She could not look him in the eye when he glared with such rage. It was almost impossible to believe he was the same man who had looked at her with kind regard in the past. “No. I don’t know. I must think of Rory right now. Do you think I like making this decision? No. You and I…we are adults. We must learn to deal with the sacrifices.”

His eyes narrowed. “I ken all about sacrifices, m’lady! But I won’t allow my heir to grow up in England.”

“If I am with child, which has not been proven yet, it could be a girl. And if that is the case, she would not be your heir. Unless you imagine a female can be chief of your clan.”

“I don’t care if the bairn is a lad or a lass. I won’t have him or her grow up in godforsaken England!”

“You are the same as Southwick!”

“Nay! How can you speak thus? I would never abandon you.”

“You would take our child away from me. Or force me to marry you in order to stay with him or her.”

“But there is one major difference.” He pointed a threatening finger at her. “I love you. And I was thinking you might feel the same, but ’tis evident you don’t give a damn about me.”

“Alasdair, yes, I do care for you but—”

“Hold your tongue. I don’t want to hear how you care for me. I care for everyone in my clan, but I don’t want to bed them or marry them. You have deceived yourself. You think Rory and his future prevents you from being with me. ’Tis not true, so stop blaming him.”

“He will be an English lord! And for him to be well-respected, he must learn the English way of life.”

“Because the Highland way of life is inferior and barbaric, aye?”

“No. Just different. Violent.”

“Don’t lie to me. I ken well what you’re thinking. You’re like the rest of these damned Sassenachs. All you care about are luxuries and respect. You must impress the other lords and ladies. The murdering fiend, Baigh Shaw was good enough for you to marry, but I am not. Tell me, m’lady, what is wrong with me?”

She shook her head, tears flooding her eyes. He was perfection to her. When she looked at him, no other man existed in the world. God, why must I make this decision?

“Alasdair, you are a far, far better man than Baigh was. You must know I realize that. As for marrying him, I did what I had to do to survive. It was not my choice. Please believe me when I say I do care about you.”

“Nay! I don’t want to hear of your bland, mediocre regard for me,” he said with disgust.

“Oh, dear God, Alasdair, it is not bland! I love you!”

“Nay, you don’t. You don’t ken what love is. If you feel anything for me, ’tis not love. ’Haps you enjoyed lying with me, but in truth, you have no heart.”

Rage and denial lit within her. “Don’t tell me I don’t have a heart! You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said. And you don’t know anything about me.”

“Nay, I don’t ken you at all.”

“I love you, but I cannot be selfish right now.”

“’Haps for you ’tis selfish. But not for me. Is it selfish to want air to breathe? That is what you are to me.”

He ripped her heart from her body with that. She covered her eyes and the tears burst forth. She had never imagined such fierce passion existed. And indeed, she felt the same for him. That’s why it hurt so much. But just as the pelican would sacrifice her own blood to feed her starving chicks, so must Gwyneth sacrifice her heart for her son.

Alasdair stood in silence and did not make a move toward her. Once she had calmed herself, he asked, “Is that your final answer, then?”

She wiped her eyes and nodded. “I’m sorry. Alasdair, please understand.”

“Very well.” Pain glinted in his eyes before a wall of ice went up between them. “Southwick and his cohorts are imprisoned, so you are safe. You are to take Rory and appear before the king tomorrow. I’m sure he will have someone assist you with whatever arrangements you need to make. As for me, I am needed at Kintalon. Fare thee well.” He bowed.

She moved toward him. “I’m sorry, Alasdair. I—”

He held up his hand and backed away. “I’m thinking you’ve said enough.”

Chapter Eighteen

Three weeks later, Alasdair stood in Leitha’s flower garden. The hard stone wall of the castle behind his back was cool and rough. The sunset glowed orange and pink over the rugged Highlands. This was the first time he’d allowed himself to come here since his return to Kintalon. Though this was Leitha’s flower garden, the place brought Gwyneth full into his mind, especially when he smelled the strong scent of roses here in the garden, as he had when he first kissed her.

He’d tried to numb himself against her rejection. But still, the memories mocked him and stabbed at him.

Gwyneth loved England more than she loved him. Nay, she did not love him at all. Only cared for him a wee bit. Such minuscule feelings were without doubt snuffed out by now. If not for his bairn, she likely wouldn’t remember him at all. He prayed each night she did carry his son. ’Twould be his last tie to her. A tie he would never let go. Whether she liked it or not.

Instead of clearing the way for Gwyneth to marry him, all he’d done by helping uncover Maxwell Huntley’s conspiracies was help her attain a grand home in England where she might live. She no longer needed Alasdair. And it was beyond clear she didn’t want him or love him.

He had forced himself to leave London. Great dread of the dire and gloomy future had weighed upon him during the journey north. Once he and his men had arrived back at Kintalon, he had thrown himself into work. He could drown in either work or drink, and he had never been overly fond of the drink. That would show a distinct weakness. He refused to be weak.

Lachlan had remained at court in London, but had promised to return before the first snow.

While they’d been gone, Donald MacIrwin, his oldest son, and several of his men had been arrested and awaited trial in Edinburgh a month hence. Apparently, Donald had gone so far as to murder the messenger who’d brought the subpoena ordering him to appear before the Privy Council. This act had raised his noose several inches higher. Once the lairds who sat on the Privy Council heard of it, they’d thirsted for blood. Several of the MacGraths and MacIrwins were planning to testify against them.

Though Alasdair was glad to be home, this place was not the same without Gwyneth and Rory. If the sun shined, he didn’t know it. He was there for his clan. They needed him. He liked being needed. That was one thing he understood.

If she didn’t love him, he would teach himself not to love her.

***

Gwyneth stood gazing out the tall windows into the evening. Birds flitted across the rain-drenched English moor. The mist rolled, thick and gray, as if it had come down from the Highlands to haunt her. The hilly landscape here reminded her a little of Scotland.

It had been over a month since she had last seen Alasdair. And each day one thing became more and more clear to her—though she had made several mistakes in her past, turning away from Alasdair was the biggest.

He had been right about many things, including the fact that she carried his babe. But this was not the reason she missed him. Indeed, Alasdair had burrowed his way into her soul.

She had thought sacrificing Alasdair’s love for Rory’s sake would sustain her. She had thought she could accept life without truly living. But she’d been wrong. Alasdair occupied her mind, morn ’til dusk. And after, in the darkest night, she would wake from disturbing dreams and wonder if he were near, protecting her from the nightmares. Sometimes he was so vibrant and alive in her dreams that he seduced her and made her yearn for him to make love to her. She swore she could smell his enticing male scent and hear his Gaelic murmurs. How many times had she reached for him in the darkness only to find the bed empty and cold?