Page 49 of His Scottish Duchess

“Thank you, Lord Spranklin,” he said, turning to his father-in-law with a sincere look. “And thank you for accepting my invitation, for allowing your family to visit Rosehall. It has been a pleasure, having you in my estate.”

He found himself genuinely enjoying the lively chaos that the Lennoxes had brought to his usually quiet estate.

Fergus waved off his gratitude with a calm, almost regal gesture.

“Think nothing of it, Yer Grace. The pleasure, as I said, is entirely ours. And if I may be permitted a moment of frankness,” he continued, his green eyes meeting Sampson’s, holding a shrewd intelligence.

“It is I who should be expressing my deepest gratitude. Nae only for so readily accepting Catherine in place of the considerable debt—a compromise that, I confess, eased a familial burden that had been weighing heavily upon us—but also, and perhaps more importantly, for the genuine care and consideration ye have shown my daughter. It is evident to us all that ye value her well-being and that ye truly wish to see her happy. And that is all I hoped for when I offered her hand in marriage.”

Sampson considered Fergus’s words, the weight of their agreement settling upon him for a moment.

“Taking Catherine as a wife was indeed a pragmatic compromise, a solution that served the immediate needs of both our families,” he admitted, his gaze flicking back to Catherine as she patted a slightly crestfallen Graham on the shoulder. “But I would be disingenuous if I claimed that having her as my wife has not… served me well in ways that I did not initially anticipate.”

It was unusual for him to be this frank, but he couldn’t deny that her presence had undeniably brought a light and a warmth into the often-stark halls of Rosehall, a vibrancy that he hadn’t even realized he was missing until it was there.

Fergus’s eyes held a keenness, a father’s watchful scrutiny, as he observed Sampson’s soft gaze. “I sincerely hope ye are happy together, Yer Grace,” he said, his tone earnest and carrying a genuine paternal concern. “Even if it was a marriage born out of necessity rather than affection.”

Sampson had never truly given much thought to the elusive concept of happiness in marriage, at least not when it came to his own marriage. His expectations had been largely pragmatic, focused on duty, lineage, and the smooth operation of his estate. But as his gaze lingered on Catherine, on the genuine joy that radiated from her as she laughed with her siblings, a feeling he couldn’t quite name stirred within him.

He heard himself say, with a surprising conviction that caught him off guard, “I hope so as well, Lord Spranklin. I truly do.”

The words hung in the air between them, carrying with them the realization that perhaps something deeper than obligation was beginning to blossom in his marriage.

The idea felt foreign, as Sampson had lived his life drawing clear boundaries for all of his relationships. Everyone he had come across had a certain role he expected them to fulfill, and once the exchange was over, he preferred for them to go their separate ways.

And it was a little disconcerting, how there seemed to be more possibilities in his marriage—what was meant to be a means to grow his business now had his heart twisting in different ways.

And Sampson disliked it.

Later that night, the dramatic sounds of the Lennox family finally subsided, replaced by the deep, pervasive silence that often settled over Rosehall in the late hours.

Sampson lay in his bed, the darkness a heavy blanket around him, when he was suddenly jolted awake. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the terror that still clung to the edges of his consciousness. Cold sweat slicked his skin, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

The nightmare. It had returned, as it always did, a relentless tormentor that haunted the edges of his nights, depriving him of wholesome rest. The images were always a blend of vivid and vague memories, refusing to fade. He could never shrug off the first images of him sitting in the dark on his bed, trying his best to catch his breath after being suffocated. The terror grew as he realized he was all alone in his room, and then the space around him morphed into a dock.

There, he stood face to face with a man he knew far too intimately to believe was the cause of his pain, his face contorted into a mask of childish fury, a rage that had held a terrifying, deadly intent. Again, Sampson felt the icy grip of panic, the primal instinct for survival screaming in his veins.

“This is all your fault. You did this to us both.”

The words echoed as the arm around his neck tightened and he fought to draw air into his lungs. The desperate struggle that hadensued played out in his mind with brutal clarity—the flailing limbs, the painful groans, the sickening, unmistakable crack of bone that had brought the horrifying encounter to an abrupt and irreversible end.

Even now, years later, the guilt, the trauma, and the crushing weight of that tragedy remained an unshakable burden, a dark secret that poisoned his sleep and cast long shadows over his waking hours. He sat up abruptly, the silence of the room amplifying the frantic rhythm of his heart.

Once more, sleep became a distant, unattainable fantasy, a battlefield perpetually haunted by the ghosts of his past. He often found himself trapped in this nocturnal hellscape, staring into the seemingly endless blackness of the night outside his window, replaying the horrific events in an endless, agonizing loop.

Just as he was beginning to succumb to the suffocating grip of his memories, a soft, hesitant knock sounded at his door.

Sampson blinked, disoriented, his thoughts reluctantly returning to the present.

“Who is it?” he called out, his voice quivering, betraying the fear that still coursed through him.

“It’s Catherine,” her soft, gentle voice replied from the other side of the heavy oak door.

Sampson’s breath hitched in his throat.

Catherine.

He was too exhausted, too emotionally raw to even attempt to conjure his usual flippant, teasing demeanor. She seemed to take his silence as permission to come in, so she opened the door.

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