Chapter 18

18

" L et's go."

She stood with two horses, both saddled and ready for a ride. A stableboy stood with her, letting one of the horses nuzzle his hand as she sniffed him.

"Where are we going?" Alasdair asked. He remembered their first long ride from the orphanage to O'Malley Castle. He had walked with Charlotte's horse at his side, their legs brushing against one another when the animals got too close. How far they had come since that first journey.

"You'll see," she said. "And don't worry. I told Hayden we're going for a ride. He won't let Ben and Orlaith out of his sight."

Charlotte mounted her horse with ease and looked down at Alasdair with an expectant look on her face. Alasdair's curiosity won out, and he stepped to the other horse, expertly mounting even though he still had one arm out of use. He heard Charlotte click her tongue to urge the mare forward, and his own horse lurched forward, following his friend.

"Ye willnae tell me where we're headed?" he asked as they began down the path that led away from the castle. Within minutes, they were headed down a sun-dappled path, the trees overhead providing a canopy from the strong sun. "How do I ken ye willnae get us lost?"

"Orlaith gave me directions," she replied.

"That doesnae inspire confidence," he chuckled, but he didn't protest. He was too content, riding quietly beside Charlotte.

They settled into a quiet walk. The gentle rocking of the horse below him and the breeze on the air relaxed Alasdair, and he realized how much tension he had been holding in his body since the fight with the cloaked men. He comforted himself with the idea Ben had Orlaith and Hayden to watch over him.

"Do you remember when I told you about being a nun?"

He was surprised to hear Charlotte's voice emerge among the rustling leaves and the crunch of the horses' hooves underfoot. He looked over, and Charlotte gave him a small smile.

"I told you that I revoked my vows."

"I remember," he said. It was on the same journey he had thought about earlier when the small group had set out to cross the border from England to Scotland. "But why are ye bringing it up now?"

"My father was a farmer," Charlotte said. She cast her eyes forward, looking out to the path in front of them. "With too many children to feed. Well… too many daughters."

He hadn't heard anything about Charlotte's family. In fact, he had assumed she didn't have any. As a woman who ran an orphanage, Alasdair thought the fate of those children mirrored her own. An orphan raised in the church, who decided to stay in the only home she had ever known by becoming a nun. But this story was very different from what he expected.

"We all slept in the same, crowded bed, and we would hear our parents talking long into the night. They talked of hiring out the boys for work or marrying off my older sisters even though the twins were barely thirteen. One time, they spoke of sending me to a local lord to become a kitchen maid. I was only nine."

"How awful," he said. He couldn't imagine sending Ben away to work for a laird, no matter how many mouths he had to feed.

"They thought they were good at hiding these conversations, but we all knew. And my siblings and I lived in terror, wondering if we would be sent away. And so, I volunteered. I had read about a girl who became a nun. It sounded nice. Certainly, it sounded better than working in a hot kitchen all day."

"Ye were nine." There was awe in his voice, a deep respect for her sacrifice as such a young child.

"Yes. I was younger than most novitiates. But my mother showed up at the monastery and told them she wouldn't take me back. So, I stayed with the nuns for a time until I could officially take vows."

"It was brave of ye."

He saw Charlotte shrug, brushing aside the compliment.

"I was always religious. I thought it might be my calling."

Charlotte turned her horse so it walked closer to Alasdair's, their legs nearly touching as she guided him down a path he could barely make out among the brush. They had to walk single file as their horses trampled vines and brush that were creeping across the path.

"Ye are trying to get us lost," Alasdair cried out to her, watching the gentle sway of Charlotte's shoulders as the horse walked her forward. She looked back over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at him.

"Just wait," she said.

It was only a few yards before the path opened up, releasing the claustrophobic feeling of the branches that pressed down on them. Instead, Alasdair saw an open expanse of sky up ahead and then, as his horse stepped out next to Charlotte's, the pristine blue of a lake stretching across the horizon.

"I forgot about this place," he said, letting his eyes stretch from shore to shore. He watched birds fly across the water, a few dipping down to grasp the bugs or scraps of food they detected on the water's surface.

"Orlaith said it's her little secret," Charlotte smiled. "A quiet place she comes to think."

Charlotte dismounted and tied her horse to the closest tree, and Alasdair followed suit. He watched her lay a hand on the mare's nose, a silent thank you, before walking down to the beach.

"Do ye still talk to yer family?" Alasdair asked, and Charlotte felt his presence at her shoulder.

"Not much," she admitted. It was hard to think of them, those small siblings who had gotten her through nights of hunger and cold in their small farmhouse. "But I kept in touch through letters for a time. I told them about life at the monastery. Every detail, except for one."

She waited for Alasdair to ask her about this, but he was quiet. When she looked over, she found his eyes on her face, looking for an answer.

"I kept the worst from them. The Mother Abbess was a twisted woman, married to cruelty more than God. She enjoyed tormenting us, and the youngest often had it the worst."

Alasdair squinted at her, a gentle crease forming on his brow.

"I'm sorry, Charlotte," he said. She turned to face him, pushing aside her sadness about the past. She wasn't telling him this to dwell on those difficult memories.

"There's a reason I'm telling you this," she said. "The woman was horrible. I even helped Molly escape from her torments. But even though this torture took up so much of my life, I never told my family." She watched for understanding, and slowly, she saw something dawning on him. She hoped Alasdair was connecting her story to his own life and to Ben.

"Why didn't ye tell yer family about the woman?" he asked. His voice was tentative, as if he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

"I didn't want to hurt them," she said simply. "I was old enough to know it would break their hearts if they knew they had sent me to such a place, so I stayed quiet. It was much better they thought I was living a wonderful life."

Charlotte turned and began walking along the water's edge. She had brought up this story in the hopes it would make Alasdair feel better about his own son and the secret he was hiding. but she should have known any mention of the Abbess and that time in her life would bring up painful emotions. She needed to move, desperate to feel how healthy and solid her body was now, in contrast to then.

"Ye think Ben is hiding the truth to protect me ?" Alasdair rushed after her, taking long steps through the soft sand of the beach. When he caught up to her, his injured arm nearly brushing against her own, she turned to him.

"I'm sure of it."

He had never considered it. All this time, he thought Ben was afraid to talk to him. He thought Ben blamed him for what happened. He had never considered that his sweet boy was trying to protect Alasdair. He strolled beside Charlotte in silence, taking a path around the beautiful lake as the sun glinted across the water.

He thought about Charlotte's story, and the calm and confident way she had told him about such horrible things from her past. It made Alasdair want to share something, too. This woman had been open with him as she tried to explain Ben's behavior. She had caused herself pain to make Alasdair feel better. Shouldn't he try to reciprocate?

"I never thought he would try to protect me from knowing his pain , " Alasdair said as memories of that night began to flood back to me.

"Why not?" Charlotte asked. "He is his father's son, after all."

"But I didn't protect him," he said. "I tried, but I was too late."

"What happened?" she asked quietly. When Alasdair spoke, his voice sounded distant even to his own ears. It was like someone else was speaking, an Alasdair of the past.

"I was between them both. Ben on one side, Isabella on the other. There was no way I could go in two directions, so I chose Ben. I fought me way through the soldiers, going as hard as I could while they carried him toward the door. But I faltered. A slash across me chest, and he was suddenly getting further and further away."

He paused, shaking his head as fury and shame coursed through him. He clenched his fists, stopping only when he felt pain shoot through his injured arm.

"I wasnae there for him. And I hate meself for it. And now, after all that, ye are telling me that Ben is trying to protect me. The faither who failed him."

"You didn't fail," Charlotte assured him, but the words sounded hollow to Alasdair's ears.

"It's me duty to protect me son. It should not be the other way around."

"He just needs time," Charlotte said. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, drawing Alasdair's eyes to the soft skin of her neck. "He will soon understand that he doesn't need to hide this from you."

"I should have saved one of them," he sighed, sending his eyes out to the water gently lapping a short distance from the path. "Instead, Ben was taken from me on the same night as his mother."

"What happened to her?" she asked gently.

It was hard for Alasdair to talk of Isabella. Theirs had never been a very happy marriage, but Alasdair only blamed himself. He was too distracted by the challenges of being a young laird, and he was too married to his independent ways. But their challenging relationship didn't excuse the fact that Alasdair didn't protect his wife.

"She was trying to protect him. I'm sure she was trying to reach him, just as I was. But she put herself between a soldier and his sword. The only comfort I have is that it was over quickly."

"You must have loved her very much."

Charlotte's words were so small and quiet he almost didn't hear them. He looked over to see her looking down at her feet, shuffling them along the dirt of the pathway. There was a sadness to her, and Alasdair felt an urge to push that sadness away.

He reached out with his strong arm to stop Charlotte's walk. When she turned to him, he kissed her gently, a kiss of gratitude and kindness.

"Thank ye for telling me about yer family and for trying to teach me about Ben. I daenae ken what we would have done if ye didn't journey home with us."

Charlotte felt even more confused as she and Alasdair approached the castle. She had hoped this trip to the lake would be a healing one when she might help Alasdair understand a bit more about his son, but she couldn't stop thinking of Alasdair's story and the mention of his wife, Isabella.

He isn't over that loss. He still cares for her.

It would explain why Alasdair was so hot and cold with her, why he seemed enamored of her one moment and indifferent toward her in the next. If Alasdair didn't plan to marry, he might think of Charlotte as a simple distraction. Someone to enjoy for the short time she was here. If he still loved his wife, then marriage and commitment would be the furthest things from Alasdair's mind.

But then there was that sweet kiss and the way he helped her so gently back onto her horse.

The stableboy stood outside, waiting for them. The sun was already starting to set, and Charlotte knew the family would be waiting at the dinner table, eager to eat the steaming food in front of them.

She stopped her horse in front of the barn, but when the stableboy approached, Alasdair waved him off. She watched the elegant dismount with envy and saw him approach her.

"Let me help," he said. He held up his good arm, asking her to take it.

"With one good arm?" Charlotte laughed, but she accepted his hand on the small of her back, guiding her down as she slipped off the creature. When her feet hit the ground she stumbled slightly, but Alasdair pulled her close to him, holding her up.

Her face brushed against the rough stubble of his beard and her chest pressed into him as she struggled to right herself. They both laughed, giddy in the closeness of each other and the relief that neither of them tumbled to the ground. She felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek as she looked up at him.

"Ye asked me about me wife," Alasdair whispered, and her comfort in his arms was suddenly stilted and tentative. She felt silly, as if she had somehow thrown herself at a man who was about to reject her.

"I never loved her."

She looked up, checking his eyes for sincerity. There was a slight curve to the corner of his mouth.

"And she didnae love me. It was a marriage of convenience planned by our faithers, its only purpose to strengthen the clans. 'Twas nothing more."

Alasdair released her, keeping a hand on her arm to make sure she was steady.

"Ye can take them in now," he said to the boy. He gave a final glance over his shoulder, a smile on his face, before turning to walk inside.

I never loved her.

She didn't know why it made her so happy, but Charlotte felt a warmth flush through her chest and drop deeper, warming her all the way to her toes. She smiled as she followed Alasdair inside.