Page 25 of The Lady in Pearls
She came up behind him, curled her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his back. He tensed but did not pull away.
“Tell me about him.”
After a long moment, he relaxed. The sigh that escaped him held a century of pain. “My brother was a good man,” Lachlan said, “but plagued with sorrow. All of his life, a shadow hung inside him. No matter how bright the day or how pretty the girl smiling at him, he never…” The words roughened in his voice and she held him tighter. “He never saw the good. You understand?”
“I do.” She rubbed his stomach with one hand. He reached up to take her hand and held it for a long moment. The simple connection seemed to root her, giving her hope that she could grow here beside him, two well-tended plants, twining their hearts together as plants would their roots.
“I never knew what to say to banish those clouds. I loved him fiercely, but my love was not enough.”
He thought his love wasn’t enough to save his brother? No wonder Lachlan and his mother suffered such pain. An accident was unexpected, but suicide… There was a helplessness to people who lost loved ones this way.
“What happened to him was not your fault,” she said. “Your love was enough, but sometimes sadness is too much to bear, and it comes from deep wells that are of no one’s making. It doesn’t mean they do not love, do not care.” She remembered all too clearly the young woman whose family had cared about her, but she too had taken her life by plunging into the Thames one night and perished. “Focus on hislife, not his death. Times when he knew and felt your love for him. Those are the memories you must burn into your heart. Only light can banish shadows.”
Only love can banish sorrow... Daphne held him, willing Lachlan to feel her heart speaking to his, to feel her love.I want to love you. Let me. Let me help you heal.
He turned to face her, but she didn’t let go. When he looked into her eyes, she saw a glimmer on his cheeks where tears had run down his face.
“You’re not at all what I expected. Not what I wanted,” he murmured as he cradled her face in his hands.
“Not what you wanted?” The words hurt, but he suddenly smiled, though it was tinged with melancholy.
“No, you’re farbetter. I don’t believe I will ever deserve to have you as my wife.”
She relaxed and smiled back. “Lucky for you, I’m bought and paid for. I’m all yours.”
His hoarse chuckle tickled her ears as he leaned down and placed a soft, lingering kiss upon her lips. With that kiss, she was pulled deeper into him, this beautiful wild Scotsman with his broken heart that called to her own. He kissed her slowly, wrapping her in his strength and warmth until every worry and every fear she had faded away. There was only this moment.
Tomorrow, this wonderful man will be my husband. Tomorrow...
Chapter Eight
Lachlan stood at the entrance to the church, his black breeches and black waistcoat accented with gold embroidery. A red and green tartan sash was pinned at his chest with his father’s brooch, which bore the Huntley seal. Beside him, Cameron stood unusually silent. A faint breeze rustled the dead leaves that were covered in frost, making the leaves look like shards of ice dancing between the tombstones when morning light illuminated them.
The castle’s coach arrived and stopped at the end of the cobblestone path that led to him and the church behind him. He held his breath as the coach door opened. Eliza and his mother emerged, both smiling broadly before they stepped aside.
From the darkness of the coach, a slender hand appeared on the frame of the door. Then a dainty foot in an elegant white shoe took its first step outside. His breath caught and his chest tightened. Daphne exited the coach, the fullness of her gown now filling the doorway. He swallowed hard as she stepped to the ground. The pale crème lace netting over the white skirts was old-fashioned, but the silver threading in the shape of swans on her pale blue bodice was exquisite.
His mother caught his eye and smiled again. He recognized the gown as his mother’s wedding dress.
Daphne looked like a fairy queen. Her dark hair, bronzed by the light, flashed with hints of auburn and gold. How had he not noticed that her hair was more than simply dark? Daphne lifted her head and their gazes locked. She reached up, her fingertips touching the pearls around her neck. Emotion flooded him, blinding him with an intense inner light and heat that stole his breath and stopped his heart.
The vulnerability in her gaze was overshadowed by a trust so deep he knew he could never hurt this woman,neverbetray her. Whatever his reasons for bidding on her that night at the marriage auction no longer mattered. She was to be his wife, his partner in life. He would seek her counsel, seek her love and support. It was what he always longed for, even as a foolish young lad. Love had always been his dream.
Now I have it, at a terrible cost.Indeed, had he not lost his brother, had he not been driven by vengeance, he never would have met her—and she, in turn, never would have saved him.I have been rewarded with a priceless prize.
Daphne lifted her skirt and started down the gravel path. The sun lit glints of silver on her gown so she glowed and sparkled like a gemstone. He’d never been one for angels and God, at least, in the literal sense, but in that moment, as he watched her approach, hebelievedin something better, something wondrous and endless. It made him feel small, yet connected to everything around him—the wind in the trees, the stones collecting moss by the road, even the chatter of the larks in the heather. For two long months, he’d barely lived, his grief so strong, it threatened to drown him. But seeing Daphne coming toward him, hope shining her eyes, he breathed again for the first time in ages. His gratitude, his affection for her, was overpowering.
When his bride reached him, he raised her hand to his lips and knelt on the ground on one knee, then bowed his head, sending a silent prayer to the heavens that he would never lose her, his precious pearl. All his anger, all his sorrow had been banished by her light.
“Lachlan, what are you doing?” Daphne asked in a confused whisper. He pressed her hand to his cheek before he finally let go and stood.
“I…” He had no words, no way to tell her what lay in his heart at this moment.
“Forgive him, Miss Westfall,” Cameron chuckled. “He seems to have swallowed his tongue.”
“Aye, I have,” he agreed with a smile and held out his arm to her. They entered the church together, the stained glass lighting up the pews with brilliant splashes of color.
The vicar, Mr. McKenzie, waited for them at the altar. Eliza and Cameron flanked them as the priest began his speech. Lachlan spoke his vows and stared at Daphne, smiling as they swore to love, honor and cherish each other until the day death parted them. The priest then pressed her right wrist against Lachlan’s, and wound a plain white cloth around their hands. It was an old handfasting custom. Lachlan saw Daphne’s puzzlement and fought off a chuckle. Then the priest spoke in Gaelic, and, in quiet whispers, Lachlan translated for her, “Two souls made one, two hearts made one. Let none tear asunder what the heavens have brought together.”
