“Blair,” Murdoch said by way of greeting. “Didna expect to find you alone.”
Lachlan was thinking of something to say when Ina saved him.
“Doona be very aggrieved at Finley,” she said. “She’s never been one for womanly companionship, and I think it well that she has a friend in Kirsten, even if all that little one will do is moon over yer own brother. She’ll be home by breakfast.”
Lachlan nodded, as if he knew Finley’s plans all along, but inside he was relieved that she was spending the remainder of the evening with Kirsten Carson. He would seek her out on the morrow and tell her of his new plan. “I’m not aggrieved at her at all. The contrary, in fact.”
“Walk with us,” Ina said, and her smile was as gentle and genuine as ever, even if in the back of Lachlan’s mind, warnings were sounding. “I’ve something to show you, and likely some answers to your questions.”
Lachlan rose from the sand and took up the place on the other side of Ina as the trio made their way from the beach, Murdoch pausing to rock a lit torch free from the sand. As they neared the path that led to the Carson farm, Murdoch stepped away to the door of a cottage whose roof Lachlan had helped replace. He opened it and held it aside while Ina and Lachlan passed through.
There were coals glowing in the hearth, and a small table with two little stools. The cottage was comprised of a single room, with the bedstead snugged into one corner. The other end of the house was fitted with the partitions for the animals in winter, although now the gates were opened flat against the wall and the floor was swept clean and dry. The smell of fresh sod gave the air a heavy, wet feeling.
Murdoch gestured to one of the stools as he walked toward the hearth in the darkened room, his torch washing light across the walls. “Sit down.”
Lachlan crossed his arms. “I’ll stand, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Och, naw, doona be that way,” Ina scoffed as she lowered herself onto a chair. “Sit with me, son. Let me talk to you without having to twist me old neck.”
Mother Blair, Lachlan’s foster mother, had never referred to him as “son” in all his life. Not once. Lachlan reluctantly pulled out the other chair and sat.
“You’ve been asking a lot of questions since you came to Carson Town,” Ina began, and while from anyone else the declaration may have come off as sinister or accusing, her words were accompanied by her same gentle smile. “Even of my Rory.”
Murdoch had added fuel to the fire and then slipped his torch into a holder on the wall. Now he leaned a shoulder against the door, his arms crossed over his chest. “I told him Rory wouldn’t have the answers he sought.”
“Aye,” Lachlan acknowledged. “And you were right. Any who remembered the battle could only repeat what everyone else said. The attack from the sea. The fire. The Blair townsfolk who were in league with the enemy ships.”
“And nae a one could tell you about Thomas Annesley, or how he was connected to the Carsons,” Ina said. “Because you never asked the one person who knew.”
Lachlan felt his brows lift in surprise. “Mother Carson, I—” he began.
“Did Fin tell ye about your brooch?” Ina interrupted him.
Lachlan looked down reflexively, his right hand going to the round, silver filigree on his shawl. “Aye. She said it had been yours on your wedding day.”
“And that it was,” Ina acknowledged. “But nae from my Rory. When his poor Mam called him back to Carson Town, he’d had yet to make a solid trade. He wasna the eldest son of his family, you see, but his brothers, his sisters, his da—all died in the fire. Their house was burned to the ground, and everything in it. All their animals, gone. The only thing he had in the world was his mother when he returned. But I…” Ina paused, and Lachlan could see that memories were clouding her aging eyes, causing them to mist over behind decades of painful loss.
“I had the farm. It was set up so high and apart from the town or the old house, most everything was saved. I was alone. Widowed. Frightened.” She paused again, and then looked up to meet Lachlan’s gaze with her own. “Rory married me for the good of the town. Both our resentments and mourning made us little use to each other for a good long while.”
“I ken the feeling,” Lachlan said.
“Nay,” Ina said gently and with a little shake of her head. “Years, Lachlan. Our bedchamber has always kept two beds, if you ken.”
Lachlan stilled. He could hardly imagine the loving couple he knew as Finley’s parents so at odds with each other.
“So the brooch, it was my marriage gift from my first husband, and I wanted Finley to give it to you.” She held out her hand. “May I?”
Lachlan undid the clasp and laid the brooch in her wrinkled palm.
Ina brought the piece close to her, stroked it with her thumb. “I never took it off. For ten years after he was dead. In my heart, I was still Andrew’s wife.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Lachlan saw Murdoch look away with a pained expression beneath his beard.
“Let me at last see this blade.” Ina drew his attention once more, returning the brooch to him. Lachlan refastened the pledge, then reached to his belt to remove the sheath. He laid it on the wood with barely a sound and Ina leaned forward, admiring the piece, stroking it with her fingertips. “Ah, aye. It’s just as he described it.” She sat back in her chair. “My first husband was Andrew Carson, Murdoch’s older brother. It was he—Andrew—who told me of the dagger.”
Lachlan turned to the bearded man still leaning against the door. “You said you’d never seen it before.”
“And I hadna,” Murdoch said. “’Twas Andrew who would have been chief. Andrew what was Da’s pet, the one he confided in. The man barely looked at me.”
