He went to the stables, and as soon as he had a horse saddled, he rode away, leaving the castle and his bleeding heart far behind him.
Lydia stared at the open doorway where Brodie had gone. A dull headache crept behind her eyes as she finally but unwillingly accepted that her time with Brodie was over. That the man she loved had not only walked away but in fact rode away as fast as he could.
She had run after him, but only as far as the tall oak doors. She had stopped there, stilled by an invisible force as she watched him flee. She wasn’t a fool. She knew why he had left. He was too good of a shot to miss her father, and if he refused to fire, her father would most likely kill him. So he had done the only thing he could and left. She understood, she truly did, but it didn’t mean that her heart hadn’t shattered at his abandonment.
“Lydia?” Her father put a hand on her shoulder. She tore her eyes away from the Scottish landscape.
“Yes, Papa?”
“Forget him. It’s time we both go home. Once the coach arrives with Jane, we’ll go home to Bath. Jane has already been engaging people to help explain your absence from Bath. Your reputation may yet be intact.”
She let him escort her into the drawing room, where he once again recounted his adventure with Jane and how after they had married, they had met up with Brock and Ashton on the road to the Isle of Skye. As Brock and Ashton’s wives were both pregnant, the women had waited to take a coach with Jane, which was meant to arrive in a few hours.
“I’m happy for you, Papa,” Lydia said, and she meant it. To have Jane as a mother would be wonderful. It meant Lysandra would be her sister, and all those charming Russells would be her protective brothers-in-law. But the joy she wished she could feel right now was impossible.
Portia joined her sister on the settee, while their father was momentarily distracted speaking to Brock. She reached over and clasped one of her hands.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Portia whispered.
“Know what?”
“That you fell in love with him. Heavens, I nearly shot the man.”
Lydia did not deny it. What point was there now?
“How did it happen?” Portia asked. “How did you fall in love with him?” The interest in her little sister’s eyes was unexpected. “It’s just . . . I keep hoping to fall in love. I was so certain that if I willed it in my head, my heart would follow. It’s been frustrating to find that I cannot do that. I thought I could make Brodie love me if he but stayed with me awhile, if he but kissed me . . .” Her sister’s tone was tinged with desperation and confusion, enough so that much of Lydia’s anger at her sister’s foolish actions eased.
“You cannot make love out of nothing. It cannot be forced or willed into being,” Lydia replied softly. “It comes on slowly, without one noticing. And when you do realize it, the feeling hits you like lightning. When I first saw Brodie at the ball, I thought he was the most handsome man I had ever seen, but I knew he was not meant for the likes of me. It was only after he took me north that things changed. Our anger with each other softened, and little by little as we got to know each other, I eventually realized I was in love with him.”
She looked at her sister. “Love is not a splendid, wondrous thing, dear sister. It is a broken heart, a wrenching sob, a collection of dreams fading before your eyes. Pray that you never know love, Portia. I would not wish this fate upon anyone.”
Her own words caused such pain that she could not stand to sit there and pretend to be fine, even amongst her family and friends.
Lydia rose from the settee and left the drawing room for her bedchamber. She threw herself onto the bed, unable to stop the sobs that came. She jolted as something grazed against her arm. She lifted her head and saw Aiden’s pine marten watching her. It nuzzled her arm, and she reached out hesitantly to touch it, and it rubbed its cheek against her fingers.
A quiet exhaustion stole through Lydia as she lay there. She could feel her hopes and dreams fading into dust as the sunlight