A Match Made in Heather Page 12

  He straightened his spine, his jaw clenching as he drawled, “Is that an ultimatum?”

  “No,” she said softly, her shoulders falling. “It’s simply a fact. If you don’t let go of the past, it will always be between us.” She drew in an erratic breath, and her fingers tightened on his, desperate to hold onto him, however she could. “Will you give me Highburn?”

  A hard gleam flared in his eyes. “Will you stop letting your family dictate your life?”

  The pain that pulsed through her at his cutting question came brutally, stripping her breath away. Her hands dropped away, and her empty fingers clasped at the cold air. The anguish inside her burned so intensely that every inch of her ached with loss.

  Unable to keep the desolation from her voice, she whispered, “Nothing’s truly changed for us after all.”

  He looked away, this time unable to reassure her that she was wrong.

  The realization that she’d lost him should have killed her. Yet her foolish heart still beat on, still not wounded enough to stop and spare her the hell of losing him again, despite the needles of pain that pricked at her and the utter misery that gnawed at her belly.

  “If you can’t understand why Highburn means so much to me, if you can’t let me bring good from the ashes of my family, then—” She choked on the words. “Then you’re not the man I once loved.”

  Frustration twisted his features. He rasped out, “Arabel—”

  “Go back to England, Garrick,” she breathed out as her world shattered around her. “There’s no highlander left in you to love.”

  Day Twenty-Seven

  Garrick ignored the first pale pinks of dawn falling through the new entrance hall windows as he stared up at the Rowland coat of arms. In the past month, Arabel had repaired it, and now it hung proudly, surrounded by the claymores that she’d carefully replaced in their intricate designs. For God’s sake, she’d even draped a sash of Rowland tartan across the corner of the shield.

  If he needed proof of her devotion to her family’s legacy, this was it. The stubborn woman was determined to bring respect back to the Rowlands at all costs.

  Including their future.

  He bit back a curse. To ask him to give her Highburn like that, knowing all that her family had done to him, the hell they’d put him through—Did she really expect that he would simply had it over, to let her bring glory back to clan Rowland? While she was once again engaged to another man, no less. Did she think he’d learned nothing from the past?

  He gritted his teeth. Those damnable accusations she’d leveled against him were ludicrous. Plotting to raze Highburn to the ground, to seduce her as part of his revenge—

  Christ.

  He raked his fingers through his hair. He had said those things to Reeves, but that was all before they were given a second chance. Before he realized that he still loved her and always would. He would give anything he possessed to have her for his wife, including his earldom and every penny to his name.

  But not Highburn.

  Let me bring good from the ashes of my family . . . He would grant her anything but that. The wounds her family had inflicted were still too raw to ignore, the scars running too deep to heal.

  He’d be a liar if he said a part of him hadn’t enjoyed tearing down the east wing. But he’d enjoyed more the possibility of rebuilding it, of seeing Arabel’s face when the new construction was done. He’d come to appreciate Highburn during the past month, but only because Arabel loved the place and he loved Arabel.

  Good from the ashes . . . Was that even possible?

  “So I’m not the only one unable t’ sleep.” Lady Rowland entered from the hallway, wearing her dressing robe and nightcap. She added knowingly, “I ken yers has to do with the lass.”

  He grimaced and dodged, “Arabel is tucked safely into her bed.”

  “Aye, when she should be in yours.”

  Garrick stiffened, although he shouldn’t have been surprised. What he’d come to learn of Matilda Rowland during the past month was that the tough old woman spoke her mind and thought propriety was a quaint notion—and that her eight decades gave her liberty to unleash her tongue on matters that didn’t concern her. Especially now, when tomorrow morning Arabel would walk down the aisle with a man who wasn’t him.

  “A fine job ye two are doing of messin’ things up.” She snorted with disapproval. “Again.”

  Clenching his jaw, he folded his arms across his chest and faced her. Her head barely came to the middle of his chest, yet he knew the woman was a force of nature. One he couldn’t easily dismiss. Nor could he tell her to mind her own business, because Arabel and Highburn were her concern. Just as they’d become his.

  “So determined are ye to avenge yerself against the Rowlands for what they did t’ ye,” Matilda muttered, “that you kinna see the truth ’fore yer own eyes. An’ the truth is that Arabel never stopped lovin’ ye. Most likely, the lass is upstairs crying ’cause she still loves ye, even now.” Her old eyes swept contemptuously over him, clearly finding him lacking. “While yer down here, too full o’ pride an’ arrogance to do what ye ken has to be done.”

  “And what is that?” he drawled, feeling the sting of her accusation. “Surrender Castle Highburn?”

  “To marry her, no matter the cost. Even to yer own damnable pride.”

  He shook his head. “How do I marry a woman who’s engaged to another?”

  “An’ what proof have you given that ye’ll marry her once she breaks off with the banker?” she answered with a shrewd gleam in her eye. “After all, you left her once before.”

  “I didn’t leave,” he half-growled. “Your family sent me away.”

  “Makes no difference t’ Arabel. All her heart kens is that she dinna have ye with her when she needed to be loved. She needs you again now. An’ this time she thinks yer drivin’ her ’way. Just for petty revenge.”

  His chest burned. Petty. The hell her family put him through was far from that! He’d barely survived it. Yet part of him felt duly chastised by Lady Rowland’s words, because he’d not only survived but emerged stronger.

  “Dinna ye wonder why my husband left half the estate to ye, rather than giving it all to Arabel, as was her due?”

  “The incident with the carriage,” he answered. “He was grateful I’d saved his life.”

  She cackled a laugh. “Yer a highlander! Ye ken any Scot who’d value his life o’er his clan?”

  “Then why?” he demanded bluntly. He’d had the feeling since he and Arabel arrived that Lady Rowland was prodding them in the direction she wanted them to go, but he had no idea where. Or why.

  A shamefaced expression darkened her wrinkled visage. “’Cause my husband an’ me were the reason you two were torn apart all them years past.”

  His heart stuttered, and in that beat all of him turned to ice. “How?”

  “There’s nothin’ that went on in this house that we didn’t know about, includin’ that ye planned to marry Arabel. When we’d heard what her brother had done, we thought it our duty to keep any more scandal from the family an’ tasked MacTavish wi’ it. Including stopping the elopement.” Guilt passed over her face. “We had no idea how much she truly loved you—still does. We watched as her grief over losin’ you nearly ate her up. The light went out o’ her then.” She fixed a hard gaze on him. “Only came back a month ago. When ye returned.”

  “That wasn’t the light of love you saw,” he countered, turning back to the coat of arms, too furious at what she and her husband had done to look at her. “That was hatred.”

  “Not so thick a wall dividin’ ’em, by all counts.”

  He blew out a harsh breath. “Lady Rowland—”

  “So we saw this opportunity to set to right the wrongs we did, to force the two o’ ye together for a second chance.” Her mouth twisted with bitter disappointment. “An’ now ye’ve gone an’ ruined it.”

  The harsh accusation stopped him cold. “I am not ruin—”

  “Yo
u’re a damned fool!” She poked him in the chest with a bony finger, and he pressed his lips together grimly, making no move to stop her. “I’m old, an’ I’ve watched more people than I can count go to their graves. The one thing I’ve learned is that when a body dies whate’er wrongs they did need to die, too. So let them go. It’s time.”

  Arabel had said nearly the same thing. To let the past go. But how could he? Hadn’t he been trying to do exactly that for the last decade, only to end up right back here where all the pain started? “Some wrongs can never be forgiven.”

  “I never said forgive! I said let go. Bury the dead, lad, an’ bury yer vengeance.” Her cap slid lower on her wrinkled forehead as she shook her head. “All dead the men are who wronged ye, or in America an’ good as dead.” She laid her hand affectionately against his cheek for a brief moment. “All that hatred in yer heart takes up too much room t’ let other things in. Like yer love for that lass.”

  He wanted to believe her, but too much had happened. How could he let go of the past when it kept rearing its head? Arabel was right. Nothing had changed for them.

  “Ye can’t have both Arabel an’ yer revenge.”

  He nearly laughed. As if he didn’t know that! Wasn’t that why he was here in the entrance hall in the first place, staring up at a symbol of all that he hated most in the world and all that she held most dear?

  Lady Rowland was wrong. It wasn’t a matter of giving up one or the other. It was a matter of surviving once he had, of figuring out how to go on when half of who he was had been abandoned to the past.

  “Now ye can finally destroy the Rowlands once an’ fer all, or ye can claim the woman ye love.” Her eyes flashed as bright as brimstone as they pinned his, shining like the devil’s own over a wager to take his soul. “So which do ye choose?”

  Day Twenty-Eight

  Arabel’s wedding day

  Arabel watched wide-eyed as Ewan marched out of the house.

  “Well,” Aunt Matilda laughed, “he certainly took that well!”

  Taken it well? Heavens, he hadn’t uttered a word! Not one word during her explanation for why she wouldn’t marry him. That silence had been more damning than if he’d cursed her, which she’d fully expected for waiting until this morning to call off the wedding. Waiting had been cowardly of her, but to defy her mother’s wishes . . . terrifying.

  Yet she wouldn’t wed herself to a man she didn’t love, and the only man she’d ever love would be Garrick. His return had taught her that, although the lesson had been brutal.

  “You’ve made a terrible mistake,” her mother warned from the chair where she’d sank in shock when Arabel broke the news. “Who will marry you now?”

  Who indeed? Arabel stared down at her left hand that wore no wedding ring and now most likely never would.

  But the decision had been completely hers. For the first time, she’d openly defied her family and put her own choice for happiness before their desires. It had been terrifying, then incredibly freeing—

  Rather, it should have been freeing, but wasn’t. She wanted nothing more than to share this newly found independence with Garrick, but she couldn’t. He was gone from her life now, although still firmly lodged beneath Highburn’s roof. Having him so close without being able to touch him was pure torment. But there was no help for it.

  “Does Lord Townsend know?” Aunt Matilda asked as she looped her arm around Arabel’s.

  Unable to find her voice, she shook her head as hot tears threatened to fall.

  “He deserves to hear it. From you, lass. You owe him that.”

  Arabel’s shoulders sagged. “What difference will it make?”

  “A world of it.” She squeezed Arabel’s arm, and the affectionate gesture nearly undid her. “Go on. Tell him.”

  She supposed he did deserve to know, although she was far less certain that it would make any difference.

  Her feet felt like lead as she left the room, all of her heavy and aching. What would he say when she’d told him what she’d done? Knowing Garrick . . . It’s about time. He’d been urging her to stand up to her family, to put her own wants first. Now that she finally had, would anything change?

  Something would, surely . . . wouldn’t it? Her heart stuttered as she climbed the stairs, her feet moving faster now. If she were willing to change and escape the past, couldn’t Garrick do the same?

  She was nearly running by the time she reached the landing, her heart pounding frantically and each inhalation coming as a breathless tremble. Excitement surged through her, and more—hope. For the first time since she overheard the servants talking in the basement she felt a glimmering tingle of optimism that they might still find a way to be together.

  She ran into his bedroom, the words she wanted to say poised on her tongue. “Garrick, I love—”

  She froze. The room was empty. The bed where they’d made love had been stripped, and all his belongings packed up. There was no trace that he’d ever been there.

  A brutal sense of loss pierced her so fiercely that she winced. As she stared at the empty room, her chest squeezed like a vise around her heart. It was as if he’d never returned, as if the past month had been nothing more than another dream from which she was now waking to find him gone once more.

  Her hand rose to her lips to hold back the soft cry of anguish.

  “Miss?” Jamieson asked with concern as he stepped into the room.

  She choked back the tears as she forced out, “Where is Lord Townsend?”

  “Packed up his things,” he explained. “His man Reeves is comin’ by later to collect ’em.” He said gravely, “His lairdship has left Highburn.”

  Her eyes squeezed shut, but she couldn’t hold back the shuddering pain. Oh dear God, it was unbearable! As if a knife had sliced her heart in two. Garrick was gone, and whatever hope she’d gained from this morning’s revelations vanished like the fog. She’d lost him again, this time driving him away herself. Most likely forever.

  “He left this for ye, miss.”

  Arabel forced her eyes open but didn’t bother to try to hide her tears. What did it matter who saw that she loved him, now that he was gone?

  Jamieson held out a note. Numbly, she took it and unfolded the paper.

  Something small fluttered to the floor, but her eyes were fixed on the page. Her heart stopped as she read the note, and when it lurched to life again, the thud was so sharp, so intense that electricity shot through every inch of her.

  “He’s returning to England,” she whispered. “He’s given up his claim to the property . . . to me and the Rowlands, to do with as we wish.”

  She crushed the note in her palm as she pressed her hand to her chest and leaned against the tall bedpost to keep from falling away. Her heart pounded, but she felt it not at all compared to the tidal wave of emotion that swept through her, the rush of regret and loss . . . But in its wake came hope. Not the weak glimmer that had propelled her up the stairs to tell him that her wedding was off, but strong and determined.

  “He’s left Highburn!” She laughed through her tears. Because she knew exactly what that meant—he’d abandoned his revenge. He’d finally freed himself from the chains of the past that had been holding him prisoner.

  She blinked, able to clear her eyes only long enough to gaze down at the thing that had fallen from the note. Her heart slammed against her ribs so painfully that she gasped. It couldn’t be . . .

  A pressed sprig of heather, tied with a faded green ribbon.

  Her fingers trembled as she picked it up, barely able to believe it was real. Ten years. He’d kept it all this time, across all those miles, in all he’d been through . . .

  “He didn’t know,” she breathed, her lips unable to form the words as new tears formed, this time of happiness. “When he wrote this, he didn’t know I was going to call off the wedding or defy my family.” She lifted the sprig to her smiling lips. “But he gave me Highburn anyway. He loves me . . .”

  Enough to give up his r
evenge.

  And she loved him enough to fight for him.

  Clutching the sprig in her hand, she ran from the room and down the stairs, then past Mama and Aunt Matilda who both stared at her, bewildered. But she couldn’t stop to explain. Already Garrick was a good ways ahead of her, and she had to catch him. Oh, she simply had to!

  She climbed into the barouche which had been waiting to carry her to the church and breathlessly ordered the surprised driver to take her into the village. But each passing minute was torture, the carriage’s wheels spinning agonizingly slowly—

  “Stop!” she called out, unable to bear it.

  Before the tiger could open the door and help her to the ground, she was already gone, her skirts hitched up and running as fast as she could. Villagers stared, but she didn’t care! She needed to find Garrick, needed to wrap her arms around him and make him understand how much she loved him.

  She ran down High Street as she searched frantically for him, prepared to run all the way to England if—

  She halted mid-stride, blinking to clear her eyes as she saw him standing in front of the parish church, staring up at the door with an expression of grim determination. He started up the steps.

  “Garrick?”

  Stopping with one foot on the step above, he faced her. Dressed in a black broadcloth jacket over a kilt made of the district tartan and black hose, the morning sunlight casting red highlights onto his mahogany hair, he took her breath away. He looked every inch the highlander he was born to be, right down to the dagger at his side. Surely, he was only a dream, the same fantasy she’d conjured in her mind countless times . . .

  But when he smiled, her heart lurched into her throat, and she knew he was real.

  And finally hers.

  He glanced down at his clothes, then explained with a shrug, “I heard there was going to be a wedding this morning, and I wanted to be properly dressed.”

  “You were coming to witness my wedding?” she whispered, confused. Her heart pounded dully in her hollow chest. Had she misread everything between them? In her joy over receiving Highburn, had she foolishly dared to hope too much?