The sky was gray, and the grass, and the wind howled.
And in that moment, the land that he loved, that was a part of his bones, his heart, his soul, seemed so incredibly bleak that a part of him hated it.
He woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.
And all his fears were laid out before him, one by one. That he wasn’t enough. That his family had rejected him not because of a fault that lay with them, but because Ian simply wasn’t worth it. That he would end up so alone and so jaded that even the things that brought him joy would turn bitter.
The moors. The sea. The stars.
His memories of Robert.
They were all entwined now. He couldn’t think of one without the other. Pointing out constellations to Robert. Smelling the brine on the air. The dips and rises of the land as they walked back to Llynmore, side by side.
He’d been happy, then. They’d both been happy.
Robert had seeped into his bones and heart and soul as surely as the Highlands had. And just like the Highlands, the other man was an inextricable part of him. He was not something that could be carved out or forgotten.
And even if he could, he wouldn’t want to. No matter what happened, even if Robert married Miss Worthington, Ian didn’t want to carve him out or forget him. He didn’t want to succumb to bitterness, like he had with his parents, because that sort of bitterness, that sort of anger—it might have protected him, it might have been his only hope of survival at the time, but it tainted everything. There’d been good moments with his family, there’d been laughter, but he could no longer remember those moments clearly, like a dream that fled on waking, because the worst moments had overshadowed them, had grown, over the years, stronger than them.
That wasn’t how he wanted it to be, with Robert.
He’d rather have one small part of him than nothing. He’d rather have this past handful of days with him than no time at all.
If love inevitably came with some amount of pain, then he would take both. He would take the full measure.
Coming to a decision, he sank back into his straw mattress.
The peace that had eluded him finally settled over him once more, and this time, it didn’t feel like something he had to find in bits and pieces, in things outside himself; it felt enduring, secure, something that could not be shaken.
It felt like it came from within.
…
Robert woke with a start. The light filtering in was still the soft, pink light of dawn, and Robert, lying on his stomach, was about to bury his head in the pillow and go back to sleep when he heard the shouting that had awoken him.
Good God. He wasn’t even surprised at this point. He made a vow to never have guests again.
His door burst open and crashed against the wall.
“This is all your doing!”
It was Worthington. Somehow, this didn’t surprise him, either.
“Good morning to you, too,” Robert muttered, pushing himself up. He stayed in bed, though, with the linen sheets pulled up. He slept naked in the summer, and he didn’t feel like showing off nature’s gifts to the entire household.
When he turned over and finally glimpsed Worthington’s face, he saw that it was bright red.
“Are you quite well?” he asked, worried the other man was going to have an apoplexy in his bedchamber.
“No. No, I am not well.” He held a scrap of parchment in his hand, which he proceeded to hurl at Robert. But hurling paper was a bit of a feat, and it tumbled down as gently as a leaf into Robert’s outstretched hand.
He skimmed it.
Then his eyes widened.
Then he reread it, just to be sure he wasn’t in the midst of some sort of fever dream.
Mr. Townsend,
After we spoke, I could not sleep. For hours, I thought about what you said, your words torturing my mind and my soul, and finally, I came to a conclusion. I think that you are right. About finding someone worth the risk. About the heart being resilient. About all the small moments that make up a grand love. I feel strong enough now.
I thank you for your parting words, for they did help, but what struck me the most was seeing how sad you looked when you said you were just as lost as anyone. I feared that I, too, might end up as sad and lost as you, and I realized that I couldn’t let that happen.
Robert stopped to snort at this. He’d looked so pathetic he’d even shocked the timid Hale into taking a risk. He supposed he should be grateful he was good for something, at least.
But I thank you from the depths of my soul. Please don’t be angry with me.
John Hale
There was another message, just below it, in a different hand.
Mr. Townsend,
What John has failed to mention is that as you read this, we will be headed to town to be married by the local blacksmith. I hope you won’t take this personally. I think you would have made a wonderful husband—I still do—but matters of the heart do not always work out as cleanly as one would wish.
In case you are uncertain about the prudence of our match, I would also like to note an occurrence that you missed when you were out at the stables. My father was ignoring me, as he has been since the incident, but this time, John stepped in. He told him that he didn’t deserve to be my father, and that he had never appreciated me as he should, and that he thought my father was a fool.
I have never seen my father so quiet before.
(It was glorious.)
Yours,
Alice Worthington
As Robert smiled a bit over the last part, another small commotion took place, and suddenly the letter was yanked from his grasp by Miss Hale. He realized that, just like the night he’d been caught with Miss Worthington, her father’s bellowing had drawn everyone else to the room. He pulled the linen sheet up higher, but no one seemed to be paying him much attention.
Mrs. Worthington was in the process of berating her husband. “…he is, as we speak, becoming your son-in-law, and she chose him for herself. If you don’t accept this and make peace with her, you will lose her.”
Mr. Worthington grumbled something in response, but his face wasn’t quite as red as it had been.
“He finally told her,” Miss Hale exclaimed gleefully. “I knew it was only a matter of time.”
“As thrilling as this is,” Robert said. “I am indecent, so if you could…” He waved toward the door.
His sister and Frances stayed behind, seemingly uncaring about his attire or lack thereof.
Georgina placed the letter on the nightstand and then said, teasingly, “You tortured his mind and soul, Robert.”
He winced. “My words tortured his mind and soul. There is a difference.”
“I had no idea he was quite so dramatic,” Frances commented. “He’s such a quiet boy otherwise.”
Georgina nodded. “It does seem like a bit of a mismatch. Do you think they’ll be happy?” she asked Robert.
“I think her practicality and his dreaminess might balance each other. Keep them both from going too far in one direction. I think they have as good a chance at being happy as anyone.”
“And you must be glad, anyway,” Frances said.
“I am glad,” he said. He hadn’t expected Hale to work up his courage quite so suddenly or in quite so dramatic a fashion—although he probably shouldn’t ever underestimate the drama that Hale was capable of.
His first thought was that he needed to tell Ian. He wondered if he’d be as amused by the letter as Robert was. He wondered if he’d be happy. He wondered if he’d be willing to take a step forward if Robert met him partway.
There was only one way to find out.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, looking pointedly at the door. He kept his voice light, but his stomach was tight, and his chest hurt, and he was terrified and hopeful in equal measure.
Once everyone was gone, he locked the door, wary of more intrusions, and then went to the washstand to splash some cold water on his face. He had just lifted his head, water still dripping, when he heard a soft, muffled knock.
The softness of the knock disturbed him.