Six Moons Later
“I only have two questions for you, daughter. Were you taken advantage of?”
She shook her head, looking toward the door that separated her from Alec.
Kane Shaw snapped his fingers, drawing her attention back to him. “Are you alright?”
This time she nodded. A lie. A horrible, terrible lie that she would never admit to anyone. She was not alright, and never would be—but not because of anything Alec had done. Rather, it was because now that her father was here, he was taking her back.
He hadn’t said it, but she knew the truth. His fury at the McGregors had shown in the arrival of a hundred warriors, prepared to take anyone’s life who kept Blayne from him. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Alec was recovering from the wound The Callahan had given him, she was sure her father would have done the unthinkable.
No, he was doing something more than the unthinkable. He was doing something worse.
He was taking her away, and she would not be seeing Alec McGregor again.
Blayne pulled the shawl over her shoulders and looked back at the bed. Lately, that was the only place where the tension stopped, tension between her and her family was so great that sometimes it felt impossible to breathe. Sometimes, she wondered if this was all a bad dream, she would wake up next to Alec, and all would be well. All would be as if she never left for The Callahan’s. She never would have learned of Gertrude’s fate, which Thomas had regretfully informed her, and so many men would still be alive today.
But that was a wistful dream. Nothing would go back to the way it was. Her father…was determined to keep her locked inside the keep. No longer was she allowed near the stream, even!
Tucking her feet into a pair of slippers, she prepared herself to go down for breakfast. Of late, she had barely made a presence. Her mother gave her solemn, disappointed looks. Her father was quiet as ever. Nothing but brooding silence came from him—and that was a word of hurt all in itself.
Thinking of him made her heart tighten. She had been asking after Alec, after the McGregors. He had arrived before she had a chance to speak to Alec. He had been sequestered off in the medic wing, locked away from anyone who could give the laird an infection in his vulnerable state.
She hadn’t been able to apologize from running away. She hadn’t been able to tell him her side of the story, though it was a weak one at that. He never should have gotten hurt, and probably wouldn’t have if she had done something different.
Instead, she had been so hell bent on handling it herself that the whole situation had slid out of her control.
And now he was lost to her.
Tears stung her eyes, but she sniffled them back. There was no reason to cry, she told herself. He probably didn’t want anything to do with her now. He risked his life for her, and she hadn’t even been there when he’d woken? Alec was a crude man. He would think she had left him to die.
The hate he must feel for her…
The door creaked open as she weakly pushed at it. Early morning sun, though it was freezing outside, managed to warm the interior of the stairwell through the lone window that over looked the river.
It was the only consolation she had to leaving her room. By the time she reached the end of the stairs, the emotion inside of her had risen to a near exposing extent. Crying, over a man who likely hated her?
It was foolish.
But that didn’t stop her from cautiously approaching her father’s side as she saw his hulking figure striding toward the hall. She bit her lip, debating whether to bring it up this morning—but nothing could stop her from seeking answers. Not even her own self-preservation.
“Father,” she called, picking up her pace. She was careful not to let the large shawl spread open. Right now, it was best that she remain as drab as possible, for as long as possible. “Father, may I have a word?”
He looked down at her. Kane Shaw was not a handsome man, but he was rugged and aging. With all that aging, he had a certain look about him that made a man want to run the other way pissing himself. But, this was her father. He had never hurt her, and never would—not intentionally.
Even now, with the way they were, there was a softening to his gaze as he slid an arm around her shoulder.
“Depends on which word it is,” he said, pulling her in for a quick hug. His deep voice rumbled through her small frame, and as much as she wanted to relax into the safe embrace of her father, she couldn’t. She wasn’t taking that chance.
“You’re silly, father,” she murmured, distancing herself. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking at the ground. “I was—I was hoping to inquire about Ale—The McGregor. It has been six months now and not a single word…”
He was silent for a moment, but his step didn’t falter. It never did, though. Her father was not a man to be drawn up by a question.
“Mayhap because I’ve not requested a word from them,” he finally said after a moment.
“Ah.” She looked at the ground, adjusting the hem of her shawl. They drew closer to the kitchen and the scent of eggs and mutton wafted into her nose—and she nearly gagged. Oh, no. Not mutton.
But it was.
And the scent was close to unbearable.
Her father stopped and turned, giving her a raised brow.
“Is everything alright, daughter mine?”
She gave him a fleeting smile, avoiding his gaze. “Aye—Aye, everything is fine. I just…don’t understand why you wouldn’t question after him. He did come to my aid, you know. I would figure we would at least see how he was doing…”
The softness of his gaze disappeared, replaced by a hard, cold, anger.
When he spoke, his lip curled with the strength of his hate.
“That bastard failed to keep ye’ protected. He had one job, and he failed. He sent ye’ into the den more than aided ye' out of it, child. This is the last I want to hear of The McGregors. They are as good as dead to us now. Do ye’ understand me?”
Choking back the swell of disappointment, she nodded, avoiding his gaze.
“Do ye’ understand me?” he repeated, his voice sharp enough to ricocheted off the stone walls around them.
“Aye, father,” she murmured. Her hands fell from the shawl, and to her stomach—but not before she caught herself and nodded as a distraction to them both. “I understand entirely.”
“Good. Now go wish yer mother a good morning and have something to eat. You’ve barely come down of late.” He didn’t spare her another glance, simply turned on his heel and headed past the hall. Probably to his study, she thought. He often went there when he was angry.
And Lord, was he furious. He rarely raised his voice at her, but it seemed like the mere mention of The McGregors sent him into a fit.
She pulled back her shoulders and raised her chin, then discreetly entered the hall.
“Blayne!” her mother called out, grinning widely. “Come, break your fast with us. I saved you a bowl.”
Her mother, grinning? This early in the morning?
Something was amiss.
Cautiously, as if walking into a trap, she made her way over to her mother.
“A bowl of…?” she asked, sitting beside her in the spot her mother had designated for her. Saeran raised a hand and one of the maids came forward, placing a bowl of mutton in front of her.
Oh, Lord, no.
Almost instantly, the nausea hit her like a brick.
“Now,” her mother started, oblivious to her daughter’s reaction. “I know what happened with The McGregors was traumatic, but time goes forward, and so must this family. I’ve asked Leith to come over today, and do you know what he said?”
Blayne was too focused on keeping the bile down that she barely heard a word her mother said.
“What?” she asked, looking anywhere but the bowl in front of her. It was hot and piping, steam rising from the bowl like an evil hand, beckoning her to lean forward and vomit everywhere.
“He said he would be honored to—and that, if you’re well, he would like to take you on a ride to the stream.”
Her gaze lifted at the word “stream.”
“Father said I wasn’t allowed to leave the keep, mother.” Though the words belied her desire to leave, the craving to see her stream, to feel the cold, silken rush of water against her skin was nearly overwhelming.
“Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him—as long as you behave,” she said sternly, giving her a pointed look as if to say, “Don’t run away.”
The thought was all too enticing, regardless of whether her parents prohibited it. To go to the stream… Even with Leith there and suffering through the awkward silence, the escape of her new reality would be welcoming.
“Should I let Brodrick know to send for Leith?” Saeran asked, obviously pleased by Blayne’s smile.
“Yes—yes, that would be lovely, mother. Thank you.” She couldn’t stop the grin from spreading even wider as hope grew inside of her. For the first time in several moons, she had an opportunity to feel the water rush between her toes.
The thought of having Leith there to ruin the serenity of her first moment of peace was slightly upsetting, but something was better than nothing, especially if her father would immediately demand her return when he found out who she was with—because no doubt, he would know, regardless of what her mother said.
“Good, now get some food in you,” her mother said, gesturing to the mutton before she turned to pay attention to Alan. Alan, with his bright blue eyes, and bouncing blonde hair… He was the spitting image of their mother.
Vaguely, she realized her hands had crept to her own stomach.
No, no she couldn’t be doing that in here, not with all of the watchful eyes.
Blay had the play the part of a well-behaved daughter, and if that meant suffering through a bite or two of slush, then that’s what she’d have to do. Plus, she thought with a small smile, she would need her strength to make it to the stream, anyway!
She dipped her spoon into the slush, then pulled it up to eye level, glaring it down. This had been the first sign that something was off—the aversion to smells and textures. The overwhelming nausea that came over her when faced with certain foods…it had been the very first sign, and the reminder that she hadn’t had her menses in weeks.
Then the swelling of her breasts had started, her nipples so sore it seemed as if they were constantly chaffing against her clothes to the point of feeling raw. It was all she could do to keep herself from wincing every time she walked and her swollen breasts swayed.
Slowly, looking around her to see if anyone was watching, she brought the spoon to her lips and—
Gagged.
Right there, with the spoon halfway into her mouth, the mere heat of the mutton brushing against the roof of her mouth was enough to have the bile rise with full force.
“Pardon me, mother,” she choked out.
Before she made a scene right on the table, she set the spoon down and pushed her chair back. She had to escape the smell, the very presence, of the mutton.
Almost running through the hall to find a place to vomit in peace, she wasn't prepared for a hand shooting out and latching onto her arm, spinning her around to face the man who’d grabbed her.
“Are you alright?”
Connor.
She nearly sagged with relief, even if she was about to vomit on him.
“A chamber pot would be nice,” she muttered, gently extracting herself from his arm to continue rushing down the hall. All she needed was a moment to collect herself, to calm herself. So much was happening, was going to happen. With the combination of morning sickness, it was all she could do to get a full breath in.
“Blayne,” Connor said from behind her, that tone of voice slowing her down. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself, closing her eyes. It seemed a moment to herself was a little too much to expect. “What’s going on? You’re pale as a ghost.”
She put on the best smile she could manage, then turned around to face him.
“Nothing is going on—I just feel a bit…under the weather.” That was an understatement. Her stomach roiled and she reached down to touch the small bump before she could stop herself.
Connor’s eyes traveled to her stomach. With the shawl and how large it was, the small bump was barely noticeable. She had stopped wearing the corsets her mother had encouraged her to wear, worried that it would cause something to go wrong. She wasn’t foolish enough to trust a midwife not to tell her parents if she reached out to one with concerns.
But, it seemed, she was foolish enough to reveal her secret to the most attentive man in the keep.
“You’re…with child?” he asked, the tone more astonished than furious. Her eyes closed on a sigh. It wasn’t embarrassment that had her head shaking in denial, but rather, fear of what her father would do.
The McGregors are as good as dead to us…
If he felt that way for Alec failing to protect her, how would he feel if he knew Alec had also failed to resist her…and her, him?
“Nay,” she said weakly, knowing arguing would be useless. “Tis just a stomach bug, I fear—“
“Do not lie to me, my lady. You are, aren’t you?” he said, reaching forward to slowly pull the shawl flap aside. There, dainty and barely noticeable to those not looking for such, was the soft swell of her and Alec’s child. “You’re pale, keeping to yourself, and now you’re running away from breaking fast before you’ve taken a bite—as you’ve done the past fortnight.”
She was silent, bowing her head.
There were no words to defend herself, but yet, he hadn’t asked for an explanation. He’d simply asked for a confirmation, and even that was hard to give. Connor was loyal, above all, to her parents. In some instances, he would take her side, but this…this was more than simply running away. This was changing the course of her life.
Although, running away had been the catalyst that set this all in motion.
“I don’t know what to do,” she finally whispered, looking at him through watery lashes. For weeks—nay, several moons—this secret had been her own. Amidst all the worrying of Alec, she had also worried about how to handle bearing his child without letting her parents know, and what she would do when the time came to bring the bairn into the world.
Finally having someone beside her that knew?
It felt as if the weight of a hundred stones had been taken from her shoulders.
“Well,” he said with a chuckle tinged with concern, “who is the father?”
At that, tears really began to well in her eyes—tears of frustration, tears of fear. Tears of pain borne of keeping this secret from not only her family, but from Alec herself… She thought of how Alec and her had left things. How he could possibly go his whole life without knowing he had a son, or a daughter, and a woman who desperately loved him.
If she were a stronger woman in the face of her father, she would man up. She would throw back her shoulders, go to her father’s study, throw open the door, and then demand that he listen to her and not kill Alec McGregor when he found out what the two of them had done.
Really, that was her only reason for not coming forward, the fear that her father’s rage would reach an unquenchable height so forceful that he went straight to the McGregors keep and slew them all.
For that reason alone, she kept her head down and her secret to herself…until now.
Now, Connor would bring the death of the only man she had ever truly craved and…loved.
She swiped at her cheeks, hating that she couldn’t stop the tears.
“It’s no one,” she said, retreating. She turned her back on him, head bowed. “It’s no one, Connor.”
“Your name isn’t Mary and I know damn well you’re not a virgin, Blayne. Tell me who it is,” Connor demanded, a gentleness to his voice that nearly had her resolve swaying. “If they hurt you… You’re protected, lass. Your father will kill anyone who did this to you, no matter if they are friend or foe.”
Those weren’t the right words to say.
Covering her mouth to hold back a sob, she raced away from him, simultaneously hating him and terrified of him. If he found out who it was, regardless of whether she pleaded with him to keep it a secret or not, he wouldn’t.
“Blayne,” Connor called after her. She heard the curse, but didn’t stop. She just kept running, until she was in the warm glow of her stairwell, halfway to her room. The door fell away under hands when she pushed, and then she was inside.
She headed straight for her bed. The only source of silence and peace from the world, the stress, the people. As she slid between the sheets, the shawl still tucked securely around her body, she pressed her face into the pillow.
Blayne wished she could say the emotion spilled from her then. All of the tears she had tried to choke back, the tremors from the overwhelming anxiety… She wished it would all come out, but there was nothing.
Only silence.
Only mulling, damning silence.
And the silence lasted, right up until her mother came to let her know that Leith had arrived.