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

  Her gentle eyes burnt hard as they held his, daring him to contradict her, threatening retribution should he be foolish enough to do so. “I no longer believe things are meant to be. There’s good and there’s bad in the world. There’s pain and there’s joy. We canna feel one without the other, but I dunna believe that all that comes to pass was meant to happen.” Her hands tensed, and he felt himself pulled toward her, her eyes burning into his. “I chose ye.”

  Those three words spoken with such conviction, such belief, without even the slightest room for doubt or error, slid down his spine, sending shivers over his skin. Her breath fanned over his lips, and he felt his own coming faster as he stared down into her eyes.

  “I chose ye,” she repeated as her hands flattened against his chest, then slid higher. “And ye chose me. We did so not because ‘twas part of someone’s plan, but out of our own free will.” Her hands snaked around his neck, pulling him down to her, her lips barely a hair’s breadth away from his. “I chose ye, and I would do so again in a heartbeat.” Her lips brushed against his in a feather-light touch before her brown eyes once more found his. “Would ye?”

  5

  Shared Sorrow

  Clinging to her husband, Deidre fought the despair that clawed at her heart.

  Something in his eyes whispered of more than a broken heart, but a soul in peril. The wound was deep and refused to heal, cut open yet again every time he pushed her away. Every time he refused her offer of comfort. Every time he forced himself not to feel.

  His muscles trembled with the effort it took him to remain standing, to keep his hands behind his back, to keep from reaching for her. His jaw was clenched shut as he stared down into her eyes, temptation and longing swirling in their depths, held at bay by the very stubbornness that had always endeared him to her. Only now, it kept them apart. It kept him locked in this battle, day in and out.

  Alone.

  Perhaps before Alastair could accept her help, her comfort, he first needed to break completely. Perhaps he hadn’t yet reached that point where nothing mattered but one’s next breath. The point where there was no shame, no guilt, no duty, but only truth, free and unrestrained.

  Deidre knew that it would bring him pain, but she was desperate and so she reached for the one thing she knew had the power to break him. With her hands on his chest, his heart beating fast against her palms, she held his gaze. “I know ye carry a lock of her hair.”

  For a split second, her husband froze, shock marking his features, before he jerked away from her as though she’d slapped him. As unyielding and strong as he’d been all his life, Alastair Brunwood could not seem to bring himself to fight through the pain of his daughter’s loss and chose to flee it instead.

  However, Deidre was ready for it. Her fingers curled into his shirt and held on, not allowing him to run. She could see an almost desperate plea in his eyes as tears began to pool in their corners, and her heart ached, willing her fingers to loosen, to grant him the reprieve he so desperately needed.

  But she did not. She held on, her eyes fixed on his, daring him to confide in her, promising to catch him should he crumble under the weight of his pain.

  Again, he jerked away, and when her hands would not release him, his settled around her wrists, trying to free himself of her hold. They were cold and hard, matching the dull ache in his gaze. Still, she felt his pulse hammering in his veins and remembered the warmth that had always lived in his heart.

  “I willna release ye,” she whispered, her fingers curling tighter into the fabric of his shirt. “I willna allow ye to run from this all yer life.”

  A growl rumbled in his chest. “I’m not−”

  “Aye, ye are!” She shook him. “Ye are! And I willna have it!”

  His breath came fast as he stared at her, his jaw still clenched; and yet, Deidre could see a small crack in his armour. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and for the length of a heartbeat or two, he closed his eyes, a deep breath shuddering past his lips.

  “Say her name.”

  At her whispered words, his eyes flew open in shock and his hands tensed on her wrists like iron shackles. The need to flee once more blazed in his eyes, and Deidre tightened her hold on him instinctively.

  “Say her name.”

  Once more, Alastair tried to yank himself free of her hold, but Deidre clung to him, her eyes seeking his again and again as he dropped his gaze, as he looked past her, as he fought not to see her right there in front of him, alive and warm and strong, willing him to live.

  “Say her name.”

  His jaw began to tremble, and a tear rolled down his cheek as his hands slid from her wrists and down along her arms. Like a tree cut down, he slowly sank forward as his last line of defence began to fall.

  And then his arms were around her, his forehead resting against her shoulder, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin on her neck as he held her clutched in his embrace.

  Deidre felt tears stream down her face as she held him, her arms rising to wrap around him, brushing gently over his broad back. “Say her name,” she whispered yet again, needing him to surrender. It would pain him, break him, but only then would he have a chance to heal. “Please,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. “I promise I’ll catch ye when ye fall as ye’ve always caught me. Ye’ve always been my strength, now let me be yers. I swear I willna crumble under the weight of it. Ye needna be afraid. Please.”

  Another breath shuddered past his lips as a tremor shook him, and she could feel the wetness of his tears on her skin. “Rory.”

  The sound of their daughter’s name on his lips was barely a whisper, and yet, Deidre felt it in every fibre of her being. Her heart clenched in pain and jumped with joy at the sound of it.

  It was beautiful.

  It was heart-breaking.

  It was theirs.

  Theirs alone.

  As though all strength had left him, Alastair’s knees suddenly buckled. Unable to hold him, Deidre gave in, and they both sank to the floor, arms wrapped around each other, mourning the loss of their child.

  Together.

  As they ought to have from the beginning.

  Back then, Alastair had held her as well. He had let her cry. He’d been her comfort, her rock, her strength. But he had not accepted the same from her. He’d not shown her his own wound, his pain and sorrow, and over time, the wound had begun to fester, digging deeper into his flesh.

  “She was such a sweet lass,” Deidre whispered into his ear, remembering the awe she’d felt when she’d held her daughter for the first time. “Always smiling. Her eyes wide and watchful. The whole world a wonder to her.”

  With each word she spoke, Deidre felt the walls around her husband’s heart crumble bit by bit. He pulled her deeper into his embrace, clinging to her as pain and loss washed over him. Tears now streamed freely from his eyes, soaking her dress as he kept his face buried in the crook of her neck.

  “She was always so warm,” Deidre remembered, “and I loved holding her snuggled against me. She fit perfectly into my arms, and I often sat in that chair over there,” she nodded her head at the armchair by the hearth, “and watched her sleep, her little eyes closed, her wee lashes resting gently against her rosy skin.” A sob wrenched itself from her throat. “She was so beautiful.”

  Alastair’s left hand moved from her back and up her arm until his hand cupped her face, his thumb gently brushing the tears from her cheek. Still, he did not lift his head to look at her, and Deidre knew that the pain was still too raw. At least, he was not pushing her away as he had before.

  “When she was born,” Deidre went on, her fingers curling into her husband’s hair, “I couldna believe the scarlet curls on top of her head. I thought ‘twas a trick of light. They made her look so mischievous.” More tears flowed from her eyes, and yet, a small smile played on her lips. “One corner of her wee mouth curled upward, and I had to laugh. She had such a devilish look about her.”

  Alastair�
��s lips brushed against her skin as he placed a gentle kiss on her neck. Then his head slowly rose off her shoulder, his blue eyes rising to meet hers. Tears still lingered, but he no longer tried to hide them. Instead, his gaze met hers with an openness she hadn’t seen in a long time. He inhaled a deep breath before his eyes fell from hers and his hand dug into his pocket.

  Deidre swallowed, certain beyond the shadow of a doubt what he was about.

  A moment later, she found herself looking at her daughter’s fiery-red curl, a soft blue ribbon tied around it. It looked dwarfed lying on his big hand, the same way, Rory had always seemed when cuddled in her father’s large arms.

  His eyes caressed the tiny curl lovingly before they rose and met hers. He blinked as fresh tears shot to his eyes, and his lips pressed into a tight line, the corners of his mouth quivering under the rush of emotions the memory of their daughter had brought forth.

  Deidre nodded, reaching out a hand to cup his face. She knew her husband. She knew that he was not a man of many words, and she didn’t mind. She could see how deeply he cared. She didn’t need him to say the words. What she wanted was for him to share these moments with her, the good as well as the bad.

  Especially the bad.

  With one hand cradling her husband’s face, Deidre reached out with the other and once more closed his fingers over Rory’s soft curl. “We’ll always remember her,” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “Together.”

  Nodding, Alastair reached for her, pulling her onto his lap, his large arms all but pinning her to him as his lips claimed hers in a gentle kiss. “I love ye, my wee wife,” he whispered as he had so often before.

  Deidre smiled against his lips, and for the first time in almost two years, hope blossomed in her heart. “Will ye hold me tonight?” she asked, her gaze seeking his. A part of her still feared that he would retreat once more, urging her to reclaim him now before he could change his mind.

  Before he could rebuild the walls that had come down.

  His blue eyes met hers, held hers for a long while, before he moved closer, his lips once more capturing hers. “Aye, I’ll hold ye.” He swallowed. “If ye’ll hold me.”

  Smiling, Deidre nodded, her heart dancing with joy at the longing in his voice. With one hand holding on to his, she climbed off his lap, then helped pull him to his feet. All the while, their hands remained linked as though they could not exist without the touch of the other.

  Her heart beat fast as she pulled her husband toward the bed; the bed they hadn’t truly shared since the loss of their child. Alastair swallowed as his gaze travelled over the two sides, two halves of a whole. Two halves that had been separated for too long.

  His chest rose and fell with a deep breath as he gently settled their daughter’s scarlet lock on the nightstand. Then he turned to her, one arm coming around her middle, pulling her against his side, while the other reached to pull down the blanket.

  Although Deidre’s heart beat almost nervously in her chest, she revelled in the warmth that claimed her at the closeness which once more spanned the distance between them. Once, it had connected them even across miles and miles of distance. Perhaps it could do so again.

  Now, however, it seemed important that they touched, that he had his hand on her back as she climbed into bed, that her hand reached for him, sliding up his arm, as he followed.

  Settling into the soft mattress, Alastair pulled her to him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder as she snuggled closer. His hand brushed up her arm, then gently squeezed her shoulder before she felt the tips of his fingers running through her hair, brushing a curl behind her ear.

  Her own hand moved over his chest, the tips of her fingers finding the collar and then warm skin. Reaching up, she brushed her hand along the soft skin in the crook between shoulder and neck, feeling the rapid drumming of his pulse. She dragged her fingernails up and down the side of his neck, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw.

  A low rumble in his throat whispered of his contentedness, and a moment later, he pulled her deeper into his embrace, both arms holding her tightly against him. His legs tangled with hers, and Deidre sighed at the feeling of closeness and intimacy that warmed her. Always had they existed as one, and in the past two years, life had been cold and lonely.

  Deidre didn’t want to feel cold and lonely any longer. She wanted warmth and love and…her husband in her arms.

  On impulse, she lifted her head and kissed the side of his neck where his pulse beat steadily, contentedly as her own.

  At the touch of her lips, Alastair paused and the hand that trailed circles across her arm stilled. A few harsh breaths pushed past his lips before he suddenly moved, rolling over and trapping her beneath him, answering her silent call.

  All restraint fell from him, and his lips claimed hers in a searing kiss. Longing and passion flared to life, reminders of what they’d once shared, a promise of what they could have again.

  Her hands moved back to encircle his neck, her fingertips trailing under his shirt, as her husband shifted to undo the laces on her dress. Soon, skin touched skin as they reached for one another in the dark of night, the few glowing embers in the hearth casting a warm light over their reunion.

  Meant to be or not, Deidre would never let him go again.

  Damn his stubbornness! If she had to, she would do him one better!

  6

  In the Bright of Day

  Pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders, Deidre walked across the great hall of Greystone Castle. She cast a smile at Henrietta and their guests as they sat together by the hearth, the wee ones chasing each other around the large stone columns and down the wide corridors before they came rushing back, seeking refuge in their mothers’ arms.

  “Are ye heading out?” Connor spoke out from behind her.

  Turning to look at her cousin, Deidre nodded. “Aye, I need a bit of fresh air.” She pushed open the heavy door, inhaling a deep breath of the clear, chilled air. The snow had stopped falling, and her gaze drifted over the white courtyard, the black cobble stone hidden under a thick layer of snow. The sky shone in a clear blue, and the sun sent out tentative rays that sparkled on the ice-covered roofs.

  “Have ye spoken to Alastair since yesterday?” Connor enquired as he came to stand beside her. His dark gaze lingered on her face, and she could see that there was something on his mind, his forehead creased with lines of worry.

  Deidre swallowed, not certain whether to reveal all that had happened the night before for she could not yet say where it would lead. Aye, Alastair had responded to her, had shared his grief with her, had given in to his own longing for what they’d once had. But he had risen early that morning, leaving their bed without waking her.

  Had doubts returned?

  Of course, they had, for Alastair was a man who rarely did anything on impulse. He was ruled by his mind, not by his heart, and always had been.

  Except when it came to her.

  Against all reason, Alastair had chosen her all those years ago, and Deidre knew that wherever she was concerned, he often acted rashly and without thought. She was his weakness, always had been, and she could only hope that that had not changed. That he merely needed a moment to himself, that he needed to think things through as was his way, and that he would then realise that he could not fight what his heart desired.

  “Have ye seen him this morning?” Deidre asked, wondering where her husband could have gone.

  Connor nodded, and his gaze travelled to the far hills. “He left early.” He sighed, then turned to meet her eyes. “There was an odd look in his eyes. Haunted somehow, but…” His voice trailed off, and then he shrugged. “I canna say. It doesna make me worry, but…wonder.”

  Deidre nodded. “I shall speak to him when he returns.” Her gaze caught movement in the far corner of the courtyard where the tall hedge stood that hid her sanctuary from the rest of the world. A man lingered nearby before he moved closer, his hands pushing aside a few branches, revealing the secr
et path. “He found it,” she mumbled, feeling a touch of annoyance that someone had stumbled upon her sanctuary.

  Connor moved a step sideways, his gaze following her own. “’Tis John, aye?” he asked squinting his eyes against the early morning sun. Then a chuckle rumbled in his throat. “’Twould seem yer secret hideout is no longer a secret.”

  Deidre shook her head at her bear-like cousin. “I dunna mind sharing,” she told him, willing it to be so. “’Tis only that no one’s shown an interest in the place for a long time.”

  Connor winked at her. “’Twould seem someone is now.” A good-natured smile lingered on his face until Deidre made to step away, her feet guiding her in the direction of her secret garden. “Wait, Lassie!” His hand settled on her shoulder as she turned back to look at him. “I know I’m an oaf for asking ye this, but…” He inhaled a deep breath. “Is there anything between ye and Beth’s brother?”

  Remembering her husband’s seething jealousy from the night before, Deidre chuckled. “Aye, ye’re an oaf as is my husband.”

  A quick grin flashed across Connor’s face before his gaze sobered. “He spoke to ye? I told him he was seeing things, but ye know as well as I that the heart doesna always see what is right in front of it. Perhaps ye shouldna seek out John on yer own. ‘Twould only confuse Alastair.”

  “I will do what I deem right,” Deidre told her cousin with a pat on his arm. “As I always have.” Her gaze drifted back to the hidden path between hedge and wall where John had disappeared, wondering why he sought solitude when everyone else was laughing and chatting inside.

  Very few people needed true solitude. Most needed someone who saw their pain and offered a kind ear. Perhaps she ought to try and speak to him again. Perhaps by now the shock that she had guessed his secret had dissipated.

  Casting a smile at her cousin, Deidre headed down the stairs and across the courtyard until she reached the evergreen hedge. She reached out to push aside a few branches and then squeezed through. Still, wetness caught on the front of her dress and she felt droplets trickling down the side of her face.