Chapter Seventeen

"Lachlan, the ceiling is leaking again!" Sputtering like a wet cat caught in a rainstorm, Brynne staggered out of bed, dragging the coverlet with her. The fire in the hearth had turned to ash overnight, the temperamental Highland winds were howling, and water was lashing at the windows–and pouring out of the ceiling–in a freezing spray of wet.

Shivering from head to toe, she cast her peacefully slumbering husband (who, she'd discovered during five months of marriage, would sleep through an earthquake if there were such things this far north), and went to retrieve a bucket from the closet down the hall.

Were she at Hawkridge Manor, she could have sent a servant for such a task. Of course, were she at Hawkridge, there wouldn't have been water waking her up in the middle of the night when any sensible person was tucked cozily in their beds, dreaming of warmer days soon to come.

But oh no.

Not her.

She was stumbling blindly through the dark, her teeth chattering with such force that she feared they were going to rattle right out of her skull. Managing to find the closet, she opened the door…and released a hiss of frustration when she discovered that she wasn't the first to go looking for a bucket to stem the flow of rain on this stormy eve.

Not surprising, given that nearly every room in the castle had some sort of hole in it. Holes made from mice (and other creatures she dared not think about), holes from rot, holes from the menagerie of feral siblings that had somehow slipped Lachlan's mind whenever he'd spoken about his family.

Four.

Four children under the age of fifteen trapped together beneath one (very leaky) roof.

Even now, she could hear Eara and Tavish, the twins, calling out, their thin, squalling wails louder than the booms of thunder that threatened to raze the already crumbling stone walls to the ground.

When it became apparent by the increasing fervor of their cries that the nursemaid was not going to attend them, Brynne gave a resigned sigh and took on the duty herself as she'd done nearly every night, in some capacity, ever since Lachlan's one-year-old brother and sister were unceremoniously dumped on their doorstep by his stepmother, Lady Heather, with a vague promise to "return quite soon". To Brynne's consternation, there'd been no sign of Heather for the past seven weeks. To the best of her knowledge, Lachlan's stepmother was "recovering" from the labors of childbirth at the steam pools in Bath with no sign of returning anytime soon.

"There, there," she said soothingly as she entered the nursery and lifted first Eara and then Tavish out of their cribs. The nursemaid was a useless lump of covers in the corner; her loud snores indicating that she was even more of a sound sleeper than Lachlan. "Let's make you some milk, shall we?"

She carried the twins down the winding stairs to the kitchen where she placed them into a round basket by the fire–which, thankfully, was still smoldering–and warmed cow's milk over the glowing embers before transferring it into two porcelain bubby pots.

Shaped like a traditional teapot with a slightly longer spout, the pots had a top that fastened securely in place and a spout that was sealed closed with the exception of three holes just large enough for liquid to dribble through. Ideally, the twins would be nursing at their mother's breast, but short of that–and with no wet nurse to be found–these were the next best thing.

Latching on to the spouts with all the ferocity of two starving hyena cubs, Eara and Tavish immediately ceased their cries, and Brynne sighed with relief as she sat down beside them in a pool of dimly flickering light and hugged her knees to her chest.

She'd wanted to be a bride, she reminded herself as a not-unfamiliar longing for the life she'd left behind began to creep up the back of her throat. A bride and a wife to the man she was in love with. The man she loved still, even though he was upstairs peacefully slumbering away while she was sitting on a cold, damp floor feeding his siblings. Siblings he'd neglected to tell her about until after they were married.

Ironically, despite their attachment to the witching hour, Eara and Tavish were the best behaved of the bunch. At least they didn't release snakes to slither in the hall, like Callum. Or sneak frogs into her pockets, like Blaine. Those two–thirteen and eleven years of age, respectively–were in a perpetual state of mischievousness. And Brynne found herself the target of their playful antics more often than not.

Yesterday, while playing swords at the table, they'd accidentally cut down the chandelier. The chandelier . It was a small miracle the room hadn't gone up in flames. Which, considering the state of the castle, might have been an improvement.

Through it all, Lachlan just chuckled and dismissed the behavior of his brothers as "lads being lads" while Brynne did her best to create some semblance of order and docility from the chaos. It was, to put it mildly, an uphill battle.

She'd wanted to be a bride.

Instead, she was a bride, and a mother, and a lady's maid, and a scullery maid, and a cook, and a wet nurse, and an amphibian keeper. All the while, her paints, which she'd had delivered from Hawkridge Manor in secret courtesy of a trusted maid, remained in a trunk, with her dreams of travel packed away right beside them.

There could be no seeing the world when she was quite literally responsible for the lives of four children whose mothers were either deceased or divorced or soaking in pools in Bath and whose father was too busy chasing skirts in London to be bothered.

But the worst part–even worse than being awoken by a deluge of icy water or changing foul-smelling nappies or finding slimy worms in her shoes–was the loneliness.

In a rambling castle filled with the bellowing war cries of infants and adolescent boys alike, more snakes than she cared to count, a skeleton staff of servants, and a husband, Brynne was lonely . The type of wrenching isolation she hadn't felt since she watched Weston's carriage leave for Eton.

At least then she'd had Lachlan. Only for two weeks, it was true. A blink of an eye for some, but what felt like an entire lifetime to a lost, lonely girl yearning for love and attention. And now she was married to him. Now they really did have an entire lifetime to spend together. But then why did she feel more alone than she ever had before?

Oh, the first month had been wonderful! A hazy blur of lovemaking and laughter and nearly ten years of longing to fulfill. Then somewhere along the way, the honeymoon–such as it was–had ended, and her new husband had taken to spending sunrise to sunset at the sight of his great-great-grandfather's distillery and its surrounding fields as he struggled to coax seedlings from fallow soil. Which left Brynne at the castle, tending to any manner of things, none of which her army of tutors and governesses had ever prepared her for.

She did not begrudge Lachlan chasing after his dream. She simply did not want it to come at the expense of her own. And as she returned Eara and Tavish safely to their cribs, she was unable to completely silence the little voice that reminded her if she wasn't here, she might be in Paris, sitting shoulder to shoulder with some of the greatest artists to ever yield a brush.

Instead, she was stuck in a wet castle yielding bubby pots.

"There ye are," Lachlan mumbled, rolling across the mattress to wrap his arms around her as she climbed back into their bed, careful to avoid the large puddle forming at the foot of it.

"The storm woke the twins." Evading his grabbing hands even as her blood began to heat, she sat up on her elbow and frowned at him in the darkness. "I really think we ought to see about hiring a new nursemaid. This one cannot do her job properly if she's asleep all the time."

Lachlan grunted. "Tavish and Eara need tae start learning how tae sleep through the night."

Easy for him to say, as he wasn't the one constantly being awoken by their cries.

"What they need is their mother," she corrected. "Has there been any word from Lady Heather on when she might return for them? Or your father, for that matter? They're his children as much as they are hers. I know you only mean to do well by all of your brothers and Eara, but–"

"Canna we discuss this in the morning?" Dipping his head, he took her nipple into his mouth through the thin fabric of her nightdress as his fingers skimmed beneath her hemline and along the inside of her quivering thigh to where her curls were slick with moisture.

"Lachlan…" she groaned, exasperation at his evasiveness warring with the sizzling licks of desire rapidly turning her flesh to flame.

"Aye?" he grinned, lifting his head for the fraction of an instant before he began to kiss his way down her navel and across her hip. As his tongue parted her curls and sipped the nectar within, she abandoned herself to the inevitable thrall of their passion.

Brynne had never partaken in opium, but if she ever did, she imagined it would be like this. A heavy velvet curtain falling around her, drowning out the noise of her doubts, and worries, and frustrations until the only thing left was pure, unadulterated pleasure.

This was what kept her from sinking.

This was what kept her nails dug into a board floating aimlessly amidst the waves.

She wasn't drowning.

Not yet.

But neither was she swimming.

And if she did dare to let go of that board…would she return to a ship that was on the brink of disappearing, or retreat to the safety of the shore?

When Brynne woke the next day, the rain had ceased and Lachlan was gone. She was pleasantly surprised by the first–it was spring in Scotland, when rain was as natural as breathing–but felt an ache of disappointment at the second…followed swiftly by a sharp twinge of guilt.

She didn't want to be selfish. Which she would be, if she required all of Lachlan's time to be lavished upon her. But surely she was allowed some of it. At least more than she'd been getting, which was an hour of blissful heat in the middle of the night…and a cold bed come morning.

She'd gone to the distillery. Seen the fields for herself. The vastness of them, and the difficulty of the task her husband had chosen to undertake. For that reason, she knew that his inattentiveness wasn't born of maliciousness, but rather distraction. Which, in some ways, made it worse. In ranking of importance, she was above food–there were times Lachlan hardly remembered to eat–and below barley seeds. But she hadn't come here to trade one type of loneliness for another. That wasn't the life promised to her. She and Lachlan were supposed to be partners . With no half of them greater or more important than the whole.

If she was going to be set aside on a shelf for the sake of convenience, she'd rather it be at Hawkridge Manor where at least the roof didn't leak and she could put her hands in her pockets without fear of encountering something furry or slimy.

Things needed to change. Things were going to change, she thought with a renewed sense of determination as she donned a practical cotton dress and sturdy leather shoes capable of withstanding the quagmire of mud that surrounded the castle. Because she was going to change them.

After she changed the twins' nappies, that is.

Something more than the weather had shifted over the past few weeks. Lachlan felt it as keenly as the wind in his hair and the loamy soil beneath his feet. While the air had gradually warmed and the trees had begun to bloom, a noticeable chill had overtaken the castle.

And it was emanating from Brynne.

Admittedly, the first five months of their marriage hadn't been nearly as easy nor carefree as he'd anticipated. With planting season upon him and the entire fate of the distillery hanging in the balance–if the barley and wheat didn't take, there'd be no grains to ferment to make whisky–he had practically been living in the small lodge on the other side of the hill. Trudging home at the end of a long day to eat, bathe, and collapse into bed beside a wife that was already sleeping.

Sometimes, he didn't even make it that far.

Then there was the state of Campbell Castle itself. When it was only him and his brothers, he'd known that the grand old lady was in need of repairs…but seeing the shock in Brynne's gaze as their carriage had rounded the turn and the full scope of the castle had come into view–leaning towers, cracked windows, entire sections of roof clumsily patched with cheap tin shingles–he'd been forced to open his eyes to the fact that a complete restoration was needed. Which he'd be able to afford…once the distillery turned a profit.

It was a vicious circle. The faster it spun, the further he and Brynne were pushed apart. Sometimes it seemed as if she was all the way back in London…or she was wishing that she was in London, which was even worse. Not that he blamed her. Why would she want to be here, in the mud and the muck, when she could be sailing about a ballroom without a care in the world?

In his desperate desire to have her, he hadn't fully stopped to consider what the devil he was going to do with her once he did. The truth…the hard, difficult, unavoidable truth…was that he should have waited. A year, two, even three, and he'd be able to provide her with the life she was accustomed to. The life she deserved . But he'd run when he should have walked, and there was nothing to be done about it now but to keeping moving.

Well, almost nothing.

"I sent a firmly worded letter tae me dear stepmother," he informed Brynne as they engaged in a rare walk together through the orchards that wrapped around the edge of the fields where he and a crew of lads from the village had finished planting another seven acres of barley just that morning. "She and me father will be here tae collect the hellions before the week is out, and take them tae Kintore Manor."

Rather like the state of the castle, he'd vastly underestimated the sheer wildness of his siblings. From Callum to baby Eara and every brother in between, they were no more housebroken than a litter of wolf pups. He'd believed he was doing them a service by letting them roam the grounds without rules or regulations to abide by, both of which he had despised when he was a boy, but it was clear they'd benefit from more structure than he was capable of providing them at Campbell Castle.

Brynne stopped short. "You're sending them away? All of them?"

Taking note of the faint hint of censure in her tone, Lachlan leaned against the gnarled trunk of an apple tree and lifted a brow. "I assumed ye would be pleased."

"While I do think children should be with their parents, I would have liked to be consulted." She crossed her arms. "This is something we should have decided together."

And here he thought he'd been doing her a favor. "They're me siblings."

"Yes, but we are a family. And while I will hardly miss finding snakes in my undergarments, this was a choice that I'd have liked to discuss with you before you made it for both of us."

"Ye're angry," he observed as she resumed walking, albeit with a noticeably stiffer gait.

"I am," she tossed over her shoulder.

"Why?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Because if I wanted important decisions to be made without anyone bothering to ask for my opinion, I would have remained in England!"

Ah, there it was.

He'd been waiting–no, expecting –this to happen.

It was only a matter of time.

Or so that little voice in the back of his head had whispered when shadows crept and owls cried. That it wouldn't be long before his bride began to yearn for the luxuries she'd left behind. That he'd never be able to give her what she needed to stay.

A piece of him had been preparing himself for this moment since Gretna Green. It was why, without fully realizing what he was doing or why he was doing it, he'd been keeping her at arm's length. Because you couldn't be hurt from losing what you didn't have.

And he did not have Brynne.

Not all of her, at any rate.

Six months of marriage and a part of her remained tied to the ton .

A tether waiting to reel her in.

A net ready to cushion her fall.

This wasn't a marriage to her, he thought with a surge of resentment. It was a bloody experiment. If it failed, she'd fly back into her gilded cage with nary a feather ruffled while he bled out on the ground.

And he had the means to prove it.

"Have ye written tae yer brother yet?" he snarled as anger filled him. Tangled up with his own shame, it pulsed hot and heavy through his veins, driving up his temper from a place of fear and desperation as his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched.

"I…" She gave a bewildered shake of her head. "What does he have to do with this?"

"Just answer the question, Bry. Have ye told Weston that we're married or not?"

"No," she said after a long pause. "Not yet, but–"

" Goddamnit ," he cursed, throwing his arms wide as he started to stalk away, only to whip around to confront her with glittering eyes and a bitter heart. "Was that yer plan all along, then? Tae have a laugh in Campbell Castle for a while, and then jaunt back tae Hawkridge when ye grew weary of playing the poor lady wife in a castle ye despise?"

Her hazel eyes widened. "What? How could you say such a thing? I didn't write to Weston because our wedding was too important to tell him about in a letter. And I don't despise Campbell Castle. I just…" Her hands lifted helplessly. "It isn't what I was expecting."

"Aye, I should have told ye there'd be no butlers tae wait on ye hand and foot." A part of Lachlan acknowledged that he was being a right brutish bastard. But that was the problem with shame. More than any other emotion, it twisted a person up inside. It made them defensive when they didn't even know what they were defending against. And it made them lash out when they'd be better served to retreat to their own corner until cooler heads prevailed. But there was no calm to be found here. Not when the woman he loved had all but admitted she was too embarrassed of him to tell anyone they were married.

Oh, not in so many words.

But silence, pauses, hesitations…they spoke volumes.

And it was past time he started listening.

"I can do without a butler," his wife snapped back, lifting her chin. "I am not helpless. If you hadn't noticed, while you've been gallivanting about your precious fields, I've been taking care of four children!"

"Gallivanting?" he repeated incredulously. " Gallivanting? I've worked meself intae the bluidy ground. For ye !"

It was all for her.

It was always for her.

And it cut–it sliced to the bone –that it wasn't enough.

That no matter what he did, she would always be Lady Brynne Weston, granddaughter of a duke…and he would be Lachlan Campbell, the second-born son of a man who'd inherited his title because some dobber fell off a ladder.

"Well ye dinna have tae bother yerself with the boys and the twins any longer," he said when her lips flattened and her gaze went to the tree beside him. "Me father will collect them tomorrow, and they'll go tae where they should have been tae begin with. Callum's soon for Eton, with Blaine not far behind. Lady Heather can manage the two little ones and the twins easy enough with a few nannies tae keep them from toddling off." His mouth hardened. "Then ye willna have tae concern yerself with them."

Brynne's eyes cut to his. "While I do believe their needs will be better met at Kintore Manor, sending them away is a decision that should have been made between the both of us."

He gave a snort. "Dinna pretend ye ever wanted them here."

"I won't lie and say I haven't been overwhelmed, but that is only because I don't know the faintest thing about being a mother to four children! If you had bothered to tell me how many there were, and that we hadn't the resources to afford a nanny or a governess–"

"Ye never would have come," he said flatly.

"That's…that's not true," she argued.

But all Lachlan heard was another hesitation.

"Then let's talk about what's true . The second ye saw the castle, ye wished ye had never married me. That's true, isna it? Aye, that's what I thought," he sneered when her cheeks pinkened.

"If you'd just told me the state of things–"

"And what was I tae say?" His shout was loud enough to startle a pair of nesting warblers. Chattering in disapproval, they swooped low overhead before disappearing further into the orchard. "Leave yer fancy manor tae live in a place that's a stiff breeze away from tumbling over?"

"At least I would have known to bring an extra bucket for rainy nights!" she cried. "How could you think so little of me? My love for you is not conditional , Lachlan. I would have followed you anywhere. To a castle in the Highlands, or a cottage by the sea. The destination was never important."

Would have.

Would have.

"Then why havena ye told yer brother, or anyone else for that matter, that we're married? I'm not a fool, Bry. I know that ye are ashamed of me. Ashamed of us ." Just speaking those words aloud caused a reddish flush to spread across the front of his chest and up his neck. He felt as if he were being boiled from the inside out, like a salmon tossed into a pot.

"That's a despicable thing to say, and hurts you as much as it does me." She stabbed her finger at him. "This winter has been difficult, I won't deny it. And the spring hasn't started off any better. I don't like fishing tadpoles out of my bath, or waking to sheets soaked through with rain. I don't know anyone in their right mind who would find pleasure in such things. But they were bearable because of you. Because of the vows we took and the love we were supposed to have for each other."

He wondered if Brynne was even aware that she was speaking in past tense.

" Supposed tae have?" Snatching her by the wrist, he yanked her against him. Their bodies collided and the sparks were immediate; a burst of fireworks shooting off across a dark and turbulent sky. But then, they'd never lacked for physical attraction. Perhaps he'd let the burn of it blind him to what he should have seen all along.

"I love ye with every fiber of me being," he said hoarsely while she stared at him in defiance. "With every breath I take. With everything that I am and hope tae ever be. It's not me love that is in doubt, Bry. So I'll ask ye this one last time, and then let it rest." His grip tightened. "Why have ye not told Weston that we're married? I dinna claim tae know everything, but I do know one thing, and it's that people dinna keep secrets out of pride."

She struggled for an instant and then subsided, her eyes flashing with brilliant shards of green as she tossed back her head to glare.

"Is this some–some sort of test ?" she exclaimed furiously.

Another non-answer.

Another evasion.

His shoulders slumped as his anger abated, leaving him empty and achingly hollow.

"Aye," he said heavily as he let her arm slip through his fingers. "And ye just failed."