Page 49 of The Shadow of a Laird
“It was Maura,” he confessed. “She was an orphan herself, and ran a kind of facility in Carmalcolm, but it was ramshackle and infested with rats, and she had to sneak food from the tavern to the children. I want to build them something better.”
“I see,” Elspeth said evenly. “So you are making Maura’s dream come true.”
“You could put it that way,” Gavin replied, trying to sound nonchalant, “or you could say that she made a suggestion and I thought it was a good one, so I am making it happen.”
“And where will the funding come from?” Elspeth asked sharply.
“We will donate most of it, and we can raise some through charitable donations,” Gavin answered. “Unless you would rather not.”
Elspeth gave a somewhat cynical little laugh. “As your wife, I will answer to you.”
“You will not be my slave, Elspeth,” he replied, irritated.
“I will not be your wife either,” she said dully.
Gavin was stunned. “What do you mean?” he demanded. “Our marriage has been arranged. It has been for months—why are you talking like this?”
“And would you want to marry me if it had not been arranged?” she asked.
Gavin could find nothing to say for a moment. “ Our marriage may have been planned for us, it is going to happen. I am fond of ye.”
This time Elspeth laughed out loud, but it was not out of mirth; it was a scornful, wounded sound. “Fond of me?” she asked bitterly. “Thank you, Gavin, but I want more out of my marriage than fondness. I love you. I have loved you since as far back as I can remember, and I want your love in return. I will not settle for anything less, but your heart has been given to someone else, has it not?”
“No,” Gavin replied. “Of course not. I?—”
Elspeth held a hand up to silence him, and her eyes were blazing with fury. “Do not lie to me, Gavin. You may not be in love with me, but please do not insult my intelligence.” She paused to collect herself. “You are in love with Maura. I could see it when you looked at each other. I could feel it in the air around you. I told myself I was imagining things, but I’m not, am I? The truth this time, please!”
Gavin sighed deeply and dropped his gaze to his hands. He nodded slowly. “Yes, I am. I cannot tell you how sorry I am.” Then he looked up. “But I have faith that we could still make a marriage work.”
“Thank you for saying that, Gavin.” Elspeth’s voice had a depth of sadness in it that he had never heard before. “But we both know that is not true. I have always hoped to marry out of love, and I still want that. You clearly cannot give your whole heart to me, and I will not be satisfied with anything but a man’s true love.”
Gavin felt wretched because he had just broken a woman’s heart, and could do nothing about it. Even if he insisted on marrying her now, she would always know she was second best.
“There is something else,” Elspeth said, her voice surprisingly steady. “The agreement you and my father signed and swore to is dependent upon our marriage.”
“I intend to still keep my allegiance to the Jamiesons,” Gavin said stoutly. “Even if Laird Jamieson does not feel the same. He owes me nothing now, but I am still deeply in his debt.”
“Let me handle my father.” Elspeth sighed and her shoulders slumped. “I will have him sign another treaty. He will do whatever I ask.”
“Elspeth,” Gavin stood up and moved around the table to draw her to her feet. “There are not enough words to say how sorry I am. Forgive me if you can, but if not, I understand because I do not deserve to be forgiven.”
Elspeth sighed. “You cannot help who you fall in love with, Gavin. I do forgive you, and I wish you and Maura a long and happy life together.”
“I hope you find a worthier man to love,” he said as he looked down into her sad dark eyes. “Goodbye, Elspeth.”
“Goodbye, Gavin,” she replied, then left the room, leaving Gavin feeling like a monster.
The next morning, Elspeth was gone. Gavin watched her carriage until it was out of sight, then sighed and turned away from the window. Thank god there were accounts to do, tenants to visit, and another hundred tasks to attend to; hopefully work would keep his mind off his current state. He should have been over the moon with happiness, but he could not wallow in another person’s misery. In a few days, he would go to visit Maura; by then he would be able to smile again.
EPILOGUE
A week later…
Maura leaned on the kitchen windowsill looking out, then sighed. It was one of those rainy, misty grey days, for which the Scottish dialect had a wonderful word.
“It’s fair dreich today,” she remarked, with a sigh.
“It is,” Morag agreed, “an’ your face looks dreich as well, Maura. What is wrong, hen?”
