Page 21 of A Scottish Lord for Christmas
“I’m sorry, Quinn.”For leaving him and Blair alone. As she’d drawn her last breath, his heart had turned to stone. It was the only way to stop the bleeding he’d felt inside. It was as though the part of Maura he’d held in his heart had been cut out. The pain too great, his loss too deep.
And here I am, with another.Not once during the moment of passion he’d shared with Rowena had he thought of Maura. Had he betrayed her memory? The question went unanswered and it continued to echo inside him. He prayed that marrying Rowena was not a mistake. If it was, it was too late to undo. But how was he to go on? He needed to keep his distance. He could not let himself be lost to passion, not again, because if he did, he might come to love her. And if he lost her to illness or childbirth too…
Quinn shuddered, and it made Rowena stir restlessly beside him. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 8
Rowena knew the next morning that what little ground she’d gained in the battle for Quinn’s heart had been lost. Whatever he’d felt last night after their lovemaking, that mixture of melancholy and distance had returned. She’d woken to him already awake and dressed. He packed their bags with barely a word, and when a light breakfast was brought up, he did not even smile at her when she tried to smile at him.
Dressing in almost complete silence, she merely had to turn her back to him once and say his name in order for him to lace up her corset. He was quick and efficient this time, not like last night when he’d been gentle, slow, and seductive as he’d pulled the laces loose. He did not linger in his caresses or his attentions. She ate quickly and followed him to the waiting car, where a young man had loaded their luggage while she tried to ignore the ache in her chest.
What am I to do? Should I try to act normal? Yes, that would be best. He mustn’t see how much I am hurting.
“How long is the drive to Forres?” she asked as she tugged the heavy wool coat around her shoulders.
“Half a day. We should arrive there by early afternoon.” Quinn started the car and they were once more driving down the road.
Rowena gave up on conversation quickly. It was obvious from Quinn’s monosyllabic responses he didn’t wish to talk. She retrieved a book from her handbag, one of the few possessions she’d carried away from Pepperwirth Vale, and tried to read. She had been raised, along with Milly, to love reading, and normally it was easy to fall into a story’s narrative and become lost to the world. But not this day. The silence seemed ominous between them, growing only stronger as they sat inches apart in the car, and Rowena found that for the first time in a long time, she could not read a single word.
They made one stop in a tiny Scottish village a short way from Forres to refuel before finishing the journey home.
“Quinn, do you mind if I stretch my legs a bit?” Rowena asked.
Her husband made a gruff noise she took for acceptance. Tugging her coat tight and fluffing the fur stole around her neck, she wandered up the snow-covered streets of the tiny village. Snow crunched beneath her boots, and the weight of heavy clouds pressed down upon her. Her breath came out in soft white clouds that faded seconds later. Rowena followed the street up, pausing to admire hats in a shop window. She looked over her shoulder at Quinn, who was entering a tavern to get hot drinks.
The cold tugged at the long locks of her hair and nipped at her cheeks. Rowena hurried farther up the street until she came across a silversmith’s shop. Oil lamps lit the windows and an older woman with silver threaded through her light blond hair was polishing a set of spoons until sunlight glinted off them. She glanced up and saw Rowena, then waved her inside.
A small brass bell tinkled overhead as Rowena slipped inside the shop. The lamplight shined from the reflection of a dozen teapots and serving dishes.
“Escaping from the cold?” The woman’s brown eyes sparkled with warmth.
“Oh yes. My husband and I are driving through and we stopped to stretch our legs.”
“Newly married?” the woman guessed.
Flushing, Rowena nodded. “How could you tell?”
The shopkeeper chuckled and tapped her nose. “You have that fresh bride look, a little nervous, a little excited. Marriage lasts a long time, lassie; ’tis not a race but a journey. You will settle in.”
Rowena smiled, relaxing. “It isn’t at all what I expected,” she admitted.
The older woman’s eyes sharpened. “He’s not rough with you, is he?”
“No!” She waved her hands. “It’s that…well, he doesn’t love me. There was another, his first wife. She passed away a year ago. I thought, foolishly, I could win him over. I want to make him happy.” It was not the sort of thing she should confess to a stranger, but Rowena had never been good at hiding her heart. Milly used to tease her, saying she wore it pinned to her gown sleeve.
“What is your husband like?” The woman bustled around the counter, which contained several rings and a collection of small knives and watches. “Maybe you could get him a wee gift? Men do like a present now and then, just like us.”
“He’s very serious.” Rowena considered as she stepped closer to the glass counter, peering down at the items resting on a black velvet cloth.
“A serious man,” the woman mused. “What family does he hail from?”
“He hails from Forres, but his family name is MacCauley.” Rowena rested her head in one hand as she studied the set of daggers.
“MacCauley?” The woman across from her looked startled. “You mean to say you’re newly married to Quinn MacCauley?”
“Why, yes.” Her heart skipped a few beats. Did this shopkeeper know her husband?
“I know just the thing. Wait here.” The woman spun around and disappeared behind a blue curtain at the back of the shop. When she came back a moment later, she had something wrapped up in a slip of purple cloth. She set it on the counter and unrolled it. A slim dagger with a blade made of deer antler bone lay there. The blade had a crest carved into it. A pair of stag heads facing each other over a trio of stars.
