Page 10 of The Defiance of a Scottish Heart
Sheona settled onto the stool, arranging wee Margret Ailis in her arms. The baby sighed in her sleep, one tiny fist escaping the plaid wrapping to flex against Sheona’s chest.
“Don’t you worry, wee one,” Sheona whispered, her throat tight. “Your mama will protect you from the ornery man. And so will I.”
She pressed her cheek against the baby’s impossibly soft skin, breathing in that sweet newborn scent that smelled of milk and hope and new beginnings.
Would Sheona ever have her own? She’d dreamed of it once—a wee lass with copper hair and bright blue eyes, like her Da. A boy with Taskill’s smile, his laugh, his gentle strength.
Impossible dreams. Foolish dreams.
The baby’s tiny hand found Sheona’s finger and gripped tight, the simple gesture somehow grounding. Life went on. Hearts broke and healed and broke again, and life just... went on.
“I loved him, you know,” she whispered to the sleeping bairn. “He could have been your uncle Taskill. Loved him since Iwas old enough to know what loving meant. But he doesn’t want me. Mayhap he never did.”
The wind carried her words away, out over the sea, where all the broken dreams went to die.
She’d been nine when she first realized Taskill MacVey was special. Not just another boy to play with, but someone who made the world brighter. Who understood her in a way no one else did. Who never made fun of her foolish questions and taught her to skip stones and never once told her she should act more like a lady.
At fourteen, she’d understood she loved him. Real love, the kind the bards sang about. The kind that made her heart race when he smiled at her. The kind that made her imagine a future—marriage, children, growing old together.
At fourteen, she’d lost him. One day at the water’s edge, one scolding from her mother, and everything had changed. He’d looked at her like a stranger. Walked away without a backward glance.
She’d waited five years for him to come back.
He never did.
And now, hearing it spoken aloud—he’s not interested—that was somehow worse than the silence. Worse than the distance. Because there was no ambiguity anymore. No room for hope.
He didn’t want her. Had never wanted her. And now everyone knew it.
A tear splashed onto baby Margret’s blanket. Then another. Sheona let them fall, too exhausted to hold them back anymore.
She’d never marry. That much was clear. Because Taskill MacVey was the only man she’d ever love, and he’d made it abundantly clear that the feeling wasn’t mutual.
So be it.
She’d rather spend her life alone than settle for someone who wasn’t him. Even if it meant watching from a distance as heeventually married someone else. Even if it meant dying an old maid with nothing but memories of what might have been.
And after what she’d found out about married life, she had to admit that it was probably for the best. She had no desire for that life. Even with Taskill.
Some losses you never recovered from.
Some wounds never healed.
The baby stirred in her arms, making soft mewling sounds. Sheona rocked gently, humming an old lullaby their mother used to sing. The one about the selkie who loved a mortal man but could never stay on land.
Another story about impossible love.
Another reminder that some things were never meant to be.
“I’ll be all right,” she whispered to the baby, to herself, to the wind. “I’ll survive this. I always do.”
But even as she said it, she wasn’t sure she believed it.
Because surviving wasn’t the same as living.
And she’d been merely surviving for five long years.
Chapter Three
