Had she pushed too far, too fast?
She set her sketchbook down carefully, feeling the weight of his confession settle deep in her chest.
“I… I’m so sorry, Alasdair,” she whispered, voice trembling. “It must have been hard to say that aloud. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”
She hesitated, wanting to reach out, to touch him, but held back, afraid to break the fragile peace of the morning.
He nodded, acknowledging both her compassion and the pain he had buried for so long.
“I was only sixteen then. They arrested him for crimes he dinnae commit. It shocked everyone who kenned him. He was a man of principles, always fightin’ for justice. So, when they said he was guilty of bribery, fraud, and treason, we knew it was a plot. A web spun to trap him. Enemies he’d made among those who hated a Highland laird askin’ questions. They wanted to bury him with lies. And so, a proud man died in prison. They said illness took him, but I saw the truth, Elizabeth. He was tortured.”
Silence fell, thick and heavy, as Alasdair fought to steady himself. Elizabeth let the silence reign, watching his chest rise and fall with deep, slow breaths. She recognized the effort; it was his way of holding back tears, of not letting the grief break him completely.
After a moment, she broke the stillness gently. “Do you think someone framed him?”
“I dinnae think, Elizabeth. Iken,” he said, voice hardening with fierce conviction. The tremble was gone, replaced by fire. “They never gave him a fair trial. He died before he could tell his side. But he never kneeled to the bastards who arrested him. He kept the pride of the Highlands, and I promised I would do the same.”
Elizabeth moved closer, the distance between them shrinking until her hand rested on his tense shoulder. She felt the strain beneath her fingertips, the burden he carried.
“You’ve been fighting so hard, Alasdair,” she said softly. “All those lessons, learning how to deal with pompous lords, navigating their world, are all evidence of your hard work. I’m certain you’ll find the justice you seek.”
He met her gaze, those forest-green eyes darkened by storms weathered and battles still to come. “Aye. I willnae stop until justice is done. I ken what men like Kittridge are capable of.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Kittridge? Lord Kittridge, you mean?”
“Aye.”
“You think Kittridge is involved?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “How do you know?”
“I’ve nae proof yet, as I’ve been slightly, but delightfully delayed,” he kissed her hand then, “But I’m certain some powerful men were behind it.”
“Be careful. Please,” she warned, her voice firm with concern. “If they orchestrated your father’s downfall… they are ruthless.”
“Aye, they are.” His voice was steady, resolute. “But I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I will nae stop until I’ve earned justice for me faither. He deserves that much.”
Elizabeth had no words to answer, only the deep belief that justice mattered. Still, worry knotted in her heart. Good men did not fare well against evil, especially when the evil worked together.
“You’ve shared something precious with me,” she said, voice filled with gratitude. “You know about my stepmother, but I think it’s only fair you know something of my mother. She was beautiful, and so full of life. When she was alive, my father was happier, or at least, I think he was. From what little I remember, those years were kinder. But after she died in childbirth, when my brother Daniel was born…everything changed. Father grew cruel. He even blamed Daniel for her death. But Daniel was his heir.”
“So, he took his anger out on you and Marianne instead,” Alasdair finished quietly.
“Yes.” Elizabeth’s voice cracked. “This year was not my first season. Father pushed me toward marriage. One suitor after another. I was a failure, an embarrassment. He even tried passing me off to Marianne’s husband. But he chose Marianne, thankfully. Then Lady Grisham stepped in. And she… she told me to forget everything about my mother.”
“Was it her plan all along, to push away your mother’s memory and replace it with hers?”
“No. Father started it. He always thought grieving women were weak and hysterical. Compared to Marianne, I was the weak one. When they couldn’t force her to marry, they focused on me.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. She had always felt fragile, like a delicate ornament at the mercy of others’ hands. When her sister resisted, the pressure came down on her.
“I may not know all yer battles, but I’ve seen enough to wonder,” Alasdair said, his voice gentle but firm. “And ken this, my duchess: ye are not weak. Not at all.”
She searched his face, hoping, needing him to be right.
Another truth dawned on her: this sharing, beyond their knowledge and bodies, was a new beginning.
Could she share more of her heart, too?
Chapter Twenty-Six