Page 66 of A Highland Bride Forgotten
Then, River broke the silence with something Archer hadn’t expected to hear.
“I received a letter yesterday from me brother,” she said. “One of many.”
“Aye,” he said. “And what’s he sayin’?”
“I daenae ken,” said River, much to his surprise. “I still havenae opened it.”
The admission came with obvious embarrassment, though Archer could not figure out why.
“Ye daenae wish to read it?”
“Nay,” said River with a sigh, shaking her head. “Nay, I...I never read them. I keep them all in a drawer in me chambers.”
Archer remained silent, waiting to see if River would volunteer any more information on her own. When she said nothing, he asked, “Why?”
River made a noncommittal sound, as if she herself didn’t know the answer to his question. She nibbled on a piece of bannock that she had torn off with her fingers, staring out into the horizon.
“I’m afraid of what I might find in them,” she admitted at last. “I fear he may . . . what if he blames me?”
“For what?”
“For everythin’,” said River. “For our maither’s death. For…och, I daenae ken. What if he kent all this time? What if he was helpin’ her? We ken she wasnae actin’ alone, but we still daenae ken who was helpin’ her, Archer. And who better than me brother? But even if it wasnae him…even if he’s innocent, he might hate me that I didnae save our maither.”
River’s words were like a dagger to the heart for Archer, especially now that he remembered exactly how she had died. He had done nothing to help the woman; he had simply allowed her death, sanctioned it, even. And now River was blaming herself for it instead of blaming him.
After a moment of hesitation, he reached for her hand, holding it tightly in hers.
“River…I’m certain yer brother doesnae blame ye for anythin’,” he assured her. “And though I daenae ken if he’s innocent or nae, naethin’ bad has ever been heard regardin’ him. As far as I ken, he’s a good man.”
“How could he nae blame me?” asked River, her gaze now distant, as if she was there physically, but was mentally far away. “I could have done somethin’ to save her.”
“Nay,” said Archer firmly. “I could have done somethin’ to save her and I didnae. So if ye wish to blame someone, blame me. Nae yerself.”
River looked at him then, and Archer felt as though her gaze was piercing right through him.
“It wasnae yer fault,” she said firmly, and it seemed to Archer that she truly meant it. “I would never blame ye for this.”
“Then daenae blame yerself either,” said Archer. “I certainly daenae blame ye and I doubt yer brother does.”
River fell silent once more and turned her gaze back to the lake, to the horizon. For a while they sat there, picking at the food, content in the silence between them.
Then, Archer said, “Sometimes it’s easy to forget people love us. It’s easy to forget they’re on our side. But when ye decide to open those letters, remember yer brother and think…does he love ye? I think he does.”
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River discovered she could not sit still. It was not Archer's fault, though he would likely take credit for it if she told him. The trouble was that he had given her something to think about, and now every time her gaze drifted toward the pocket in her dress containing the unopened letter she had received that morning, she found herself imagining what might be written inside them. For months she had been content to fear them from a distance. Now, thanks to him, she could no longer do so quite as comfortably.
Annoyin’ man.
She plucked a blackberry from the small wooden bowl between them and tossed it into her mouth. Archer, stretched out on one elbow beside the blanket, watched her with obvious amusement.
The lake lay only a few yards away, its surface ruffled by a light breeze that turned the reflected sky into broken fragments of dark blue. Along the opposite bank, a stand of pines climbed the hillside, their dark silhouettes disappearing as the sun sanklower. Somewhere farther down the bank, hidden by a cluster of reeds, a bird called once and then fell silent.
River rose to her feet, but Archer did not move.
“Where are ye goin’?”
Instead of responding, she dusted crumbs from her skirt and began making her way toward the water. The grass grew softer nearer the bank, giving way to patches of moss and smooth stones that had been worn pale by years of rain and wind. She stepped carefully over them, then crouched beside the edge and dipped her fingers into the lake.
