Page 36 of A Tartan Love (The Earls of Cairnfell #1)

Kingswell House

Aberdeenshire, Scotland

T avish stared out the library window of Kingswell House, trying to recall another time in his life when he had felt so lost, so helpless.

After his mother’s death, perhaps. Definitely that first year in the Rifles following his break with Isla.

Regardless, for a man who had spent the past seven years avoiding death through a combination of quick thinking and decisive action, such bafflement was unwelcome.

The cause of his dazed state currently sat on the back terrace, her head bent over a book, oblivious to Tavish watching her through the window.

After an afternoon and evening spent in her room, Isla had reemerged this morning for breakfast, fresh-faced and no worse for wear after her unexpected dooking in the lake.

She had smiled warmly at Fletch, answered the flurry of questions from the Misses Forsyth, and aside from thanking him once more for helping her from the lake, had all but ignored Tavish.

It was as things must be. He knew this.

Fletch offered Isla a life that Tavish could not . . . and that was before factoring in her substantial dowry. Fletch was the man she wanted, not Tavish.

But as he stood at the library window, staring as she turned a page, he could scarcely suppress his longing.

Aye, she had been lovely as a lass.

But now . . .

The gentle arch of her spine reminded him of tulips bending on a May breeze.

Her lips moved, mouthing soundless words that might as well have been an incantation.

He certainly felt ensorcelled as his gaze traced the smooth column of her throat and that one recalcitrant tendril of hair beside her chin, slipping defiantly from its curl.

But it was more than her physical beauty that arrested him. Tavish knew her soul, the tumble and turn of her mind. Every last atom of her blazing with fire and life and—

“I would recommend not letting Grayburn or Fletch see you staring at Lady Isla like that.”

The sudden voice at Tavish’s elbow caused him to start.

“Damnation, Ross!” Tavish placed a hand over his pounding heart.

Ross laughed. “I’m in earnest. Ye know better than to even glance Lady Isla’s way after Grayburn’s reaction yesterday, much less stare as if she hangs the sun and moon.

Ye might have saved her life—and both of us know that can forge a powerful bond—but you will be horsewhipped or challenged to a duel if ye don’t beat a hasty retreat. ”

“Aye.” Tavish swallowed around the boulder lodged in his chest—the one with the words I don’t want you chiseled upon it.

A dent appeared between Ross’s brows. “Why so glum?”

Tavish tried to smile, to summon a quip that would assure Ross of Tavish’s indifference toward Isla .

Instead, he grimaced and looked away before Ross could see the misery etched into his face. His friend knew him well enough to logic his way to the truth.

And even then, Tavish couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting back to Isla once more.

In his periphery, Ross’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“No.” His friend’s chin went up.

Tavish said nothing.

“No, no, no.” Ross shook his head before glancing to Isla and then back to Tavish. “Surely, what I’m thinking cannot be true.”

Tavish managed a deep breath, but no more. He feared he couldn’t speak without the yearning in his chest erupting outward.

And maybe, just maybe, he was tired of no one else knowing the reality of his pain.

Ross grabbed his arm, forcibly turning him away from the window and Isla, brow furrowed as he dragged Tavish back into the gloom of the library.

“Ye forget how well I know ye. I can tell when you be keeping a secret, ye bawbag,” Ross hissed.

“Ye must tell me I’m wrong. Because my brain has drawn a straight line between several facts.

One, ye grew up on lands adjacent to Grayburn’s.

Two, ye seem to be a wee bit preoccupied with Lady Isla.

Three, ye be secretly married. And four, ye don’t want anyone to know of your secret marriage to protect your lady wife.

Tell me, Tavish Balfour, that there are no links between these four things.

I need to be assured that the mind-numbing revelation I am experiencing is ludicrous. ”

Unable to summon words, Tavish merely looked at his friend, letting all the misery of his soul flood his face.

Ross staggered back a step, jaw flapping open for a solid six seconds. Again, his eyes darted from Tavish to Isla and then back to Tavish.

“Ye bloody eejit !” Ross hissed. “Do ye want to die?!”

Tavish sighed and crossed back to the window. Ross followed.

Isla had loosened her bonnet ribbons to reveal a wee strip of skin between the bottom of the bonnet and the collar of her dress—a delectable two inches of her nape that Tavish longed to kiss .

“Grayburn is going to kill ye,” Ross said.

“He will try.”

“Ye still love her.”

“Aye.” Tavish lifted a helpless hand in her direction, as if to say, How could any man resist that ?

“Why aren’t ye fighting to preserve your marriage?”

“And how would I do that, Ross? Spirit her away to live in a cabin in rural Pennsylvania? I don’t have the means to support a highborn lady. Besides, she doesn’t want me.”

“How do you know that?”

Tavish gave Ross a look . “Because she said, and I quote, ‘I don’t want you.’”

Ross winced. “ Och , but you love her.”

“Aye. More than life. But when ye truly love someone, ye want their happiness. And if that happiness doesn’t involve yourself, then ye give them the happiness they do want. I love Isla enough to grant her freedom. I want her to find the sort of love I feel for her.”

Ross snorted, scrubbing a hand over his face. “And just when we all thought ye couldn’t possibly be any more bloody noble. Fletch is . . . Och , bollocking hell! Fletch!”

“Aye. Fletch.” Tavish shot Ross a side-eye. “Isla made me promise not to tell him. She wishes to control when and how he learns of this.”

Silence for a long beat.

They both watched Isla turn another page in her book, her elegant gloved fingers tracing the lines.

“No wonder ye’ve never touched a woman in all the years I’ve known ye. I wouldn’t either, had I such a bonnie lass waiting for me at home.”

“Ross.” A warning. “She was never waiting. Our marriage was over as soon as it began. I’m the eejit still holding a candle, unwilling to blow out the flame of my love.”

More silence.

Isla turned another page.

“I’m not sure Fletch will forgive ye. For not telling him, that is.”

“Aye.” Tavish pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t . . . I can’t manage this. What I feel and— ”

“Balfour! Ross!” Fletch’s voice boomed outside the library door.

Ross gave Tavish a look of sympathy. Fletch bounded into the room—smiling, happy, and oblivious. The sight cut Tavish like a dagger.

“There you two are!” Fletch said on a laugh. “The ladies are asking for you. Or rather, the ladies were hoping Ross here would assist them with untangling some knitting wool in the morning room.” His gaze turned to Tavish. “And Balfour, can I persuade you to assist me with an important matter?”

Gravel crunched under Tavish’s boots as he walked the path that snaked through the trees and around the lake.

Ahead of him, Isla strolled arm-in-arm with Fletch, her ear lifted to hear whatever tender endearments he had to whisper.

Tavish looked away before he caved to the temptation to pound his fist into one of the surrounding trees.

A chaperone.

Fletch had requested Tavish act as a chaperone for his “courting campaign”—Fletch’s words—of Lady Isla.

The pity in Ross’s eyes would have been comical had the situation not been so tragic—Tavish chaperoning his wife as another man wooed her.

He challenged Shakespeare himself to concoct a situation more absurd.

In truth, Fletch didn’t need a chaperone to take a stroll with Lady Isla. As long as a couple remained in easily visible locales—like the gravel paths surrounding Kingswell—there was little concern for a lady’s reputation.

No, Fletch wanted a friend along for plausible deniability. With a trusted third person present, Fletch could steal a kiss or two from his lady love without placing her upstanding character in danger.

For Tavish, the thought of having to turn his back while Isla kissed another man was almost unbearable. It was one thing to know a gentleman courted Isla. But another thing entirely to have to witness it. To assist and encourage it.

For her part, Isla appeared oblivious to the men’s machinations.

She walked with ease, head canted toward Fletch. However, she did occasionally glance back at Tavish, as if ascertaining his distance or unable to shake the weight of his presence.

Maybe Tavish should leave Kingswell. Grayburn clearly wished him to.

At breakfast, the duke had met Tavish’s gaze over the rim of his teacup, eyes flaring with a dark warning.

His Grace had ridden off with Lord Milmouth shortly after.

To what end, Tavish hadn’t a clue. Something pompous and lordly, no doubt.

The two gentlemen were endlessly discussing political matters, likely shoring up their soon-to-be familial alliance.

As for Tavish . . . leaving Kingswell felt a wee bit like ceding the battlefield, and the soldier in him simply couldn’t do that. And there were still matters to be discussed with Fletch and Ross about Pennsylvania.

At least, those were the excuses Tavish told himself.

But he was honest enough to recognize the deeper reason: As much as it battered his heart, he simply couldn’t tear himself from Isla until circumstances forced their separation.

These would likely be the last few days he would ever spend in her company, and even though situations like playing chaperone pierced him to his core, the thought of not experiencing them hurt more.

Isla had always been a woman who sparkled like snow on a sunny day, blinding him to responsibility and wisdom. He had never had any sense of self-preservation when it came to her.