Page 30 of Highlander’s Lust

The Last Straw

Jean was vaguely aware of Sorley and Mistress Fiona Crawford both exclaiming at her unexpected entrance. Then they backed themselves hastily out of the room. It seemed as though they wanted no part in the thunderstorm quarrel that was brewing between Laird and Lady Brisbane. Only when the study door shut on them did Jean feel strong enough to allow her husband to help her to an armchair pushed against the wall.

He went back to where the whisky decanter sat on the desk and poured out a glass. He pressed it into Jean’s hand and bade her drink.

A certain stillness permeated the room. It was possible to hear the birds chirping in the kitchen courtyard orchard trees outside, far below the window casement. A horse whinnied in the stables; the sound of scythes swishing through the grass as they cut back the lawn in the formal gardens was regular and even-paced.

A tiny rattle could be heard punctuating these normal noises. At first, Laird Brisbane did not understand where the faint tinkling sound could be coming from until he traced its true source. It was the sound of Jean’s wedding band trembling against the side of the glass she was holding. Gently, he lifted the glass out of her hand and put it back on the desk. The rattling stopped.

He was deeply disturbed by Jean’s appearance. She seemed to have fallen back into being a Grecian statue, as though a lover’s kiss had brought the statue to life for one fleeting moment, only to have it descend back into cold marble when the lover disappeared.

“How much did ye hear?” he needed to know. He wanted to try and control the damage in any way he knew how.

Jean sat staring at the carpet. If someone had asked her what was the color of the wool or its pattern and design, she would not have been able to tell them; she would likely have denied even understanding the question. She was trapped in her own personal purgatory. She believed that if she stayed quiet long enough, she might be able to hear the sound the mourners were making at her wake, for she must be dead. No one could feel this amount of pain and still be alive.

“Jeannie...Jeannie! Can ye hear me? I want to explain.”

Jean heard him say the words, but they seemed to be coming from very far away.

Charlie shook her by the shoulders, looking into his wife’s face with a very worried expression. “Please, Jeannie, let me explain to ye. I had nae even met ye when I was with that woman. I swear it. She means naught to me. She never meant anything to me.”

More words specially designed to rip her heart in twain. Mistress Fiona Crawford was a woman, while she, Jean, would never be a woman. She was doomed to stay a maiden for the rest of her life because now, she could not stand the sight of her handsome husband, could not bear the thought of his touch.

He paced in front of her, his hands punching the air with frustration. He gave vent to his pent-up emotions, cursing and mumbling his thoughts into the room as though he could no longer bear to hold the deception inside him.

“Jeannie, I am undone! I feel if I take one step forward and then I must then take two steps back soon after! If this were a battle campaign, I would surrender. I would retreat from me enemy’s land and run, skulking back to me own safe fortress. But this is no’ a battle; it should never have started as one. When did it seem as though we landed on opposite sides? We should be as one, on the same side...ours! And here we are: the hens have come home to roost. Last night, once again, I was carried up to me bed like the drunken sot that I am. And I awake, only to be confronted by the demons of me past.”

He flung himself at her feet and buried his face in her lap, gripping her skirts as though he were afraid she would fly out of the window like some frightened bird.

“Jeannie, I beseech ye, give me one more chance, lass. Forgive me my many sins and past transgressions. Let us face the world together, as husband and wife. Please, save me from meself!”

If Jean believed her heart to be broken before, she was now proven wrong. With his words, it was almost as if she could hear her heart fracture into pieces.

“I-I must go…” She could barely speak, the lump in her throat making her feel as if she were being constricted.

“Nay!” he shouted. “Nay! I will no’ let ye go!” His grip on her skirts grew stronger, more desperate. His voice was muffled by her dress, but she could still hear his despairing words. “I try so hard, Jeannie, but there’s some mischief inside me that turns me to sin. Me faither...it used to make him laugh. He found me behavior amusing. I fell into the way of doing these things to please him, an’ then it became a way to please meself. But now these acts sicken me, fully as much as they do ye. I’ll never drink to excess or go whorin’ again, I swear.”

The shock and terrible strain at trying to keep her tears at bay were taking their toll on Jean. Her soul felt ragged and bruised. She wanted to run away and never set eyes on Laird Charlie Brisbane again. But she had to know something first, or else it would keep her awake, and she would never be able to sleep again for the rest of her life.

Now it was her turn to place her fingers under Charlie’s chin and gently tilt his face up until he made eye contact with her.

“Who made those scratches on yer back?”

He dropped his eyes. He could not meet her gaze. If he did, she would be able to tell he was lying.

“I need the truth, Charlie. That’s the least I deserve. Look at me.”

When she said those words, he looked at Jean, his wife—his love. The lady of Brisbane Castle.

Her bonny blue eyes were as mysterious as a deep ocean full of secrets. He took his courage in his hands, and the Highland warrior who had rushed headlong into the thick of bloody battle with no fear in his heart knew fear for the first time in his life.

“I think it was a harlot at the Carnachscallie tavern. I cannae remember much. When I woke up and came back here in the morning, I was nae feelin’ too braw, ye ken. The manservant saw the scratches but said naught. So, I only found out after chasing ye at the burn when ye ran off wi’ me plaid.”

It was all she needed to hear.

Jean stood up so swiftly, Charlie was knocked backward and had to sit on the carpet.

“Where are ye goin’?” he wanted to know. “That bairn is no’ mine, ye ken. The last time I saw her, our liaison was already over. She’s lying.”