I arrived at the cottage just before sunset knowing Arran would not arrive until after dark. The day after Arran’s note had arrived at the castle, I’d ridden in search of the small cottage, finding it only a short distance in the direction of me father’s castle. I couldna believe that I’d never seen it before during me many trips to Conall Castle as a small child, but Arran had chosen well. It was beautiful and secluded among the lush, steep hillsides.
I secured me horse and unloaded the basket of Mary’s cooking that I’d stolen from the kitchen just before leaving the castle. Making me way inside the one-roomed cottage, I started a fire and dusted out the rarely used room as best I could. I spread the food out on the small wooden table and moved to try and catch a glimpse of me reflection from a sword that hung upon the wall when I heard hoofsteps approaching outside.
However my face and hair appeared, they would have to do. Taking a deep breath for courage, I stepped outside to greet him.
He was as beautiful as I’d ever seen him, his blonde hair and deep blue eyes striking as the last rays of light cast themselves upon him as he rode in. He smiled, but it was no the unrestrained smile of excitement that I’d expected. Tension etched his face. As he dismounted, I could sense that something was very wrong. His desire to meet me was no for the reason I’d believed.
Suddenly embarrassed by the spread I’d laid out for us inside, I moved to block his entry into the cottage, no longer wishing for him to see what I’d brought for us. He dinna say hello as he moved toward me, but silently pulled me into his arms as I stood in the doorway of the cottage.
He held me tightly, no kissing me nor speaking as me head pressed snuggly against his chest. His hold frightened me. He clung to me as if he feared he would no ever see me again. “Arran.” His name came out rather breathlessly. He was holding me that tight. “Are ye well? Are ye ill or injured? Ye are frightening me a little.”
I turned me head to look up at him as he finally loosened his hold and moved his eyes down to me.
“Nay, lass, I am no ill or injured, and I dinna mean to frighten ye, but I am no so well either.”
“Come inside. ’Tis getting cold.” I was no longer worried about him seeing the food spread out for him. He was far too troubled to notice.
I held onto his hand as I led him inside. We both sat on the edge of the bed against the back wall of the room. I turned to him, taking both of his hands into mine, each moment of silence a warning that me heart was about to break once more. “What is it, Arran? Ye canna stay silent any longer, what has happened?”
*
He couldn’t begin to know how to tell her what he must. The words lodged in his throat, content to stay there forever if his conscience would allow it. Once he said the words aloud, he would be forced to watch Blaire’s heart break all over again, the same as he’d done to her the day she’d disappeared into another century.
He’d sworn that if he’d ever had her back, he would never let her go; that if it meant he would burn in hell, he would do so to be with her. But all of that was before his child, an innocent in all of his mistakes to whom he could not allow himself to be so selfish.
“May I kiss ye, lass? And then I will tell ye what I must, though I wish dearly that I dinna have to do so.”
*
I nodded, but as his lips touched mine, the room grew only colder. Instead of the warmth that his touch always evoked in me, an icy winter spread down me every limb, snapping every branch of hope I’d held for this evening spent with him. This was a kiss of goodbye, and me body rebelled against it. I pulled away from him, shaking me head as tears threatened. “Nay, Arran. I willna allow ye to do what ye are about to. I canna lose ye once more.”
He stood abruptly, running his hands over his face and through his hair as he often did when he was nervous. He’d done so ever since he was a child. “I’m so verra sorry, lass. Ye canna know how much it pains me.”
I stood as well, anger suddenly replacing any sadness. I’d known that he would be unable to live with the guilt, but why had he no agreed with me when I’d warned him our last time together? It was cruel of him to allow me to hope, only to destroy it once more. How many times could one man break and heal a heart?