Page 57 of To Winter at Wildsyde

Gordy helping her out of the bath, the way he’d smiled at her when he’d discovered she was drunk, the soft glint in his eyes.

Ye are more than I deserve, more than any man deserves.

Something angry and sharp edged fell away then, and she let out a ragged breath, shocked, and wished she’d not reacted quite so violently.

Oh Gordy.

“Ye are really… not pregnant?” he asked, hesitant and uncertain from the way he spoke.

“No,” she said, her voice tight. “I am not.”

He let out a breath, and for the first time she saw it, saw the relief in his eyes, saw his big shoulders sag, and the truth was suddenly as obvious as daylight. He didn’t want her to go. She stared at him and he stiffened at once, that cold, defensive expression sliding into place like a mask, but it was too late, she’d seen it.

“Well,” he said, his voice hard once more. “’Tis of nae consequence. Only a matter of time, I suppose.”

She gazed at her husband, at the huge, intimidating figure who seemed to take up every inch of space in any room he entered and saw nothing but a frightened boy, determined not to let the grownups see he was hurt. Ruth let out a long, slow breath and walked out from behind the desk. He glowered as she came closer, but she was undaunted.

“What are ye…?”

The words stopped abruptly as she wrapped her arms about him and held tight, laying her head on his chest. She could hear his heart pounding, slamming against his ribcage and betraying everything he was striving to keep hidden from her.

“I love you,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I know I am making a sorry job of this Gordy, but I am trying to understand. I’m sorry for… for the tantrum, but you have no idea how frustrating it when you shut me out, when you won’t listen to a word I say.” She took a ragged breath. “I know you don’t believe it yet, but I do love you. Won’t you give us a chance, please?” She reached for his hand, hanging at his side for he had not moved to put his arms about her. Ruth raised it to her lips and kissed the palm.

Then she let him go and walked to the door.

“Where are ye going?” he asked. His voice sounded odd, shaky.

“Just to get some fresh air.” She turned to look at him and gave a tremulous smile. “I’ll be back soon. Then, perhaps, we could… talk? I promise I won’t break anything else. Ever,” she added, feeling wretched for the destruction she’d wrought.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, letting out an unsteady breath. As she looked up, she found Garrick and Sheenagh standing close together, staring at her in concern.

“Mrs Anderson?” he said, his voice gentle.

“Missus? Are ye all right?” Sheenagh looked white-faced and anxious.

Ruth smiled, nodding with more certainty than she felt. “Quite all right. Garrick, please see that my husband is not disturbed. There will be need of some… cleaning up, once he has left the room.”

“Of course, Mrs Anderson.”

“My hat and coat if you please, Sheenagh. I am going for a walk.”

Sheenagh bobbed a curtsey and returned a moment later, fussing as she bundled Ruth up and insisting on wrapping a tartan shawl around her, over her coat.

“Thank you,” she said, giving the girl a warm smile.

“It’s my pleasure, missus,” Sheenagh replied, and impulsively Ruth took her hand and gave it a squeeze before heading out the door.

Chapter 21

Dear Ruth,

How are things going? It’s been some time since your last letter. Is that bloody man any closer to realising how lucky he is? Should I pack my spoon?

― Excerpt of a letter from Mrs Bonnie Cadogan to Mrs Ruth Anderson.

21st December 1814. Wildsyde Castle, Scotland.

Ruth stared out at the horizon. How vast it was. Though it was barely three in the afternoon, the sun was sinking, the sea turning to liquid gold before her eyes. The sky was ablaze, streaked with cinnamon and amber clouds which somehow reminded her of Gordy’s eyes. Beneath her the waves surged, crashing upon the rocks.