Page 121 of The Laird's Masked Passion

Elspeth picked up the letter again.

Yer maither was injured during the disorder.

The sentence struck so violently that everything after it blurred. Elspeth rose from the chair without meaning to. Pain pulled at her ribs, but it was far away, unimportant beside the cold spreading through her chest.

She blinked until the ink became words again.

She was knocked down near the cathedral entrance and suffered badly from the fall. Fer several days, she remained confined tae bed and was unable tae receive visitors or attend tae the household.

Elspeth saw her mother as she had last seen her, with one hand against the cathedral stone, her face pale in the chaos and her eyes finding Elspeth’s across smoke, steel, and fleeing bodies.

Maither.

Elspeth’s knees weakened. She caught the chair and lowered herself into it before the floor could make the decision for her.

She should have gone back. She had fought Colin. She had begged him. But she had still left. The horse had carried her away while her mother remained behind, and each mile placed between them had been another act of abandonment, even if Elspeth possessed no power to stop it.

Her rational mind objected. Colin had saved her life. The attackers were hunting them. Remaining would have exposed her to capture or death. She had not commanded the raid, caused the panic, or pushed her mother to the ground.

All these things were true. But none reached the part of her that remembered her mother’s face vanishing behind them.

Elspeth forced herself to continue.

She is recovering now. The healer expects nay lasting damage, provided she is spared unnecessary distress.

Relief came so suddenly that it hurt. Elspeth closed her eyes and pressed the letter to her chest, careless of the parchment bending beneath her hands. She drew one breath, then another. The second shook more than the first.

She already knew what would follow.

Fer this reason, ye will refrain from sending further agitated letters. Yer maither requires quiet, nae demands concerning matters which are nay longer yers tae govern. Ye are Lady MacKenzie now. Whatever consequences have followed from that arrangement belong tae yer husband’s household, and ye would be wise tae attend tae them without drawing further misfortune toward ours.

Elspeth read the paragraph twice. Her father had managed, with admirable efficiency, to tell her that she no longer belonged to her mother while blaming her for endangering the family she had been ordered to leave.

A remarkable achievement, even for him.

At the bottom of the page stood only:Thomas Fraser.NotYer faither.

Perhaps he had finally tired of claiming relations which were of no use to him any longer.

The letter slipped from Elspeth’s fingers and landed upon the table. For several moments, she sat without moving. She merely stared at the Fraser seal, broken neatly in two.

Her mother had been hurt. Guilt rose with such force that it made her stomach turn. She had promised never to forgive Colin for taking her away. Yet now she loved him for keeping her alive.

The two truths sat painfully beside one another.

She lowered her hands.

“This wasnae me fault,” she said aloud.

The words fell into the chamber and waited.

She tried again. “I didnae bring those men.”

Her voice was firmer, but grief cared very little for firmness.

She needed distance from the letter, from the castle, perhaps even from Colin, whose concern would be unbearable because it was the very thing her father had taught her never to expect.

Elspeth slipped the folded parchment into her gown, then she went in search of air.