Chapter Thirty-Three
Emery cooks breakfast for us, and after that, we explore the area around the manse, and further to other parts of Skye. Ever since last night, when she said that thing, my wife has seemed less energetic than usual. She doesn't say much either. Her reticence compels me to speak up, if only to stop the itch deep inside me that started up again this morning.
"You look pensive," I say.
"Guess the amazing view inspired deep thoughts."
"About what?"
"Whisky and men."
I pull her against me. "You do have the strangest thoughts. Here we are on the coast of Skye, on a beautifully sunny day, and you're musing about whisky."
That damn itch won't go away. Well, at least it's not a pain in my chest this time.
Emery sweeps her gaze over the loch in front of us, though I don't think she's watching the various craft that navigate its waters. Not even a sailboat can catch her attention. Emery had clutched my hand as we trudged across the stone-littered shore, just so she could get a better view of the loch and the craggy mountains. A tourist shop lies behind us, across the way, but on this side of the road large black stones thrust up from the earth.
Emery links her arms around my waist and rubs her cheek on my chest. "Don't you want to know what men I've been musing about?"
"I hope it's not Luke, or that bod ceann before him."
"Mm-mm. Your brothers."
"I see." The lass is having me on, I'm sure. "Aidan, I can understand. We used to call him Don Juan, after all. But Lachlan?"
I make a disgusted noise.
"Oh come on," she says, giving me a playful slug in the gut. "Lachlan's hot. As for Aidan…whew."
Without letting go of her, I twist around until we face each other. I bind her to me with both hands joined over her lower back, then tip my head down to narrow my gaze on her. "It won't work. Trying to make me jealous. I have no worries you want someone else more."
"More than you? Never."
"Last night—" I compress my lips, knowing I need to clarify the situation but wary of treading too close to what she said after dinner. "I warned you I can't give you what you need."
"You said you won't, not you can't." She rests her forehead on my chest, relaxing into me. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to make you love me. I told you how I feel to get it off my chest, that's all."
A breath gusts out of me, fluttering her hair. "Whenever you want to leave, I'll give you the money."
"I'm not leaving. The only way you're getting rid of me is if you give me the heave-ho."
"The heave-ho sounds terrible, as if I'm pitching you over the side of a ship in the middle of the ocean."
"How this ends is up to you, Rory."
We stand here for a while, holding each other but not speaking or moving. What can I say? Not the words I'm sure she hopes to hear. Waves lap against the rocky shore, and car engines grumble on the road. But nothing, not even the squawking of a seagull, can penetrate my mind as more than background noise. How did I allow things to spiral so far out of my control? A simple arrangement, that was all I wanted. A convenient wife to show off to my family so they'd stop harassing me.
Emery is not convenient. She challenges me at every turn, and her defiance makes me randy. But it's her sadness that triggers something far more disturbing than lust, something I cannot allow to take root inside me. Not again. Three times, I'd loved a woman and been destroyed by it. If Emery leaves me—No, when she leaves me, I won't survive it.
Unless I push her way. Right now.
I shrug away from Emery and gaze out at the dark loch. "You asked me once why I bought a house here."
My wife doesn't speak or move, though I swear I can feel her questions burning on my skin.
"Three years ago," I begin, "I came to Skye on business. Doesn't matter why. On my way home, I drove past the manse and saw the estate agent's sign. Something about the house made me pull into the drive and get out of my car. No one was living there at the time, and the grass and shrubs were overgrown. With sunset almost over, the house looked dark and forsaken in the twilight, and I stood there watching the shadows consume it."
A sideways glance shows me Emery is not only listening, but watching me too as if she hopes to glean secret information from my expression.