Johanna Lindsay - The Heir

Archie was less restrained, he did laugh—at Neville. "Now, why am I no' surprised?"

Which got Archie a glare, another snort, and nearly lost them the lamp, since Neville marched off with it. But he did come back with it after a moment, set it on the nearest hall table, and stiffly said, "For the lad, so he doesn't break his neck. And we'll discuss in the morning what sounds like a misunderstanding."

The last was said with yet another glare in Archie's direction, which instead of further amusing the old Scot, caused him to wince this time.

Duncan didn't notice, demanded, "What misunderstanding?"

"The one you just complained about not understanding," Neville replied.

That, of course, was much too cryptic for Duncan's whisky-soaked brain to try to grasp, so he didn't try. Instead he stumbled the last few feet to what looked like his bedroom, and pushing his way in, managed to do his falling this time on a soft bed. He'd worry tomorrow about whether it was his room. As long as no one was shouting at him to get out, his mind took the opportunity to stop functioning.

Waking the next afternoon—he managed to sleep that long—Duncan was treated to the reminiscent scene of finding someone sitting beside his bed again, waiting for him to awake. It was Archie this time, and although he was pretending to be asleep as well, Duncan knew better. The irony wasn't lost on him, despite the wicked hammers pounding on his head. Both times had been after he'd drowned himself in drink.

Archie, cracking one eye at him, said pretty much the same thought. "Ye sloshed yerself when ye got engaged but didna want tae, now ye've done it again when ye did want tae, but couldna. Is the after pain worth it, lad, when the forgetting is only temporary?"

"Nae, no' worth it at all. And you'll be regretting sitting there all night just tae ask me that, when your auld bones creak now for a week."

"Let me worry aboot m'auld bones," Archie replied as he sat up and stretched. That they both heard a few creaks as he did so caused him to softly chuckle.

Duncan rolled to a sitting position on the side of the bed himself. He did so carefully, but it still didn't help. Obviously he hadn't slept quite long enough to get all the liquor out of his system yet. Next time he thought that drink would be the answer to his problems, he decided he'd just ask someone to shoot him

instead.

Archie, watching him, said uncomfortably, "This should probably wait until yer feeling better, but m'conscience says otherwise."

"If you mun scream at me, do it in a whisper," Duncan replied.

Archie winced. "Any screaming gets done will probably be coming from ye."

That got Duncan's undivided attention. "Conscience, eh? Verra well, what's bothering you?"

"That yer taking the lass's rejection sae hard."

Duncan raised a brow, but that hurt. He tried a scowl instead, but that hurt, too. He finally just put his head back in his hands and mumbled, "Was I tae rejoice that she doesna love me in the way I love her?"

"Yer sure then, that ye love her that way?"

"Would I have asked her tae wed me if I still saw her just as a friend?"

"Aye, I was afraid ye'd do just that, just tae get the marrying o'er wi'." Archie sighed. "But then the last word I had from ye on the matter was yer assurance that she was only a friend tae ye."

"And so she was—then. The irony is, 'twas your own insistence that men and women canna be true friends that started me looking at her differently. And I found I liked what I saw, verra much so. In fact, I had the devil's own time, after that, keeping m'hands off o' her."

Archie closed his eyes with another sigh. "Then I hae some apologizing tae do. I'm afraid I may hae influenced her rejection o' ye."

"Dinna be absurd," Duncan scoffed. "You canna change how she feels."

"Nae, but from the talk I had wi' her, I may hae convinced her tae no' admit how she really feels." Duncan went very still as he stared at his grandfather. "What talk?" "I thought I was doing the right thing—" "What talk?"

"Last week, when I saw her in Oxbow. I warned her that ye might be coming tae her for marriage, if ye could get oout o' marrying the Reid lass, but that it'd be for the wrong reasons if ye did."

"Bedamned, you told her I felt nothing more'n friendship for her?"

Archie cringed, though Duncan's tone wasn't as harsh as it sounded. "Aye, but then I was sure that is all it was, when ye had assured me o' just that, and I didna want tae see the tae o' ye making a serious mistake in thinking ye could base a marriage on it."

Duncan's scowl suddenly turned into a grin when he realized, "Do you ken this means she really loves me?"

"Aye, that is a possibility."

"More'n that. I'm realizing what a fool I was no' tae listen tae my heart, when I know she has more'n a tepid care for me. I let a few words o' denial destroy my common sense last night."

"I'll talk tae her, lad," Archie said gruffly. "And tell her my mistake."

"Nae." Duncan shook his head with a smile. "She needs convincing that I really love her, and if I canna do that m'self, then I dinna deserve her."

"Ye can forgive me then, for interfering?"

"Dinna fash yourself, Archie, I know you meant well. But for this devil damned headaching that's going tae keep me from going tae her right this minute, aye, you can wallow in guilt a bit longer for your part in that."

Archibald snorted and headed for the door. "If I'm going tae do any undignified wallowing, then ye might as well suffer the full brunt o' yer own foolishness," he said, and slammed the door shut soundly, knowing full well he'd be leaving some serious groaning behind him, which he did.

She couldn't get to sleep, of course. Sabrina hadn't thought she would, any more than she'd been able to last night. It was odd how a broken heart did that to you, made sure you fretted and analyzed and went through every imaginable "what if," and in the end, still stayed broken, when if the heart would just have a bit of pity, the pain could be ignored for a brief time in sleep.

She tried reading this time, though, and had brought to bed a book that had put her to sleep numerous times before. It didn't work. Had she really thought it would? When deep down she knew that she was probably going to lose even her friendship with Duncan now? How could what they had shared ever be the same, after all, when he had foolishly tried to make more of it, without having the real feelings that were necessary to make more of it?

He was deceiving himself, and in the process, had nearly deceived her as well, but only because she wanted to believe that he could love her. She did know better, and somehow had lost sight of the simple facts, that she wasn't a great catch, wasn't the type of woman who could turn men's heads, didn't possess the kind of beauty that could attract someone as handsome as Duncan was. She had tossed aside her common sense because of a few kisses and ...

Well, they really hadn't been friendly kisses. But then making love to her hadn't been a friendly type of thing to do either. But —and this was what she had overlooked—that was in her opinion, a woman's opinion. Men must obviously view it quite differently.

She was doing it again, analyzing, dissecting, driving herself deeper and deeper into morose-ness, when the facts simply weren't going to change. She left her bed. She paced some. She stopped by the window, opened the drapery, but the moon was hiding, giving her nothing much to look at outside.

Perhaps a long walk—no, then she'd have to dress again, leave her aunts a note ...

She moved to the fireplace, which was keeping the room pleasantly warm. She should put it out, turn off the lamps, too. Of course, a completely dark room hadn't helped last night. A warm glass of milk then. At this point she'd try anything to get some sleep so she could stop thinking.

She fetched her robe and went down to the kitchen, but shortly thereafter she was dragging her feet as she returned to her room. The milk hadn't made her drowsy. She was still wide awake, and even more so when she opened her door and found Duncan sitting on her bed.

She doubted her sight, of course. Her imagination had brought him there, had even removed his coat for him, because she knew how indoor heat tended to bother him rather quickly. Just wishfulness. He wasn't real.

"Since it was already late t'day afore I felt fit enough tae come," Duncan told her, "I decided tae make sure it was late enough that there'd be nae aunts peeking through windows this time. O' course, I hadna quite figured oout how tae get tae you wi'oout waking the whole house, until you appeared at the window."

It was the brogue, which she knew she couldn't duplicate with any degree of accuracy, that convinced her he wasn't just a trick of her mind, that he was really there. "You came through the window?"

"Aye, and had a devil's time reaching it. That tree oout there didna want tae cooperate. I think I broke a few o' its limbs."

He looked contrite. She was still too amazed at his presence to think straight. "But—why?"

He left the bed, approached her, closed the door behind her that she'd been too startled to realize she was still holding open. She moved away from him, over to the fire, starting to feel. . . agitated. That didn't deter him; he followed again, took her hand so she wouldn't move off a second time.

"I've come here willing tae make a fool o' m'self if I'm wrong, but I have tae be telling you, Brina, that what I feel for you is nae longer just friendship."

She groaned inwardly, knowing full well she wasn't going to be able to survive with any degree of composure if he was going to try to convince her that he loved her, when she knew he was just deceiving himself. Archibald's warning hadn't just been heard and filed away for vague reference, it had repeated itself in her mind countless times, had been drilled home into her heart.

He wants ye near tae hand is all. He showed how far he's willing tae go tae hae ye near, by bringing ye tae the gathering, e'en though it brought Ophelia as well. He'd move ye intae Summers Glade if it werena inappropriate. I'm thinking he'd marry ye just tae get ye there permanently. He values yer friendship that much. But it is only that. Dinna let him fool ye intae thinking there's more tae his feelings. Ye'd both sorely regret it if ye do.

She tried to hold those words up as a shield now when Duncan continued, "Archie admitted tae me what he told you, but he was wrong—"

"No," she interrupted. "I've hated him for telling me, but he was right, we—"

"Be quiet and let me finish," he admonished gently. "I dinna mean his intentions. Those were fine and noble. I mean he was wrong in what he thought. I did indeed tell him a while back that we were only friends, and it was the truth at the time. I felt a closeness tae you that I've ne'er experienced afore wi' any other, and truthfully, lass, I didna think o' you any other way until Archie tried tae convince me that men and women canna be friends, that sex will get in the way o' it. Dinna be blushing now. There's nae polite way tae explain this. It was after he had that talk wi' me that I started seeing you as more'n just a friend, as the bonny lass you are. You can blame Archie if you like, but I'm no' blaming anyone for what I feel for you now. It's no' what it was, lass."

This was more painful than she could possibly have imagined it would be, because she wanted to believe him so much—but couldn't. Archie had been right, Duncan just wanted her near to hand, and this was the only way he thought he could accomplish it. And he'd just said it himself, that he'd felt a closeness to her that he'd never experienced before. She was his best friend, but because she was a woman, he was trying to call it something else.

She turned away from him to face the fire. "It is what it was," she said sadly. "You've just come to realize that I'm not as accessible as you'd like, that you can't visit me anytime you want, that you can't wake me in the middle of the night to share your thoughts, that you—"

His chuckle cut off her words, and her gasp as well, as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. "And what is this, if no' the middle o' the night?"

"You know what I meant. You can't be climbing trees every night. And you'd have the neighbors gossiping about us if you tried to see me as often as you want. But then you know that, which is why—"