Page 62 of Provoked

“You know what, Davy?”

“What?”

“William Lennox—Sir William, as he is now—has married a fine English lady, and they have a wee lassie. Another babe coming, so I hear.”

“Is that so?” David tried to imagine William with a daughter of his own. Would she have the same green-gold eyes as her father? The same dark hair? Or would she look like her mother?

“Aye, it’s so. He’s not got your scruples, lad.” The old man sighed. “But like I said, you never did take the easy road. It makes me want to weep for you sometimes.”

David didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing and the old man turned back to look out over the valley.

After a while, his father said, “I never told your mother. After, I mean. I didn’t want her worrying about you going to hell.”

David swallowed, guilt swamping him. “Thank you,” he muttered.

“And I’ve thought about it a lot since then. I reckon it’s no sin, Davy, if you don’t act on it. God sends strange things to try us. Sometimes they seem awful unfair. Look at Job. But we cannot know His purpose for us. All we can do is submit ourselves to His will and do what is right.”

David said nothing to that. He couldn’t. When he swallowed against the hot lump of grief trapped in his throat, it felt like swallowing a piece of his own heart. It was a monumental struggle to bring himself under control and avoid the final shame of giving way to tears.

It seemed, though, that the old man had said all he wanted to say. After that last pronouncement, he fell silent. Now he stared straight ahead, eyes narrowed, as though an answer might be out there, somewhere. A clue that might explain the whimsies of his God.

“It’s cold, Dad,” David said after a little while. “Shall we go back?”

“You go,” his father said without turning his head. “I’m going to bide here a wee bit. I’ll come back by and by.”

He left his father looking over the land he’d farmed his whole life, and trudged back down the hill. Four o’clock, and already it was getting dark. Damn, but these winter days were short.

So William was married, and with children no less. It was hardly a surprise, David supposed.

For some reason, though, the news made him think of Murdo Balfour, of all people. Balfour, whom he’d somehow managed to shove to the back of his mind and not think of for weeks now. He hadn’t seen the man since the night they’d seen off Euan MacLennan. Presumably he was back in London. David knew he’d probably never see him again. It was entirely pointless to waste time wondering about him. But wonder he did.

Angry with himself, David punished himself by imagining the man with Isabella Galbraith, even though he knew she probably wouldn’t be his choice now. It would be someone like her, though. Someone beautiful and accomplished. He imagined Balfour kissing her. Balfour burying himself between her soft white thighs. He imagined them with a clutch of dark-haired children. They’d have beautiful children.

And then he thought of Balfour’s eyes glittering with lust, his hand wrapped round his cock as he stared down at David’s prone, sated body.

He thought of Balfour touching him, more intimately than anyone had before, or probably would again.

“You’re beautiful.”

Christ Jesus.

That night—thatmoment—had been the sweetest of all David’s life. And if thinking that made him wicked and bound for hell, he wasn’t sure he had it in him to repent. But Christ, it was bittersweet. More bitter than sweet, truth to tell. Sweet to know that for once in his life, he’d known such tenderness, but oh so bitter to know it would never come again.

For one awful moment, all David’s darkness rose in him: misery, loneliness, envy. It blazed through him like an inferno in his blood. It roared through him and immolated him and left him like a husk. He opened his eyes and realised he was bent over, one arm braced on his thigh, his throat thick with unshed tears.

Then the pain ebbed, and he straightened. He wrapped all those thoughts up in black crepe and moved them to the back of his mind. He forbade himself to think about them anymore.

He took a deep breath and set off down the path again, and when he came round the bend, it was to see the farmhouse, with candles glowing in the windows, like a lighthouse calling him to safety.

When he opened the door, the savoury aroma of beef stew and dumplings assailed him, and his brother called him over to the fire to play a game of dominoes. His father came in a little later, and it seemed he was back to normal again. He joined his sons and accepted a cup of ale from Letty.

They ate a good dinner. Afterwards, David’s father broke open the rarely broached whisky, and the three men settled down to a more earnest game of dominoes while his mother sewed and Letty crooned to the baby.

When the game ended, David stood and went over to his sister-in-law.

“May I sit with you, Letty?”

She smiled. “Of course. Do you want to hold Allan again?”