Page 73 of A Highland Bride Taken
Mabel lifted her eyes to see that the boys had indeed fallen asleep. Her husband watched her with a small smile.
She had been lost in thought and drifting off, lulled by his voice, so she hadn’t even realized when he had stopped reading.
She rose, shaking her head and moving to his side.
The boys were sound asleep against him, his arms hanging awkwardly like pillows.
“I am awake,” she murmured. “Just lost in thought.”
“Will ye share them with me?” he asked, and she nodded.
“We should take the boys to their chambers first,” she suggested, moving to pick up one of the boys. “I dinnae think either of ye are comfortable.”
He nodded his gratitude, and they walked side by side to the boys’ chambers. The silence between them was pregnant with many things yet to be said, but neither moved to speak first.
The Laird laid Connor on the bed first and made room before taking Ollie from her arms and tucking him in beside his brother. The red mark had yet to fade from the boy’s cheeks.
Mabel would always hate how she had failed to protect him.
The Laird had praised her for her efforts, but it had not been enough to keep them from harm.
She saw his hands curl into fists at his sides as he looked down at the sleeping boy and knew he was feeling the same. The rage he had been hiding was bubbling to the surface, but she did not want him to wake up the boys.
She moved to his side, taking his hand to draw his eyes to her, and nodded her understanding. She led him to her chamber, and once they were alone, she turned to him with a ready apology.
“I am sorry I failed to stop him from hurting Ollie,” she said quickly. “I should have kept them away from him, but…”
Her words faded when he pulled her into his arms and dipped his head to rest his chin on her head.
The action had her stiffening in surprise and then sighing into him as tears pooled in her eyes. She wrapped her arms aroundhis waist and rested her head against his chest, letting his steady heartbeat soothe her.
Soon, she was sobbing, and he rubbed soothing strokes on her back that made her sob even harder.
“I dinnae blame ye, wife,” he whispered into her hair. “I ken ye were frightened, but ye protected them as best as ye could. I am nae upset with ye. I shouldnae have left ye alone, unprotected. If anyone is to blame, ‘tis me.”
“I dinnae blame ye,” she mumbled against his chest. “‘Tis just?—”
“Hush, wife. Ye worry for naught.” He sighed. “The boys are well. ‘Tis all that matters.”
She sobbed until she felt the weight of self-deprecation lift off her chest and wiped her eyes. She looked up at him and noticed the sad look on his face.
“I’m sorry, I?—”
“Ye apologize too much, wife.” He smiled. “Ye should sleep. Ye have had a long day.”
“I willnae be able to,” she answered honestly. “I worry for ye.”
“But I am well,” he reassured her.
“Indeed, but ye are still upset with yer grandfaither,” she persisted. “Ye are angry with him for the way he treated us today, but I feel ye are angry about more than today.”
She noted how he stiffened at her question, but she didn’t want him to hide any longer. He was burdened by the weight of his past, and the only way she could help him was to make him share his burdens with her.
“Why have ye never mentioned him, and why was he nae at the wedding?” she probed. “If he is the only family ye have left, why arenae ye close?”
He looked away from her for a moment and took a step backward.
Had she asked the wrong question?
