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 revenge.
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?
“I was coming to stop it,” he corrected. “I’d planned to object and kidnap the bride.” His gaze locked with hers. “To keep her for myself.”
She blinked back tears. “You don’t have to.” A laugh bubbled from the happiness spreading through her. “Although I might let you kidnap me anyway.”
A questioning but hopeful expression softened his features, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t move. As if afraid to break whatever fragile spell was weaving itself around them.
“You were right.” She drew strength from the sprig she clasped in her hand. “I was letting my family control my life. But that’s changed. From now on, I’m doing what I want.” Even from so far away, she felt him tense. “I’m not marrying Ewan, and not because you gave me Highburn.” She paused as the importance of this moment settled upon them, this moment that could change the rest of their lives. “But because he isn’t you.”
Unable to hold himself back another second, he rushed down the steps. She ran forward and threw herself into his embrace.
“I’m so sorry, Garrick.” She rose up on tiptoes and kissed him, not caring that they stood in the middle of the village. “Forgive me for ever doubting you.”
His eyes glistened as he shook his head. “I’m the one who needs to be forgiven. I almost lost our future because I was still clinging to the past. But no longer. I need you, Arabel, to show me how to move on. And if you can find it in your heart—” His voice faltered. “Perhaps you can love me again.”
“I never stopped loving you. Not once in all the years we were apart, not once since you returned to me.” She rested her palm against his cheek. “You are the only man I’ve ever loved, the only one I ever will.”
He lowered his head to capture her lips in a kiss filled with such tenderness yet such passion that her knees slacked beneath her, and she clung to him to keep from falling away. “Marry me, Arabel,” he enticed against her lips.
“Yes,” she breathed, her heart overflowing with love. “Oh yes!” With a teary laugh, she hugged him tightly. “Let’s elope before anything can come between us again.”
“Nothing is taking you away from me,” he promised, then glanced over her head at the church. He crooked a half-grin. “But coincidentally, we now have a church, soon to be filled with guests and a minister.”
Shaking her head adamantly, she fisted his lapels in her hands. “I won’t be married in there, not in a ceremony meant for another man.”
He tenderly tucked a curl behind her ear. “Fearing bad luck, are you?”
She smiled at the touch of brogue she heard in his voice. He was still all highlander, despite his English title. And he was still hers, now and forever. “Because you deserve better.”
Smiling, he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I have an idea . . .”
* * *
Garrick’s heart pounded joyfully as Arabel walked toward him through the heather. The hem of her pale green gown swirled through the blossoms. Voices of the gathered guests rose together in a hymn, the lilting sound carrying across the field. Her eyes found his, and a faint smile curled at her lips as she shyly lowered her gaze. Answering with his own smile, he touched the sprig pinned to his lapel.
“They never would have allowed this in England, you know,” Reeves said quietly, standing up with him as his best man.
His smile blossomed into a grin. “Then thank God I’m a highlander.”
She arrived at his side, and the minister joined their hands. They didn’t need a church. All they needed was God’s presence, each other, and the highlands stretching around them.
“We give thanks to God for the gift of marriage,” the minister announced. “And we ask for God’s grace that their marriage be enriched . . .”
Garrick couldn’t concentrate on the ceremony. He was lost beneath the glowing happiness on Arabel’s face and the warmth of her fingers resting in his. He nearly laughed at himself when the minister had to prompt him to speak his vows.
“In the presence of God and before these witnesses I, Garrick, give myself to you, Arabel, to be your husband, and take you now to be my wife.” He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss to her palm that sent a flurry of whispers through the guests and a beautiful blush into her cheeks. “I promise to love you, to be faithful and loyal to you, for as long as we live.”
She repeated the vows so softly that barely any sound came from her lips, but his heart heard every word, each one branding itself there forever.
The minister took the rings from Reeves and announced their significance, but neither of them needed that reminder. Not after ten years of searching to find each other again.
“Garrick,” she whispered, “I give you this ring as a symbol of all that we have promised, and all that we share.”
He repeated her words as he slipped his mother’s ring onto her hand, his eyes never leaving hers.
The minister announced, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
As a cheer went up from the guests, Garrick helped Arabel kneel in the heather for the blessing on their marriage.
Arabel wove her fingers through his, holding his hand tightly in both of hers. She kept her face lowered, hiding the tears he knew glistened in her eyes.
“You, my love,” he whispered hoarsely as he lowered his mouth to her ear. “Everything I am is because of you.”
When she raised her head to look at him, her lips parting with love, he kissed her, not caring how scandalous it was. Not caring that the minister froze with surprise in the middle of the blessing and a new round of whispers went up from the guests. He’d waited ten years to kiss his wife.
He wouldn’t wait a moment longer.