Page 45 of Only By Grace
Ronan’s chest tightened at their words, but he nodded slowly.
“She will heal in time. All we can do is love her and give her time to find her strength again.”
Lord Donnellan’s sharp gaze did not waver as he considered. Though his body had grown frail, the steel of his mind remainedunbroken. Ronan’s father studied his son for a long moment before speaking. “If Corlach truly seeks peace, it would be folly to refuse him. Both families have endured enough. I will pen a reply.”
The decision settled over the room like a quiet benediction. Ronan felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly, though he knew the road ahead would still be fraught with challenges.
“Who are these guests your mother mentioned? And what is this I hear about a young lady travelling with you?”
Ronan stiffened slightly but recovered quickly. “Miss Grace Whitford,” he said, his tone steady. “She accompanied me here under extraordinary circumstances through no fault of her own. She is the sister of Lady Westwood, Lady Rotham, and Mrs. Ashley Stuart, all of whose husbands you are acquainted with. The guests are her family come after her. We owe all of them—especially her—a debt of gratitude.”
Lord Donnellan’s brows lifted slightly, a flicker of interest passing over his face. “Indeed?”
Ronan hesitated, then began, his voice quiet but firm. “She risked herself to save Maeve. She entered Flynn’s home under the guise of seeking shelter, gaining access where I could not. She found Maeve and brought her out to safety, despite the great risk to herself. And when Flynn came after us and threatened me, she did not falter.” He did not mask his pride. “Her courage is remarkable.”
His mother, beside her husband, observed Ronan closely, a faint smile playing on her lips.
He glanced at her, a flicker of discomfort contorting his features, though he did not deny her the assumptions she was no doubt making. “She deserves the highest praise for what she has done. Without her, we might not have succeeded.”
Lord Donnellan leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the arms. “A lady of such character should be acknowledged. I should like to meet her, Ronan. It seems I owe her my thanks.”
Ronan inclined his head. “I will arrange it, Father. But for now, you must rest.”
His father waved a hand dismissively. “Do not coddle me, boy. I am frail, but I am not feeble. Go and see that this young woman is properly received.”
“Yes, Father.”
As he left the room, Ronan’s mind churned with conflicting emotions. He had spoken of Grace with truth, but in doing so, he had revealed more of his own thoughts than he had intended. Her presence with him last night had shifted something within him, though he could not yet name what that was.
As he walked through the quiet halls of his home, Ronan felt a glimmer of hope take root that the ghosts of the past might finally find peace. Perhaps the feud truly could end here, and with it, the cycle of pain that had defined so much of his heritage. And perhaps, just perhaps, the future held something brighter—something worth fighting for in a different way.
CHAPTER 16
When Grace awoke, daylight was filtering through the heavy curtains of her chambers, casting faint shadows across the carpet. For a moment, she lay wrapped in the warmth of the bed, but unwelcome thoughts began to intrude and, lest she give in to their power, she decided to rise and take a walk. She did not feel ready to face anyone—not yet. Something about the outdoors beckoned to her, a silent call from the cliffs she had glimpsed the day before.
With quiet determination, Grace dressed in a simple gown from her sister, and wrapped herself in a heavy cloak against the morning chill. Most of the household still slept, no doubt exhausted from their harrowing night and the emotions that had accompanied it. The silence gave her a sense of solitude, a small reprieve from facing others just yet.
As she made her way through the castle, her eyes drifted over the interior steeped in an ancient grandeur that spoke of its long and storied past. She passed through the great hall, which was flanked by roaring fires at either end to ward off the autumn draughts. The towering beams overhead, darkened with age, seemed to bow with the weight of centuries, and the tapestries along the walls hung still, reminding her of a similarscene the night before. She walked on, determined to move past the memory.
Now in the grey light of morning, she could see the outlines of crenellated towers and weathered walls. The very stones seemed alive with history, whispering tales of long-past battles and enduring resilience. She could almost imagine archers standing guard upon the walls, their arrows poised to repel marauding knights.
She moved towards the stone wall that bordered the courtyard, drawn by the rhythmic waves against the rocks below. She watched, mesmerized by the sight, as though the sea might provide answers or insight into her future. The waves surged and broke against the cliffs, sending sprays of white foam into the air before retreating once more.
What happens next?The question was omnipresent, because Grace did not feel at all like the same person who had left England just over a week ago.
How could she return to her old life as though nothing had changed? The events of the past days had stirred something within her. Strength, resolve, longing…but also unease. How could she return to the life she had left behind, to the quiet parlours and the staid expectations of Society? Three of her sisters were now married, their futures secured, and she was expected to follow the same path. Yet the thought filled her with a quiet dread. How could she be content again, knowing what she did now? Knowing how much more of life there was to be had?
She could no more transform herself into someone she was not than she could stop the tide that came in below. She would never be the loud, confident woman who charmed a room effortlessly. She was quiet and reflective, but she was also more than that. This journey had shown her a side of herself shehad not known existed—courage she had never thought herself capable of, strength she had not believed she possessed.
If it had not been for the strange twist of fate that had left her on Lord Carew’s ship, she might never have known this feeling—that of leaving, of stepping into something greater than the small world she had once inhabited.
For that, she ought to be grateful. And once her heart healed, perhaps she would be. Would Carew feel obligated to offer for her? The thought sent a pang through her chest. She didn’t think she could bear it. To be tied for life out of duty was a heavy burden to bear, both for the one who gave and the one who received. Yet she could not deny the spark of hope that flickered within her. Could there be more between them? Could he, in time, come to feel for her what she could not deny she already felt for him?
Grace knew he cared for her now—his actions had shown as much. He had shown her kindness, even tenderness, but was that enough? Was it any more than he would show a beloved sister? She shook her head, almost laughing bitterly at her own musings. She was no siren to tempt him into wild confessions of unending devotion. Grace knew herself too well to entertain such notions. Still, the question lingered: what came next? Would they simply leave this place, parting as though the events they had shared were merely like a storm passing in the night?
The injustice of it all formed a tight knot in her chest. She had so little control over her future, so little power to shape her own path. It made her want to scream, to rail against the constraints placed upon her by circumstance and Society. Instead, she closed her eyes, the sound of the sea filling her ears as she tried to quiet her thoughts.
“Grace! There you are!” A familiar voice broke through her reflections, and she turned to see Patience approaching, hercheeks pink from exertion. “I have been searching everywhere for you.”
