Page 61 of Provoked
David startled, making the rest of the small assembled group laugh. He fumbled for a moment before relaxing his arm, creating a secure curve for Drew and Letty’s firstborn, his nephew, Allan David Lauriston.
The baby stared up at him, winsome and oddly grave. His eyes were an extraordinary dark blue, the gold-tipped lashes surprisingly long. He looked absurdly new, this tiny person. Absurdly delicate. The tender folds of his little eyelids made some wall inside David crumble away. The feeling made his eyes smart with hot tears. He disguised them with his bent head, waiting until the unfamiliar burst of emotion had passed before he looked up again.
Everyone was watching him. His mother and father, Drew and Letty. His mother looked fond, Drew and Letty proud, their eyes on the babe. His father seemed sad.
“He’s a bonny lad,” David said, addressing the remark to Letty, who kissed him on the cheek before retrieving the baby. She couldn’t keep her hands off him, David’s mother had complained. A typical new mother, she sniffed, but David could tell she wasn’t really annoyed. The truth was, no one could keep their hands off the baby. They’d been fighting good-naturedly over him all day. Even David’s father, who had dandled him too roughly, as though he was a toddler of two instead of a newborn babe.
They gathered round him again now, debating whether to feed him or put him down to sleep, all except David and his father, who looked at David and said, “Come and have a walk with me, lad.”
David nodded. They both rose and went into the kitchen, shoving on boots and coats before walking out into the cold January day.
“This way,” his father said, setting off for the path to the north field.
For a while, they walked in silence. David’s father wasn’t a great talker. He only spoke when he had something to say. David suspected this might be one of those rare occasions.
It was a miserable day with a heavy, grey sky. The bitter winter wind did nothing to dry out the freezing damp that clung to every tree and rock and every inch of the hard ground. Last week’s drifts of white snow had melted for the most part, leaving only dirty banks of white-and-brown crust on either side of the steep dirt path that led up to the north field. They trudged up, hands deep in their pockets, heads lowered against the wind.
When they got to the top of the hill, David’s father took off his cap and leaned on the wooden gate of the north field, staring out at the valley below them. It was good farming here. Fertile ground and mostly flat with decent soil. Not exactly the most romantic landscape, but a man could make a living here. David joined his father at the gate, resting one booted foot on the lowest rung and leaning his forearms on the topmost one. The familiarity of the gesture made him feel nostalgic, remembering a time when he wasn’t tall enough to see over this old gate.
“You could have what Drew’s got,” his father said, eyes still looking straight ahead. “A wife and bairns. You’d be a good father, David.”
The warm nostalgia dissipated. David paused before replying. “I dearly wish I could, Dad. But I can’t.”
His father’s posture didn’t alter, and after a few moments, he nodded, as though David’s words were no surprise at all. His profile was craggy, the short brush of his salt-and-pepper hair blown back by the biting January wind. “You’ve chosen a hard road,” he said.
“I wouldn’t call it a choice,” David replied.
“There’s always choices. And you always seem to pick the toughest ones.” The old man stuck his cap back on, his mouth twisting into a smile of sorts. “You could’ve taken the apprentice position with Adam Jamieson and got a good trade. But instead you did all that learning with Mr. Odell, and off to university you went to become a fancy lawyer.”
“You encouraged me,” David pointed out, smiling. It was true. His father had groused, but he’d scrimped and saved to help pay David’s tuition. The old man valued education above everything.
“I knew once you set your mind to it you’d be sure to do it. That’s always how you were. Like when you took that whipping for Drew for leaving this very gate open and letting my best ram out.”
“I couldn’t sit down for a week.” David grinned.
“And when I caught you with William Lennox.”
David’s grin died on his face. “Dad—”
The old man’s face was grim, the deep lines at the corners of his eyes, from all those years outdoors, showing his age. He stared straight ahead. “God help me, David, Iwantedyou to lie to me that day. I wanted to believe it was anything but what my eyes told me.”
David’s chest felt tight. “I know,” he said thickly. “I’m so sorry.”
“But you wouldn’t deny it.”
“I…couldn’t. I—”
“Even though he denied it fast enough.”
Christ.
Like a knife in his gut, the memory of that betrayal pierced David all over again. William saying it was a mistake. That David had pushed him; that he’d allowed himself to be persuaded into the embrace despite his unwillingness. David shook his head at the wintry valley in helpless denial.
“How can I be proud of you forthat?” his father said sadly, shifting his whole body to look at David. David turned his head to meet the old man’s stony gaze. “And how can I not?” he added.
The pain in his father’s eyes wasn’t to be borne.
“I’m so sorry,” he said again, wretchedly.