Kieran occupied a chair between them—the odd, unpaired outlier.
It felt rather like a portent.
“Yes, yes,” his mother agreed, placing a hand on her son’s arm. “Oh! The anxiety we both felt for our dear Miss Fyffe. I feared my heart would succumb to palpitations.”
“Myself, as well.” Simon beamed at his mother, expression affectionate and kindly. He looked back at Eilidh. “It is such a relief to see you in good health and among friends.”
Kieran nearly snarled at the man’s genteel goodwill.
Simon the Sassenach was supposed to be a loathsome fellow—balding, paunchy, pompous.
Instead, a paragon sat opposite.
Simon was every inch a curate with a wee bit of an inheritance to supplement his living. He exuded gentlemanly kindness. His clothing, though not the first stare of fashion, was elegantly tailored and of clear quality. Furthermore, he possessed all his teeth and hair and, with golden locks and soulful eyes, was decidedlynotunhandsome.
In short, given the impoverished, dubious circumstances in which Simon the Sassenach had found Eilidh, the advantage in the match was entirely on her side. She had reached above her station in engaging Simon Fitzpatrick’s affections. He was precisely the sort of gentleman Captain Charles Fyffe would have liked his daughter to marry.
She had repeatedly told Kieran this. Yet, somehow it took finally seeing Simon to viscerally understand it.
Kieran and Eilidh had just spent the past twenty minutes allaying the Fitzpatrick’s fears and concerns. Apparently, Eilidh had written a letter explaining the basics of her situation, but it must have passed the Fitzpatricks heading south while they were traveling north.
“Thank you for your concern.” Eilidh smiled at her friends, pouring them all tea. Kieran hated the slight tremor in her hands, the only wee sign of her internal agitation. “As you can see, I am in the company of friends. Master MacTavish was a close compatriot of my father’s, and Mr. Ewan Campbell—who resides in Kilmeny Hall with his wife, Lady Kildrum—was a shipmate aboardThe Minerva.”
Eilidh had already informed them that she had been asked to remain in the area, pending an inquest by the Judge Admiral. The way she cleverly spun the tale—never telling a lie, but also not disclosing the whole truth—was so very Jamie-esque, Kieran nearly smiled.
But he onlynearlysmiled, because nothing about watching his wife make doe-eyes at another man was remotely humorous.
“Again, I apologize that I did not write in a more timely fashion,” she said, handing a teacup to Mrs. McKay. “It has all been a rush, you see, with the Judge Admiral requesting I remain here for a wee while in order to determine what I can remember.”
Eilidh poured another cup of tea and passed it to Kieran. The brief weight of her gaze pleaded with him to go along with her subterfuge, and please, please, please not disclose the information she had not articulated to Simon—namely that she was under inquest for destroying the ship.
Kieran gritted his teeth.
“My dear Miss Fyffe, what an ordeal this has been for you.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick reached for a shortbread biscuit on a tray which rested in the middle of them all. Simon’s mother was rosy-cheeked and quick to smile and Kieran disliked how much he instantly liked her.
“Yes.” Simon balanced his teacup. “I am only upset that we were not here from the beginning to offer you our support.”
His mother nodded. “But I am so very glad that you have had the support and care of friends.”
The lady spoke with kind openness. In short, Kieran could sense no undercurrent, no insincerity in the Fitzpatricks.
They both clearly adored Eilidh. How could they not? Kieran’s lass was easy to love.
Simon, in particular, gazed at her with warmth and affection—the proprietary gaze of a man who considered a woman to be his.
“Thank ye, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. It is lovely to have ye both here.” Eilidh shot a smile at Simon. “There is to be a midsummer festival on the night of the solstice.”
“In two days’ time?”
“Yes. I hope ye will remain here and attend with us.”
“I wouldn’t miss it, Miss Fyffe.” Simon reached for a biscuit, but his eyes never left Eilidh’s face.
It was too much.
Too much for Kieran to contemplate, to absorb, to tolerate.
To have come this far.
