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grasp and stepped away. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Ashton would never hurt me.’
    Braedon’s fists tightened at his sides.
    ‘No!’ she cried. ‘I can see what you are thinking and I would never serve my husband so ill. It was just a…misunderstanding. A small flirtation that got out of hand.’
    There was no keeping all that he felt from his face. Dismay. Disillusionment. Disappointment.
    ‘Don’t look at me like that, Braedon.’ She gave a soft sob and he was seized with the urge to pull her close, tuck her away in his embrace and shield her as he’d always done.
    He didn’t. Couldn’t. ‘Does Ashton know?’ But he already knew the answer—knew that that had been Mairi’s idea all along.
    ‘He challenged the man—no, not to a duel. Fisticuffs, at a training salon. Ashton beat the dastard to a bloody pulp and then he packed his things and fled to his hunting lodge in the Highlands.’
    Braedon sighed. ‘I take it back, Mairi. You’re not mad, you’re merely trying to make your husband so.’
    His sister lifted her chin. ‘These bruises are badges of honour, brother dear.’ She let loose a defiant bark that was supposed to be laughter. ‘At least I know he feels something for me. My marriage may not be sunshine and roses, but it is passionate and deep.’
    Braedon closed his eyes.
    ‘Think what you like, but at least I never have to wonder if Ashton even sees me.’ She jabbed a finger high. ‘At least I’m not like Mother, sitting alone up there in the solar day after day, while my husband forgets my very existence!’
    ‘I understand.’ Weariness swept over him. ‘Of course I do.’
    Mairead had turned back to the view outside the window again. She stood straight as a rod, but she suddenly appeared to shrink in on herself. ‘I’m afraid,’ she whispered. ‘I’m afraid I’ve pushed him too far this time.’
    ‘You should be. A man can only take so much, my dear.’ Feeling a hundred years old, Braedon poured another drink and tossed it back. ‘Listen. I’m only going to say this to you once. Once,’ he emphasised, and refrained from gazing longingly at the door. ‘Ashton will be back, I’m sure. Wait for him here, if you wish, but you had better use this time to think long and hard on what sort of marriage you want, what sort of wife you wish to be.’ He set his glass down. ‘The man cares for you, my dear. I can see it. Everybody can. But now is the time for you to finally believe it—or to let him go. God knows, the ton is full of married couples who exist in a state of polite estrangement.’
    She made a wordless sound of protest.
    ‘You cannot keep testing him this way, Mairi. Decide now,’ he continued ruthlessly, ‘before it is too late.’ He sighed. ‘And what of children? Will you treat them the same way? Will you leave them anxious and wary, never knowing what to expect from you? How to approach you?’
    ‘Braedon!’ It was a whispered cry of despair.
    ‘Think about it. You have some serious decisions to make. Make them here, if you wish. Stay as long as you like.’ He deliberately firmed his tone. ‘But I won’t have you making mischief.’
    ‘I wouldn’t.’ She sounded small now, as well.
    ‘Your mind will be busy enough. Look around, talk to the housekeeper, the vicar’s wife, perhaps. Find some project to keep your fingers occupied as well.’
    She did not turn to meet his eye. ‘Thank you, Braedon.’
    He fled. With a measured tread that belied his inner turmoil he strode quickly through the gloom. He felt for Mairi. It was never easy, coming home to Denning. Yet it was a damned sight easier than growing up here. He sighed. He was doing what he could to change things, but he and Mairi would always carry the burdens of their childhood. It was just a damned shame that her marriage must also be marked.
    He found himself in the soothing quiet of his weapons wing. Some instinct had him pausing beneath the vast glory of the dome. Braedon closed his eyes and