Page 54 of To Winter at Wildsyde

She was in her bath, the scent of perfumed oils lingering on the damp air. Her head was tilted back, and she was singing to herself, soft and sweet, with a whisky bottle nestled between her bare breasts. It was every Scotsman’s dream of heaven.

“Ach, lass, what are ye trying to do to me?” he whispered in despair.

Sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes drifted hazily in his direction and then a serene smile curved over her luscious mouth. “Gordy,” she said on a sigh. “It’s’lovely to see you. D’you wan’ sum whisky? S’very good.” She fumbled for the bottle, which dropped with a splash into the bath. “Oops.”

Gordy stared at her and his lips turned slowly, helplessly, and inextricably upwards. “Lassie, ye are drunk.”

She gave him an imperious look, the one that usually made him feel like he was six years old, but it was less effective tonight as she was having a deal of trouble focusing on him.

“Am not.”

“Oh, aye? Prove it.”

“You, sir, are an idiot,” she said, enunciating each word very carefully as she waved an arm in his general direction.

“I’ll nae argue with ye there, mo leannan,” he said, unable to keep the endearment from his lips. “But ye have yet to show me how very sober ye are. So up wi’ ye. The water is nae too warm, I reckon.” A fact which her puckered nipples seemed to testify to. The urge to put his mouth on them, to warm her with his body, was hard to resist, but he wasn’t so much the bastard to take advantage of his wife in this state.

He watched as she put her chin up, a defiant gesture he well recognised, and then tried to get to her feet. There was a splash, and she sank back, going under. Gordy leapt towards her, grabbing a hold and hauling her coughing and spluttering from the water.

“Gordy!” she said, blinking up at him, her eyelashes spangled with water drops. “It's s’lovely to see you.”

“Ah, Ruth. It’s lovely to see you too.”

He could do nothing but smile down at her, something hard edged and jagged shifting in his chest, softening and smoothing over despite his every effort to hold on to his resentment and pride. She would go, she would leave him, and it would break him like nothing else ever had.

He wouldn’t think on it. Not now. He’d never seen Ruth like this before and there was something vulnerable and trusting in her he knew he’d likely never see again. She was so strong, his wife, stronger than he was, and just for once it was nice to feel like the one in control.

Gordy held onto her with one hand and snagged a towel in the other, wrapping it around her. She plucked at his sodden shirt, frowning at it.

“You’re all wet,” she said, shaking her head in consternation. “Did you fall in a puddle?”

“Nae, lass.”

“Take those wet things off,” she counselled, and then hiccupped. “You’ll catch cold.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice soothing as he tried to dry her without letting go. He doubted her ability to stand by herself.

She reached up and took his face between her hands, staring at him. “No. Not fine. No, no, no. Poor Gordy. My poor love. All broken,” she said, shaking her head at him. “All broken inside. I wanted to fix you. Tried. I t-tried.”

To his horror, a fat tear rolled down her cheek.

“I’m not w-what you want,” she said sadly, as another tear followed the first. “I’m n-never what anyone wants.”

“Ruth,” he said, appalled that she could think such a thing. “Ruth, dinnae say such things. ’Tis nae true. Ye are…ye are more than I deserve, more than any man deserves.”

She shook her head and more tears followed, each one following on the heels of the one before until she was sobbing.

“Don’t cry, lass,” he begged, his heart full of misery. “I’m nae worth your tears. Surely to God ye can see that?”

“You d-don’t like me,” she sobbed, clinging to his sodden shirt.

Gordy swept her up into his arms, at a loss to know what to do with her. “I like ye fine, Ruth. Very, very much,” he said, carrying her to the bed. He dried her off as best he could, rubbing her hair with the towel and then pulled the covers over her but she just huddled herself into a ball and shivered, making little hiccupping sounds as she cried. He’d done this, he thought in disgust. He’d reduced his beautiful, strong wife to a shivering wreck of misery. Christ, he ought to be horsewhipped.

He climbed onto the bed and gathered her to him, covers and all, curling his body around her back. “Hush, now, neach-gaoil, mo chridhe. Ye must nae cry over me. I am a wretched fellow and nae worthy of yer tears.”

“You are w-worthy,” she sobbed, the words all sliding together as alcohol and emotion conspired against her. “I love you.”

Gordy closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to her head, holding her tighter. “It’ll pass, lass. ’Tis nae the kinda emotion that lingers for long. I cannae keep people by me, but the fault is mine and none of yers.”