The Secret of Bell Cottage

Chapter Twenty-one - Sheila

"Daughter?" Sheila echoed, her voice faint with shock.
She fumbled for the chair beside her and fell into it. Absently she watched as he retook his own seat, folding his arms across the table and gripping his forearms. He sat there, seeming to be patiently waiting for her to digest his confession. But the white lines bracketing his eys and lips, the tension in his shoulders all betrayed the strain he was under.

She pictured little Mary in her mind, scrutinizing her youthful features. The small signs of familial resemblance were subtle, but now that she was focused on picking them out, they became obvious. The slope of the girl's forehead, the small dimple in that sharp little chin. Just like the dimpled chin of the man seated before her. She was his daughter. But then she remembered the child introducing him earlier in the day.

"Mary thinks she's your sister. She doesn't know, does she?"

"No," he winced with pain as he shook his head. "She can never know."

"Why?"

"I'll not see her ostracized as a bastard because of my carelessness." His eyes narrowed in fierce conviction. "She doesn't deserve that. No child does."

"But," Sheila persisted, striving to understand. "She thinks she's your sister. How?"

She watched his throat work as he swallowed back his emotions once more. His control was astounding. She was impressed even as she realized that keeping such strong emotions bottled up could eventually cause them to erupt.

"Apparently my father married her mother when he discovered she was carrying my child."

To say Sheila was astonished that the controlled man beside her would knowingly have committed such a careless act would have been a mistake. It was more of a shock that he would leave a woman in such dire straits, pregnant and alone. Unless he hadn't known.

"You didn't know about the baby?"

"No," again he shook his head and dropped his face into his hand. "I ran away to war and never looked back."

Again, Sheila puzzled over his confession and found another disturbing aspect.

"Did no one try to contact you?"

Gideon slowly raised his head and stared at the far wall. He swallowed deeply, his eyes lined with regret.

"No one."

"You had no communication with your father?"

Gideon hesitated, then slowly shook his head, taking another deep breath, allowing air to expand his chest and slowly released it before confiding, "Father was so certain I would die in battle. It was one of the main things we argued over that day, before I rode away." His chin dropped to his chest and his whole frame drooped with contrition. "I expected to be disowned. I never expected any letters."

"Surely not." She was appalled.

How could any father be so heartless. To cut off all contact like that. While seeing a son go off to war. When he might never return. Yes, it was done but she just couldn't fathom it. If any of her brothers had wanted to go off to war, she could see her own father arguing, demanding and outright begging the boy to reconsider but he would never go so far as to disown him. It was inconceivable.

"I was determined to go. Father would never condone such outright disobedience." He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. "Not that I could have read his letters anyway."

She frowned in confusion.

"Why couldn't you read his letters?"

He looked up, his gaze locking with hers and she saw that lost little boy reflected in those fascinating silver eyes.