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“Yes,” he said a little too quickly. “Anything.”

“It was something that your grandmother spoke of earlier...” She looked at Duncan, and he looked away as he must have guessed what she was about to ask. “And if it is not something you wish to speak of, I understand completely. Only, I was wondering...” She trailed off, not sure how to ask.

“You wish to know who Andrea is?” he asked the question in a whisper, speaking into his chest.

“Only if you want to. I do not wish to force you or... or appear as if I--”

“It is fine,” he sighed and shook his head to himself. “Perhaps it is best if I...” He looked past them. “Might I refill my glass first?” An awkward chuckle. “I think I will need it.”

“Of course.”

Duncan rose and got about refilling his glass. Isabella watched him, feeling relieved that the two might finally engage in honest conversation – a huge step forward. Surely, once he opened up, that would be the beginning of a fresh start for them? Assuming what he told her didn’t shatter her entire reality of the man she now called husband.

“Andrea was a woman who I was seeing when I was younger,” Duncan began, still speaking softly and not looking at Isabella. His expression was pained. “I was seventeen when we met – at a tavern, of all places. She was a server there and I took a liking to her.”

“Oh.” Isabella blinked. “She was...”

“Common, yes,” he said with a soft smile. “But I was young and impetuous and truthfully, I liked how angry it made my father. At first, that was the reason I continued to see her...” He laughed to himself. “Just to frustrate the old man.”

“You do have a way about you,” Isabella joked.

“But then something happened that even I could not have foreseen.” He took a deep breath, clearly a little shaken. “She fell pregnant. My father was furious, of course, threatened to disown me. But I would not listen.”

“What... what happened?” Isabella prompted gently. She reached over and rested a hand on Duncan’s thigh in support.

“I insisted that I marry her, as was right to do.” He nodded to himself, as if he needed reminding of that fact. “But my father did some digging and found out that Andrea was...” He clicked his tongue. “She was not quite as faithful as I had thought her to be. She was seeing other men,” he said as he snapped his head up and looked at Isabella for the first time; the pain as clear as day in his eyes. “Funny that I did not care – nor did I believe it, as I should have. In my mind, the baby was my own and I owed it to her and the child to wed. As crazy as that sounds.”

“It is not crazy at all.”

He shrugged. “The point is moot. My father and I had a big fight, and I went to see Andrea only to... for her to be...” He sniffed and wiped his nose, looking away in shame. “One of the other men whom she was sleeping with had killed her. I don’t know why exactly,” he said quickly. “Or who, for that matter. But I found her body, stabbed, and I put two and two together.”

“Oh my...” Isabella gasped.

“My father was delighted, of course. That led to another fight, one which we never really came back from...” He sighed and his shoulder slumped. A deep sip of whiskey to steel himself and he chuckled as if he needed to, to fill the silence and cut through the tension. “So, if you have been wondering why I am so... twisted. Now you know.”

“Duncan...” Isabella squeezed his hand, feeling her heart break at the story.

It made perfect sense in its own way. How closed off Duncan was. His clear disdain for the institution of marriage. No doubt he cared for this woman, certainly for the unborn child, and her death poisoned him to the entire concept of marriage and everything that might come with it.

The after-effects of the story hovered between she and Duncan. Like a heavy winter cloak it was suffocating and Isabella regretted having asked. Her intent had been to learn more about Duncan, which she had done, but at what cost?

She wanted to comfort him. She wanted to hold him. But that wasn’t what their relationship was like at all and she felt that if she did that it would have come across as awkward and forced.

“I am so sorry,” she said lamely. “That is... that is just awful.”

He nodded as he looked down at the floor. “That is one word for it.”

“And I – if there is anything I can do?”

He smiled, still not looking at her. “There is nothing, but I do appreciate it.” He then exhaled and put his glass down. “But I think I might turn in for the night. It feels about that time.”

“Oh... yes. Of course.”

He stood and looked down at her. Smiling still, a look behind his eyes that had her wondering if he was going to ask her to joinhim – she hoped he would. If for no other reason than to prove that they did not need to fight for such things to occur.

He nodded once, smiled again, and then turned and left. Which left Isabella alone in that room, caught between telling herself that she had done the right thing, or that she should have just minded her own business.

If she had done, she would likely be in his room right now being savaged as she very much liked. Now, she could not help but wonder if that would ever happen again.