Page 38 of A Match Made in Heather

“No,” she said softly, her shoulders falling. “It’s simply a fact. If you don’t let go of the past, it will always be between us.” She drew in an erratic breath, and her fingers tightened on his, desperate to hold onto him, however she could. “Will you give me Highburn?”

A hard gleam flared in his eyes. “Will you stop letting your family dictate your life?”

The pain that pulsed through her at his cutting question came brutally, stripping her breath away. Her hands dropped away, and her empty fingers clasped at the cold air. The anguish inside her burned so intensely that every inch of her ached with loss.

Unable to keep the desolation from her voice, she whispered, “Nothing’s truly changed for us after all.”

He looked away, this time unable to reassure her that she was wrong.

The realization that she’d lost him should have killed her. Yet her foolish heart still beat on, still not wounded enough to stop and spare her the hell of losing him again, despite the needles of pain that pricked at her and the utter misery that gnawed at her belly.

“If you can’t understand why Highburn means so much to me, if you can’t let me bring good from the ashes of my family, then—” She choked on the words. “Then you’re not the man I once loved.”

Frustration twisted his features. He rasped out, “Arabel—”

“Go back to England, Garrick,” she breathed out as her world shattered around her. “There’s no highlander left in you to love.”

Day Twenty-Seven

Garrick ignored the first pale pinks of dawn falling through the new entrance hall windows as he stared up at the Rowland coat of arms. In the past month, Arabel had repaired it, and now it hung proudly, surrounded by the claymores that she’d carefully replaced in their intricate designs. For God’s sake, she’d even draped a sash of Rowland tartan across the corner of the shield.

If he needed proof of her devotion to her family’s legacy, this was it. The stubborn woman was determined to bring respect back to the Rowlands at all costs.

Including their future.

He bit back a curse. To ask him to give her Highburn like that, knowing all that her family had done to him, the hell they’d put him through—Did she really expect that he would simply had it over, to let her bring glory back to clan Rowland? While she was once again engaged to another man, no less. Did she think he’d learned nothing from the past?

He gritted his teeth. Those damnable accusations she’d leveled against him were ludicrous. Plotting to raze Highburn to the ground, to seduce her as part of his revenge—

Christ.

He raked his fingers through his hair. Hehadsaid those things to Reeves, but that was all before they were given a second chance. Before he realized that he still loved her and always would. He would give anything he possessed to have her for his wife, including his earldom and every penny to his name.

But not Highburn.

Let me bring good from the ashes of my family . . .He would grant her anything but that. The wounds her family had inflicted were still too raw to ignore, the scars running too deep to heal.

He’d be a liar if he said a part of him hadn’t enjoyed tearing down the east wing. But he’d enjoyed more the possibility of rebuilding it, of seeing Arabel’s face when the new construction was done. He’d come to appreciate Highburn during the past month, but only because Arabel loved the place and he loved Arabel.

Good from the ashes . . .Was that even possible?

“So I’m not the only one unable t’ sleep.” Lady Rowland entered from the hallway, wearing her dressing robe and nightcap. She added knowingly, “I ken yers has to do with the lass.”

He grimaced and dodged, “Arabel is tucked safely into her bed.”

“Aye, when she should be in yours.”

Garrick stiffened, although he shouldn’t have been surprised. What he’d come to learn of Matilda Rowland during the past month was that the tough old woman spoke her mind and thought propriety was a quaint notion—and that her eight decades gave her liberty to unleash her tongue on matters that didn’t concern her. Especially now, when tomorrow morning Arabel would walk down the aisle with a man who wasn’t him.

“A fine job ye two are doing of messin’ things up.” She snorted with disapproval. “Again.”

Clenching his jaw, he folded his arms across his chest and faced her. Her head barely came to the middle of his chest, yet he knew the woman was a force of nature. One he couldn’t easily dismiss. Nor could he tell her to mind her own business, because Arabel and Highburnwereher concern. Just as they’d become his.

“So determined are ye to avenge yerself against the Rowlands for what they did t’ ye,” Matilda muttered, “that you kinna see the truth ’fore yer own eyes. An’ the truth is that Arabel never stopped lovin’ ye. Most likely, the lass is upstairs crying ’cause she still loves ye, even now.” Her old eyes swept contemptuously over him, clearly finding him lacking. “While yer down here, too full o’ pride an’ arrogance to do what ye ken has to be done.”

“And what is that?” he drawled, feeling the sting of her accusation. “Surrender Castle Highburn?”

“Tomarryher, no matter the cost. Even to yer own damnable pride.”