Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(67)

Marguerite cocked her head, her gaze sharpening on Cleo. “Well, no, actually. I’m not convinced you’ll ever be fine. You just walked away from your husband. And you may be too foolish to realize it, but you love the man.”

“Marguerite,” Ash chided.

She glared at her husband. “What? I won’t sit silently as she does this. She needs to hear the truth.”

Cleo turned to look out at the taproom. She didn’t need to hear it. Because she already knew.

Yes. The word had slipped inside her mind before she could stop it. It was the answer she’d been fleeing from when she earlier asked herself if she loved her husband. It was there, inescapable. Yes.

She felt as though she’d left a part of herself with Logan. She couldn’t recall ever feeling this wretched . . . save for when she buried one of her siblings.

So the remaining question was whether she was protecting herself at all if she was left hurting so much.

She closed her eyes in a tight blink. When she opened them moments later, she found herself staring at a young couple at the table next to her. Two small children crowded around the mother, eating from a single bowl of stew. She brought the spoon to one child’s mouth and then the next, taking only an occasional sip for herself. The husband tore a large loaf of bread into pieces, placing the hunks upon a trencher that already held bits of cheese he’d torn up for the family. It wasn’t much food for a family of four. But they smiled. They laughed. The mother kissed her children, and when she looked at her husband her eyes glowed.

They loved each other. They were happy. Even with their meager food and their well-worn clothes.

Her hand drifted to her belly. Did a life already grow there? A part of Logan? It dawned on Cleo that she’d like that. She would love that. In fact, she wanted that. She wanted it with Logan.

She stood abruptly. “I-I have to go.”

Ash rose without a word and left the inn. Cleo hardly paid him any note. She looked desperately at each of her sisters. “I made a mistake. I have to go back.”

Annalise smiled. “Oh, Cleo. You do love him.”

Cleo nodded. “Yes, I have to see Jack. We have to go back now. At once.”

Marguerite made a shushing sound and guided her back down.

“No,” Cleo shook her off. “You don’t understand. I left him. He thinks I don’t care about him.”

“I understand,” Marguerite said evenly. “And so does Ash. He went to fetch the driver to ready the carriage.”

“He did?”

Marguerite smiled. “We knew you would come to your senses.”

“I wish I’d done so sooner.” Her shoulders slumped.

Annalise scooted close and patted her back. “At least you did it before reaching London.”

Cleo nodded, feeling only a little mollified. She wouldn’t feel totally at ease until she saw Logan again. Until she told him how sorry she was. Until she told him how she felt—that the only thing that terrified her any longer was the possibility of losing him.

Hopefully, he’d forgive her for running away. Hopefully, she wasn’t too late.

It was well past dark when they arrived back at McKinney Castle. She’d expected a sleeping village, but the lights of countless lanterns glowed through the curtains of her carriage. Every cottage window was lit, almost as though in vigil. Several people walked along the road toward the castle, slowing the progress of the carriages.

“What’s happening?” Annalise asked, glancing left and right out the carriage window.

“Something’s wrong,” Cleo announced, her stomach sinking.

“I’ll find out.” Jack opened the door and hopped down from the slow-moving carriage.

She lost sight of him as he moved to talk to a villager and their conveyance clambered on, eventually entering into the yard, blazing with the light of dozens of torches and lanterns. Or at least they advanced as far as they could into the yard. People, wagons, and several draft horses blocked them from going any farther.

Unable to wait for her father to arrive with an explanation, she popped open the door and eased herself down, holding her skirts in one hand. Ignoring the sound of Annalise calling her name, she hastened through the crowd, scanning the yard, eager to see Logan. Would his eyes light with joy when he saw that she had returned? Or would they still look as cold and empty as before? Perhaps he’d resigned himself to her leaving . . . perhaps he was even glad to be rid of her.

She banished the thought, refusing to let it deter her from her course.

Shaking her head, she stepped to the side as a wagon loaded with rock and stone rolled past. Was it typical for them to work so late into the night? Ahead, she spotted Simon and cut a direct line for him. He’d know where she could find Logan.

“Simon!” she called out, rushing to reach him.

He swung around, his hair mussed and wild about him—but not nearly as wild as his eyes. She paused, unease taking hold of her as she surveyed him. He was covered in dirt. Even his dark hair was chalky with it.

“Cleo.” He took a halting step toward her. There were others around him—a fact that only caught her notice because they all stilled unnaturally.

“Simon.” She glanced at the faces watching her. “Where’s Logan?”

Behind her, she heard her name being called. A glance over her shoulder revealed Jack, pushing through the crowd, his expression grave and urgent.