Chapter 24
Morning light spilled in through the tall windows and over the great bed. It flickered over her eyes and she blinked awake.
Her body felt deliciously used, but her soul felt far more delicate. She curled onto her side and realized she was alone.
No doubt, he had been needed quite early at the House of Lords.
Christmas was almost upon them and, today, she and Abbot would supervise the decorating of the house.
She quite liked Christmas. It had always been a merry holiday in Scotland but, this year, she had a feeling that it would be. . . very different and not quite so jolly as her years as a child.
She gripped the sheets, willing herself not to regret the choices she had made.
The night had not gone at all as expected.
Perhaps, she should have said nothing. Asked nothing.
But that wasn’t who she was. It never would be. No, she could not regret being true to herself. It was better that her husband knew how she felt.
Now, somehow, she had to learn to accept that she loved a man who spent a good deal of his life in the shadows, serving others. And he always would. She’d never truly thought about what it would be like to be married to a man with such power. A man who truly did run the country and who would have to keep a vast deal from her.
But she did know that all he did was for the good of others. And that was something to be proud of, even if it did leave her feeling lonely.
It was part of the reason she loved him, of course.
Yet, in addition to the loneliness, she could not ignore a hollow feeling where she had hoped to feel full.
Diana drew in a breath and pushed the thick counterpane back. She shivered as the cold, December air wrapped about her night rail-clad body.
There was nothing for it but to hope and keep on. It certainly wasn’t what she’d longed for, the distance between them that came with his secrets. But nor would she wail like a spoiled child denied a toy.
Her husband was a great man who helped people. She couldn’t deny him that. It was who he was, who he had always been. She kept repeating this to herself, determined to let it soothe her.
She’d known that when she’d married him and she’d known it when she’d declared her love for him.
A floorboard creaked and she sighed. “I’m here, Nellie. Come and help me dress.”
“No’ Nellie, lass.”
Hamish’s voice hissed through the room like a scythe during the summer reaping. Quiet yet lethal.
Every part of her body tensed with awareness and terror. It was so strange the way the world slowed. And her heart was suddenly leaping up towards her throat.
Oh so slowly, she turned to face him.
Her brother lingered in the shadows near the servants’ stair. In a few short weeks, he’d lost weight. Gaunt, purple streaks stained his eyes. His face was drawn.
“Hello, Hamish,” she said, barely able to find her voice.
“Sister.”
She wrapped her arms about herself, lest she begin to shiver. She did not wish him to think she was afraid, even if she was. “Why are ye here?”
“I thought it would be rather obvious,” Hamish bit out.
Her brother lifted his hand into sight. The barrel of the small pistol shone in the early light.
She stared at it for several moments, sucking in air, desperate to retain her reason. If she panicked, surely she was dead.
“Killing me now will gain ye nothing,” she tried to protest reasonably, even as sharp panic rushed through her.
“Nothing?” he countered. “I canna agree, Diana.”
“My money will go to my husband,” she reminded softly. “No’ to ye.”
A cold smile pulled at his lips. “Och, aye and dinna I ken it. I’m well and truly ruined. But there is something to be gained in this moment.” He narrowed his eyes and said roughly, “Satisfaction.”
“Satisfaction?” she echoed, not daring to truly understand the meaning of his words. She could not face them.
“Ye’ve ruined my life,” he ground out with surprising quietness. “Perhaps, if I take yers, I’ll feel a might better.”
She licked her lips, “Hamish—”
“There’s nothing ye can say that will change my mind,” he gritted, lifting the pistol.
She searched inside herself for anything. Anything which might provide her more time or to help him change his mind.
“Tell me,” she urged. “Why do ye hate me so verra much?”
“Ye took everything from me,” he hissed. “Everything.”
There it was again. A frantic jealousy that clearly rotted his blood.
“Hamish, I’m so verra sorry,” she said earnestly. “It was no’ my intent to hurt ye or take anything from ye.”
He snorted. “Ye and yer perfect ways. Always pleasing Mother and Father. Ye never made mistakes, making mine only all the more evident.”
His pain was raw and vicious. He believed every word he said. “Hamish—”
“Shut yer mouth, Sister,” he cut in, without raising his voice. “Ye canna wheedle me as ye did them. I tried to explain to them. That I loved them. That I was sorry. They said they forgave me, but I saw the way they looked at me. . .”
Hamish grimaced, as though taking a bitter draught. “And the way they looked at ye. They loved ye best. They trusted ye. I was their son. Their heir. But they chose ye. They would have given ye the title, too, if they could have.”
Diana didn’t argue, because she doubted he was wrong in that last claim. Her parents had despaired at Hamish’s ways by the end.
And it seemed for very good reason.
Her heart ached with how he had so deteriorated. How his brain had turned to such tragic and hate-filled thoughts. For though, yes, their parents had been disappointed in his deeds, they had never stopped hoping he would change. They’d never stopped loving him.
“Hamish,” she began, desperate. “Brother, ye dinna have to do this.”
“No, I dinna,” he replied evenly, but the wildness in his eyes belied his calmness. “I wish to.”
To her horror, tears filled Hamish’s eyes.
“How could ye have married him?” he pled. “Ye ruined everything. Everything.”
Yes, it was there in his eyes. Madness. He truly had convinced himself she was the reason for all his misery.
He cocked the pistol.
There was no time now. No chance to convince him. She had but moments. She had to act for she would not be killed like a lamb at the slaughter.
Diana leapt from the bed, darting towards him. Her only chance was to disarm him. It was impossible to escape his presence. But if she confronted him, perhaps he would hesitate.
But just as she did her best to dash from his aim, he swung the pistol and fired.
The lead ball punctured her body and she froze.
She blinked, frowning at the strange, horrific sensation in her chest.
Surely, he had not killed her?
Surely, she wouldn’t die now?
Hamish’s pale gaze widened and instead of triumph, horror filled his gaze.
He ran from the room. His wild exit into the servant’s corridor was the last thing she saw before she swayed and hit the ground.
The room spun and agony burned through her chest.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to be strong. Willing herself to hold on. She would not die alone. She would not die. . . she would not. . .