“Dammit lass, aye I want yur body, but I also want yur heart and everything else ya are willing to give me. Bloody hell, throw me nothing but crumbs and I’ll take them too.”
She stares at me, her cheeks flustering. “Are you really my stalker?”
Fisting my hair in frustration, I rasp, “Not in the way ya think and I was only trying to keep ya safe.”
Letting out an astounded sound, she shakes her head. “Is that supposed to make me feel better about what you’ve done?”
Rubbing my forehead I answer, “I should have told ya the truth earlier but I feared ya wouldn’t take it too well.” And I was probably right.
“What truth?” she asks and I raise my head.
“Wait here for me and I will show ya. But promise me ya won’t go anywhere.”
Otherwise I’m going to have to chase her across the moors.
To my relief, she nods, sitting down on her bed. “I promise,” she says in a low voice, looking down at her hands but she’s still wary like she doesn’t truly trust me and the pain it causes me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
Closing her door, I stalk down the hallway, entering Lear’s bedroom. I know where he kept it and walking over to his desk, I pull out the box then grab the radio that’s sitting on his windowsill.
Macbeth looks up when I walk in, her eyes rounding in surprise at what I’m carrying.
“Are you going to play me some music?” she asks but I shake my head, plugging the radio in and then I hand her box.
“Once ya hear the truth about everything, I want ya to try to forgive me,” I say and she looks up at me, looking hesitant. Hours ago we had never been closer to each other and now it feels like there’s continents between us.
But I know one thing for sure. Even if Macbeth never wants to see me again, even if she curses me and rejects me I will still never truly let her go. Always stay by her side, always at a distance, even if that means having to watch her marry another man and carry his bairns...
Fuck, if it’s not stuff like that, that makes a male feel like he’s being wounded over and over. It’s not weapons that truly end us. Its lasses who hold our hearts in their hands and have the power to crush them in the blink of an eye.
Reaching my hand up, I except Macbeth to flinch but she doesn’t, allowing me to stroke her cheek with my knuckles.
“I might have done wrong by ya, but I have only ever wanted ya. Even if ya don’t want me back, I will still want ya. Always, always, always...”
“Logan,” she whispers, her lips trembling and I want to kiss her but I don’t think she wants me to.
“I will wait outside. For an hour. If ya don’t want to, ya don’t have to come out and I’ll ken ya don’t want me and I will leave. But if ya do...”
My throat compresses and I swiftly turn, walking away.
9
Beth
My heart is playing up in my chest as I open up the box, sayingProperty of Lear Walsh. To my surprise all I find is old fashioned cassette tapes, numbered by dates. Grabbing one, I put it in the radio, pressing play and lay down on the bed.
When my father’s voice flares in the room, I tense, laying frozen before tears start falling down my eyes. I’ve never heard his voice before but he sounds exactly how I’ve always secretly imagined. Warm, kind and brave, the voice of a man who has been fighting a battle for years.
I realize that this is his diary and I grab a pillow, pressing it to my chest as I keep on listening. He’s talking about my mother divorcing him and how difficult it was for him that she took me with her. He talks about planning to visit me but that he knows he never was a good father or husband and never will be.
The guilt is what gets to him, the shame. But he keeps talking about how much he wants to see me...
On the next tape, he is still talking about me, about the photo my mother sent him.
My wee Macbeth is eighteen years old now. A young woman and like any other da, I worry...
When he mentions Logan’s name, I tense sitting up in bed.
The Keltar lad was here again yesterday, helping me out with installing the new flat screen. He’s a good lad, though I caught him staring at the painting of my bonnie daughter.He chuckles.It’s an old man’s sentimentality but I would not mind seeing Macbeth with someone like him. A true Scotsman who could bring her back home. Maybe they could even live in this house of mine, raising little bairns...In any case they would have my blessing...