer. Not since they’d lost their child had he held her like this, kissed her like this. The day they’d lost Rory, they’d also lost each other.

  But no more.

  Deidre wanted him back.

  She needed him back.

  And he needed her.

  As the snow swirled around them, Deidre sank into her husband’s arms, for the first time in so long feeling a shred of hope, of happiness, an echo of the past, long since lost and forgotten. Still, somewhere deep down, her heart remembered. “I want ye,” she whispered against his lips as her fingers moved down his neck and slipped inside his coat, finding warm skin.

  Alastair froze.

  2

  A Man’s Weakness

  Deidre’s touch almost brought him to his knees, so achingly sweet and familiar, comforting and desperately alluring. He’d craved her ever since stealing a first kiss when she’d been but a young lass. He’d wanted her then, and he wanted her now. His blood hummed when she was near, and when those soft brown eyes looked into his, his resolve wavered and fled and he found himself unable to deny her anything. She was his weakness, his heart and soul, the very breath of his body…

  …and he had brought her nothing but pain and loss.

  Bowing his head, Alastair stepped away, his hands sliding from her warm body and falling into fists at his side. He ought to have listened to his parents that day long years ago when they’d warned him, told him to choose another, a woman strong enough to bear his children. He’d always been tall and broad while Deidre had always been delicate, her head reaching no higher than halfway up his chest, her frame dainty, almost fragile.

  His parents had warned him, but he hadn’t listened. He’d been in love, and he’d thought to know better.

  But he’d been wrong.

  And it had cost her dearly. She would have been better off with another. Perhaps Moira’s vision was Fate’s way of urging him to finally let her go. Perhaps she could still find happiness.

  But not with him.

  Still, the thought of Deidre in the arms of another felt like a boulder crushing his heart. His chest felt constricted as though he could no longer draw breath, and a freezing cold slowly spread through his body, chasing away the warm glow her touch had left behind.

  “Fight for me.”

  At the fierceness in her voice, Alastair looked up, his eyes drawn to the soft glow of her cheeks, the determined set of her jaw, the silent plea in her soulful eyes. The warmth of her skin still lingered on his, and he remembered well the way she’d felt in his arms. It had been too long since he’d last held her, and it hadn’t been enough.

  He wanted more.

  He wanted what they’d once had.

  Moving towards him, Deidre reached out and her dainty hands settled back on his chest. “Look at me.”

  Even through the layers of clothing, Alastair could feel her and the fierceness of his longing for her grew. Never had he been able to stay away from her. To be near her and not touch her. “We should head back.”

  “Look at me!” his wife urged, anger lacing her voice as her fingers once more curled into his coat.

  Alastair loved the strength that lived within her. Never had she cowered in the face of one of his thunderous outbursts. Never had she backed down or bowed her head. She possessed a fierce spirit, his little wife!

  “Do you want me to go?” Deidre finally asked, her brown eyes misted with tears as she looked up at him. “Do you no longer want me?” A sob escaped her lips, and Alastair’s heart broke into a thousand pieces at the sight of her sorrow.

  “If what Moira saw is true,” he replied through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to haul her back into his arms and kiss away her tears, “then it doesna matter what I want.” He shifted backwards, and her hands dropped from his chest. “Perhaps we should never have been. Perhaps our union was against Fate’s will. Perhaps ‘tis why we,” he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, “keep losing our children.”

  Air rushed from her lungs in a painful sob, and for a moment, Alastair feared she would break down. “How can ye say that? D’ye truly wish we lived in a world where Rory had never been? Can ye truly imagine never having known her?”

  Tears shot to Alastair’s eyes at the thought of his wee lassie, and he spun on his heel, determined to hide them. “Get on yer horse,” he snapped. “We’re heading back.” Then he stalked from the small shelter to where he had left his own mount and pulled himself into the saddle. His midnight-black gelding pranced nervously, voicing his displeasure at having been left out in the swirling snow.

  Pausing, Alastair reached inside his coat and pulled out a curl of soft auburn-red hair tied with a blue velvet ribbon. With one hand on the reins, he hunched over, shielding his precious treasure from the snow, before running his eyes over the small tuft of hair.

  At the mere sight of his daughter’s lock, his heart ached with a fierceness that nearly had him topple over in pain. Again, he saw Rory�
�s gentle smile as she slept peacefully in his arms. Again, he felt her small hand grip his finger and hold it with a strength that had taken his breath away. Again, he felt his heart swell with pride and love at the mere sight of her.

  Never could he imagine a world without her. And yet, the memory of her made life a burden he no longer knew how to bear.

  The moment Deidre urged her mare back out into the snow, Alastair quickly slipped his daughter’s curl back into his coat, then turned his gelding toward home. In silence, they made their way back, each step a deafening sound that ripped the gap between them open farther. A gap Alastair knew not how to bridge and now wondered if he even should.

  Surely, losing Deidre to another would rip his heart from his body; however, it was a price he would gladly pay to see her happy once more. After all, it was her only chance.

  When they finally reached Greystone Castle, their horses’ hooves sounding strangely dull on the snow-covered cobblestones of the courtyard, Alastair found his gaze drawn to two carriages pulled up by the front door. By the looks of it, they’d only just arrived for he spotted his cousin Connor and his English wife Henrietta hurrying down the steps to welcome their visitors.

  Dismounting, Alastair handed the reins to a stable boy before turning to assist his wife. To his relief as well as regret, she’d already jumped down, patting Aurora before entrusting her to another stable boy. “Are those Beth and Tristan?” she asked, referring to Henrietta’s brother and his wife, who had begun the tradition of spending the Yuletide season in Scotland a few years back. “I’ve been wondering if they’d make it this year with all the snow coming down.”

  After a moment of hesitation, Alastair offered his wife his arm, feeling his heart pause when she slipped her dainty little hand through the crook of his arm, pulling herself close. The soft scent of roses drifted into his nose as she walked beside him, her warmth melting the ice from his weary bones.

  Alastair wanted nothing more but to haul her into his arms and kiss her breathless.

  But he knew he should not.

  Instead, he escorted her around the snow-covered carriages to greet their visitors.