Page 24 of A Match Made in Heather

He should have been immune by now. He was more Englishman than Scot, Lady Rowland was right about that. He’d even lost most of his brogue. Only from being back here did it creep into his voice. When it did, he’d expected to sound like a stranger, even to his own ears. But he didn’t. He sounded . . .familiar.Just as being back in Kincardine felt more like home than he wanted to admit. Cutting that connection to his youth had been more difficult than he’d ever imagined.

All because of Arabel.

“He’s back for revenge, actually,” Arabel put in, a world of hurt and anger in her soft voice. “Against the Rowlands.” She paused. “And me.”

“Not against you,” he corrected quietly.

“Then against my family.” She gave a dismissive sniff as she turned away to stare into the fire. “No difference.”

A world of difference.But how did he explain that to her? The Rowlands had exiled him from the highlands, while Arabel had stolen his heart. After ten years, he’d managed to claw his way back here, to finally hold the family accountable for what they’d done and to exact as much retribution as possible.

But would he ever retrieve his heart?

“Is that so?” Matilda asked.

Garrick tore his gaze from Arabel, then forced a grin for her aunt. “Surely you recognize me for the English devil I am, come to rain hellfire and destruction across the highlands.”

“Well, ye certainly have good cause,” Matilda mumbled with a small nod.

His heart stuttered.Good God.How much did the woman know about what happened that night when he was forced away from Highburn? How much did she know about him and Arabel?

Lady Rowland rose from her chair with a yawn. One just as fake as her bagpipe practice. “Good luck to ye then, lad.” She cackled with laughter as she left the room. “You’ll need it!”

When she disappeared into the hall, Garrick muttered, “Mad as a hatter.”

“I know,” Arabel answered with a deep sigh, her love for her aunt evident in her voice. “But she’smymad hatter.”

He couldn’t help a chuckle at that. Propping himself up on his elbow, he stretched out on the floor in front of the fire and turned onto his side to watch the flames. Surprisingly, he wasn’t eager to return to his room.

Neither, apparently, was Arabel.

She remained on the floor next to him, the tartan throw wrapped securely around her and her hair falling loose down her back. Warm, soft, and comfortable, she looked as if she belonged nowhere else in the world but sitting with him in front of the fire. Surrounded by the dark shadows just beyond the firelight’s reach, Garrick could easily imagine spending every night with her. Just like this.

“What did she mean,” Arabel ventured quietly, “that you have good cause to seek revenge against my family?”

“I assume she meant you,” he dodged quietly. There was no need to bring the truth down upon their heads, not when they’d found the first quiet moment together since he walked into the solicitor’s office and saw her, like a figure from a dream. He paused, then steered the conversation to what was nagging him most tonight. “Your family wanted you to marry the duke’s son. Why didn’t you?”

She tensed, and he felt the change in her the way old sailors felt oncoming storms in their bones. For a moment, she said nothing, and he expected her to keep the story to herself. After all, tonight was the first time they’d spoken about anything of worth since the afternoon at the cottage. They’d gone out of their way to avoid each other since then, with Arabel busying herself with her wedding plans and Garrick throwing himself into repairs to the house. Except for when they’d been forced into polite dinner conversations, they’d not spoken a word to each other.

And most likely they would have continued exactly like that if not for Lady Rowland’s bagpipe recital.

But now, he was given the first chance he’d had to learn more about her life since they parted. Truly, it was only fair, given how he’d laid bare everything about his life to the two women tonight.

Almost.He wasn’t certain now that she ever needed to know about what else happened that night ten years ago. Nor should he care, as long as he received reparations for it.

Then her slender shoulders sagged, and she surprised him by admitting, “The Campbells refused.”

“Why?” he pressed gently.

“What else is a duke to do,” she answered with a small shrug of one shoulder, “when the family of his son’s fiancée is embroiled in scandal and ruin so horrific that it . . .” Her voice drifted away, but her lips remained parted, her gaze fixed on the fire.

“That it . . .what,Arabel?” he prompted, sitting up to bring himself closer to her.

“That is destroys lives,” she breathed out, barely a sound at all. “That it strips a family of its fortune, steals its legacy and pride . . . leaving nothing but ashes.”

A tear fell down her cheek, and his heart tore for her. Did she even realize that she was crying?

Cold dread swelled inside him, and he fought back the urge to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and comfort her.Good God. . . he’d never seen her look so forlorn before, never so vulnerable. So defeated.