Chapter Seventeen

W illamina heard her name being called from afar, as if the caller was in a distant tunnel.

"Mina," Finlay called, his voice, laced with concern, was closer, clearer.

Opening her eyes, she saw his face above hers, his brow furrowed. "Mina," he said with a sigh of relief.

She looked around, and realized she was on the chaise in the salon of Warton House. Trying to sit up, she pushed off her elbows, but Finlay's hands were firm on her shoulders, keeping her down. "What happened?"

Finlay's eyes softened. "Ye took a wee break for a faint," he answered, trying to make light of the situation.

"Why d—" The question died on her lips as the events from earlier rushed back to her. She pushed Finlay's hands off her and sat up. "Gerard. He is alive?" She asked. "I-I dinna understand. He-he died."

Finlay shrugged. "I dinna have any answers for ye, lass. I have barred him from coming into this room. When ye are ready, we can work on getting the answers that ye seek. Here," he shoved a glass of whisky in her hands. "Drink this."

He did not have to tell her twice. She drank the amber liquid in one swallow, hissing as it made a burning path down her throat and into her chest.

Confusion muddled her brain. How was it possible? She had been told he had died. His body had never been recovered from the sea, but she had been told that was common. They'd had his funeral. She'd done her mourning period.

Someone pounded on the door and Finlay rushed to it, swinging it open. "What do ye want, Watson?" He growled, and Willamina found herself smiling at his defensiveness.

"Ye canna speak to me that way. I would watch your tongue if I were ye," Gerard snapped back.

Finlay planted his feet and crossed his arms as he glared at her husband. But, Finlay was her husband.

Oh God. She put her hand up to her forehead. She had two husbands. Did that make her a bigamist? Her breath quickened. What was she going to do?

"Ye need to step back. When Willamina is ready, and if, if , she wants to speak with ye, then we can have a conversation. Until then, ye would be wise to get the hell out of my sight."

Finlay moved to close the door.

"She's my wife."

As fast as lightning, Finlay spun around and poked his finger into Gerard's chest. Hard. Hard enough to push him back. "Nay," he sneered. "She is my wife. She ceased to be yours upon your supposed death."

Willamina fanned herself. The room was suddenly too hot even though the fire remained unlit. Her breaths were still coming in quick succession and she couldn't get them to slow.

Finlay slammed the door and joined her on the chaise lounge, pulling her into his arms and hugging her close.

She couldn't help it. Deep, wracking sobs broke from somewhere deep within her chest, and she buried her face in the lapels of his jacket.

He said nothing as his hands stroked up and down her back in a soothing motion.

She felt safe. Cared for. Dare she say loved ?

Never had anyone stood up for her like Finlay just had.

Not her parents. Her friends. And certainly not her formerly dead former husband.

But he wasn't her former husband now, was he? Och, she was so confused.

She choked out another sob, swiping at her eyes as she pulled away from the warmth and solace that Finlay offered.

She met his eyes, the usual ice-blue dark with concern.

"I dinna ken what to do. What happens now?" She spat, anger replacing the sorrow she was feeling just moments ago.

She pushed up from the chaise and began to pace the floor a few lengths, before turning back to Finlay. "He was dead. Dead !" She all but screamed, frustration getting the best of her. All of their plans. All of their ideas for how they would handle the future were thrown out with the bath water.

Aye, their marriage wasn't real. But it was starting to feel that way. Now, their union truly wasn't real. How could it be? Gerard still being alive would surely make any vows agreed upon between her and Finlay null and void.

She was devastated. Not because she wouldn't gain control of her assets. Her assets be damned. She was devastated because her marriage truly wasn't a marriage. Just when she had finally begun to accept the feelings that were starting to take hold for Finlay, it was all going to be ripped away from her.

Another thought entered her mind and she couldn't stop the gasp that escaped from her. What of Finlay's title? If they werena truly married, then he would no longer be earl. He would be ruined.

All because of her.

"I need to speak with him," she started to the door, but Finlay reached out, stopping her with his hand on her wrist.

"I dinna think ye should rush out there. Think about what ye want to ask him."

"Damn it, I want answers. I think I deserve that. I'm owed an answer as to why."

Finlay pressed his lips together and nodded, letting go of her wrist. "I understand and I agree. He owes ye that much at the verra least after what ye've been through. I just want ye to ensure that this is a conversation ye want to have this night."

Her eyes fell on the door before meeting his once again. "'Tis no' a conversation I would like to have—now or e'er really. But I must ken why." She couldn't explain the pull to Finlay. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess inside her head. But one thing was clear. She wanted answers.

Finlay must have realized that he wouldn't be able to dissuade her from confronting her bastard of a husband until a later time, so he opened the door and followed her out into the hall. "I am here, Mina. Whate'er ye need from me. Just say the word and 'tis yours."

She turned to him and did the one thing she had been dreaming about since before their wedding day—she wound her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss. A deep, soul-searching, earth-shattering kiss that had her toes curling in her travel boots. As his tongue found hers, her knees went weak, and if it were not for his arms wrapped around her waist holding her steady, she would have collapsed into a puddle on the floor.

Breaking the kiss, she licked her lips, and gave him a shy smile, the complete opposite of his which looked positively feral. His blue eyes burned hot and if it weren't for the pressing matter of questioning her previously dead husband, she would have grabbed Finlay's hand and pulled him into her bedchamber and happily given herself to him.

She drew a shaky breath and smoothed her skirts.

"Let us go talk to my husband."

"Hey," he caught her chin and forced her face to his. "Look at me," he demanded. When her eyes clashed with his, he said. "I am your husband. Me," he clasped her hand and brought it hard against his chest where his heart beat strong beneath her palm. "Only me. That bastard in there? We will figure it out. But it doesna change the fact that I am your husband."

*

Finlay spoke with such raw honesty that she could only nod in agreement.

"Say it," he commanded. "I want to hear ye say it."

She took a deep, shuddering breath and met his eyes. "Ye are my husband." The way her heart swelled when she whispered the words was unlike anything she had ever felt before. She smiled and the smile he gave her in return lit up the hall.

"Now, let's go find that bastard and get to the bottom of whate'er game 'tis he is playing." He offered her his arm and when she took it, he said, "Lead the way, wife ."

She couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled up, but quickly covered it up and put on a serious face. It would do her no good to confront Gerard in a light manner. When they were married and he treated her like muck on the bottom of his boot, she may have allowed it. But, since she'd met Finlay, she'd gained a new confidence in herself. He made her feel like she was someone.

They found Gerard in the library, a most peculiar place seeing how he had never much cared for the room or the books contained within.

"Willamina," he stood when they entered the room, but she stopped whatever he was going to say by putting her hand up in the air.

"Ye can sit, Gerard," she said, clasping her hands in front of her, trying to decide how best to broach whatever it was that brought them to this point. Deciding the best way would be to get straight to the point, she asked, "Why?"

Gerard had the audacity to look shocked by her question. "Does it matter now, love? Ye are home." He went to stand and Finlay jumped toward him.

"I suggest ye sit your arse in that chair and no' fucking move it."

Willamina dipped her head to hide her smile as she approached Finlay and, with a hand on her chest, gave him a slight shake of her head. She wanted to handle this on her own. Nay, she needed to handle this on her own.

She spun on Gerard. "First, dinna call me love. Ye ne'er did afore when we were married, and ye may no' do so now. Second, I am home. This home is mine. As so granted upon your death."

Gerard clucked his tongue and wagged his index finger at her, a sneer on his face. "See, that 'tis where ye are wrong. The estate went to your parents upon my death." He held up his hands to make the sign of quotes when he said the word death. "Then they died. Sorry," he said flatly, his voice lacking any sign of caring.

"Then, who knew ye had family outside of your parents? I fully expected the estate to go back to the state since ye couldna be the holder."

Her eyes narrowed. "What are ye saying? Ye faked your death so ye could wait for who knew how long and have the estate turned back o'er to ye?" She shook her head, not understanding his reasoning. "Ye had no idea how long that would be. Didna ken my parents would—" The sentence died on her lips as a morbid thought entered her mind. "Did ye kill my parents to regain your estate?" She couldn't help the rise of her voice. Her parents didn't treat her the best, and were always more worried about themselves than her, but she would never wish them ill will.

"Watch your tongue, Willamina. That is a serious accusation ye make."

Her hands fisted at her side. "Did ye?"

"Nay, but their," he paused and smirked, "untimely deaths did help move things along."

"Ye are a bastard."

He raised a brow in surprise. "It appears meek, little Willamina has found her voice while I have been away."

"Away? E'eryone thought ye were dead!"

He shrugged. "Right. But, alas, here I am." He held his arms out as if saying ‘look at me, I'm right here'. Standing, he put his hands up to stop Finlay's advance. "Easy. I've no plans to touch her. Or ye, for that matter."

"Why the ruse, then? None of this makes any sense to me."

His eyes slammed into hers. "Would ye be mad if I said I liked watching ye suffer?"

With the speed of lightning, Finlay had Gerard on the floor, his fists connecting with Gerard's face over and over again.

She screamed for him to stop. Pulled at his shoulders. Tried catching his fists. Not because she cared for Gerard. Nay. It was Finlay. He was who she fashed over. "Finlay!" She yelled one last time and finally broke through the all-encompassing rage pulsing through him.

He pushed off Gerard and stood, cranking his head from side to side as he reached for his handkerchief to wipe his hands.

From the floor, Gerard laughed as he sat up. He turned his head and spit blood. "Punch me all ye want, ye prick, at the end of the day, she is still my wife."

Willamina couldn't take any more. She pulled at Finlay's arm. "Let's go."

"Where?"

She shrugged. "I dinna ken, but we canna stay here."

They left the library, but not before Gerard got in the last word. "Ye can leave for the night, wife. But I expect your arse to be here first thing in the morning."

It took all of her strength to stop Finlay from running back into the library and finishing what he had started.

As they were leaving, she noticed a figure on the stairs and for the second time that night, she was shocked at what she saw.

There, looking at her with an evil smile on her face, arms crossed in front of her, stood the woman responsible for getting Willamina run out of Inverness.

Lady Esmerelda.

The fake medium that ruined her. She was working with Gerard?

Did she and Gerard both work together to ruin her?

Her sinister laughter echoed in the hallway as Willamina walked outside and slammed the door behind her.