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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“ W hat has happened, Darnley?” Anthony asked, finding a chair for himself, dragging it to where the other two sat.

“Nothing has happened,” Cyrus replied tersely.

Silas clicked his tongue. “Evidently, it has, or you would not have locked yourself away here. And your wife would not be at Grayling House, far away from you.”

“The gardener did not give an explanation,” Anthony added. “Rather, he said there was none.”

Cyrus considered pouring himself a fresh drink. “It is where she is safest.” He clawed a hand through his hair. “Far from me is where she is safest.”

“Ridiculous.” Silas sniffed, getting up from the armchair to stoke the fire that had dwindled down to the embers, adding a log. “How can she be safe if she is not within your sight?”

Anthony raised his hand. “A better question would be, what sort of danger could she possibly get into? I realized I was mistaken about her when I met her, calling her dull and all that, but I hardly think she is the type to seek out trouble. Or are you about to tell us that, in secret, she enjoys dangerous pastimes? Does she race horses or something?”

“She… walks,” Cyrus replied, frowning as he watched Silas prod and poke at the fire.

Anthony gasped dramatically. “Oh, heavens no! Not walking ! Goodness, it is a wonder she is still alive.”

“I shall have you know that she fell!” Cyrus snapped, his head whipping around to glare at Anthony. “She fell and… I thought she was dead. You cannot possibly imagine what that felt like, so do not suppose you know anything about it.”

“Ah…” Silas said softly, sitting back on his haunches. “There it is.”

Anthony quirked an eyebrow. “What? What did I miss?”

Silas dusted his hands and rose to his feet, returning to the armchair.

“Cyrus is here, alone in this dim lodge, because he is afraid.” He flashed Cyrus a pointed look.

“He is afraid that he will lose her and that history will repeat. And so, I suspect, he has put distance between them, because he thinks that will give him some manner of control. When, of course, that is nonsense.”

“It is not about control,” Cyrus rasped. “There is no controlling what fate does.”

“So, why are you here?” Silas reached for a bottle with a mouthful of brandy left in it and drank it down. “Why are you not savoring every bit of life you can get with your wife? Why are you not out there making the most extraordinary memories? And what of her—does she not get a choice?”

Cyrus shook his head.

“Then you are a fool,” Silas said, sighing. “If she was told tomorrow that she had but a month to live, do you think she would hide herself away? Or do you think she would make every day worthwhile with the people she loves?”

Cyrus hesitated. “I… do not know. You would have to ask her.”

“Very well, what would you do?” Silas challenged.

“If the Lord Himself came down from the heavens and told you that you had a month to live, I know, without a doubt, that you would not be wasting a moment here. After all, if everything was already pre-ordained, you would have no fear about what may or may not happen. That is what is keeping you in this lodge, drinking yourself into a stupor, pushing that sweet woman away—the fear of not-knowing, and not being able to control the future.”

Anthony nodded sympathetically. “And that is no way to live, Darnley. That is not living at all.” He blew a nervous breath through his nose.

“I have held my tongue on the matter for years, respecting your right to bury your past, but I really do think it is time you stopped… punishing yourself. You survived that fire for a reason, old boy.”

“I survived by accident,” Cyrus countered.

Silas shook his head. “No, you survived because you wanted to live… and then you did nothing with that gift. You hid yourself away, you spoke only to us, and you kept the world out.” He sat up straighter.

“I am sorry to tell you, my good man, but those days are over. The world has come in, the walls have been breached, and you must choose to live now. With her .”

“And do not pretend that is something you do not desire,” Anthony added with a wry grin, “because a man does not drink this much liquor if they do not care. Let me tell you, no amount of brandy will make you forget her, if your heart is already hers.”

Silas laughed quietly. “I cannot believe it, but I am in agreement with Anthony.” He paused, smiling. “Do you love her, Darnley?”

“It does not matter if I do,” Cyrus replied.

“Do you love her?” Silas repeated, his voice more stern.

Cyrus looked toward the fireplace, watching the feeble flames begin to strengthen, licking around the new log. “Yes… With all my heart, yes.” His voice hitched, his hand resting on his chest. “It is like I have… tried to cut her out of me, and I am bleeding to death.”

“Then mend things,” Silas said in earnest. “Go to her and mend things.”

“I was cruel,” Cyrus replied, his heart aching. “There can be no mending the injury I have caused. All I can do is wait until I forget her.”

Anthony shot to his feet. “Right, I have heard quite enough! Darnley, you are to eat toast and drink tea until you are sober, and then you are to ride to your wife and apologize— beg , if you must—until she agrees to return home with you. I did not mind it when you were a hermit by choice, for that was your prerogative, but this is not your choice, nor is it your wife’s. ”

“Grief twisted your father, greed twisted your grandfather,” Silas interjected. “Do not let idiocy and fear be the thing that twists you, for that is how history repeats itself—when the next generation does nothing different to the one before.”

Cyrus sat up a little taller, still watching those flames rise higher.

They were beginning to blacken the edges of the log, finding ways into the wood, sparking and crackling in their determination to burn.

And if those formerly dim embers, little more than charred lumps, could find a way to blaze again, with a bit of encouragement, then perhaps he could reignite what he had extinguished.

Nobody can avoid death. It is inevitable. But one can stop avoiding life.

His friends were right; he had allowed fear to keep him behind his castle walls for fifteen years.

He had allowed the fear he felt in his boyhood to rule his life, as if his father and grandfather had never died, as if they were still there, crushing him to dust with their fists and their barbed words.

When he had begun to feel something for Teresa, he had merely replaced the type of fear for another, but it was fear nonetheless.

But fear never kept me safe before… It was a startling realization, like a difficult knot finally unraveling after an age of trying to pick it apart.

Somehow, he had thought that it did, remembering things through a cloudy lens.

He had told himself falsehoods—that when he was afraid of his father and grandfather, and stayed out of their way, that they had not punished him.

But it was not true. They had found him anyway.

They had sought him out, for no reason at all, just to make themselves feel powerful, or to soothe the ache of a grief that had warped into a monstrous, terrible beast. Indeed, he remembered times when he wondered if his father even recalled why he hated his son so much, or if that hate had just become a habit.

I will not be like them. I will not be unhappy. I will not be alone in that castle, existing.

Fifteen years was long enough. He would not spend the next fifteen years—God willing—in fear, and he would certainly not spend them without the woman he loved.

“Anthony, start making toast,” Cyrus said, the fog of all the liquor and sorrow lifting. “Silas, make the tea—as strong as you can. I am going out to the river to bathe and, when I return, and have sobered and made myself presentable, I will ride to my wife. And yes, I will beg if I must.”

A great grin spread across Silas’ face. “Tremendous news, Darnley.” He got up and turned, as if to begin his task, but glanced back at Cyrus. “There is only one problem.”

“What is that?” Cyrus asked, also rising to his feet, eager to feel the river water cleansing him of the last three days, and the past too, if the current was strong enough.

Silas grimaced, scratching his chin. “I have not the faintest notion of how to make tea.”