His eyes darted back to the still retreating figure of Simon Fitzpatrick in the distance.
Had either of them ever stood a chance?
Because at the moment, it seemed as if every possible path to Eilidh’s future led her away from him.
31
The morning of the mid-summer festival dawned bright.
Eilidh had moved through the past twenty-four hours in a blur of physical activity and mental anxiety.
Ewan had let her read the letter that had arrived from Andrew and the Judge Admiral. Cuthie and Massey would testify in person. She wasn’t sure if that knowledge terrified or relieved her.
Surely, it would be harder for Cuthie to look her in the eye and tell a falsehood. But, of course, it was also just as likely that shehadblown up the ship.
Ewan and Kieran insisted that Cuthie would condemn her regardless of the truth. She needed to remember.
And perhaps that was true, but as of right now, she had run out of time.
It had all sneaked up on her—the Judge Admiral’s summons, the mid-summer festival preparations, Simon’s return. Over the past forty-eight hours, she had scarcely had a moment to think about her missing memories or truly delve into her future wishes. There was simply too much to be done, and so she had automatically retreated back into her white numbness. The void was effortless to achieve with Simon at her side.
For their part, Simon and his mother had jumped in to help the overworked house staff with the mountain of tasks. The twins’ dreams of yards and yards of bunting had been realized. The triangles of colorful muslin now hung in crisscrossed loops across the south lawn, decorating the booths there.
Throughout it all, Kieran had hovered at her periphery, keeping his distance whenever Simon was near and flirting outrageously when he was not.
The Brotherhood had returned yesterday afternoon to join in the festivities. The six members of their band had met in the drawing room of Kilmeny Hall, gathering around Ewan to greet his new daughter.
“Och, she is a bonnie lass,” Alex had beamed, smiling at the cooing Dahlia swaddled in Ewan’s arms.
“Aye,” Rafe nodded, patting Ewan’s back.
“Both lasses in this room are remarkably beautiful,” Kieran agreed, eyes darting to Eilidh.
She took in a deep breath and looked away.
“Thankfully, Dahlia got her mother’s looks,” Ewan blushed.
“Well, aye, that goes without saying,” Andrew chuckled. “We didn’t say that because we didn’t want tae hurt your feelings.”
The entire household of guests had dined together, everyone achingly polite to Simon and his mother. Eilidh had ensconced herself at Simon’s side throughout the evening, her hand threaded through his elbow as they mingled with guests in the drawing room before and after dining.
She had spoken only briefly with Kieran in the dining room over after-dinner tea, the wretch gallantly kissing her hand in greeting.
Hoursof small, casual contact with Simon, and yet, it was the pressure of Kieran’s lips on her ungloved fingers that lingered into the wee hours of the morning.
Could she trust the intense physical bond she felt with Kieran? Or was the calmer connection with Simon the correct path for her future?
In short, Eilidh was a muddle of confused wishes and contradicting thoughts. And she could essentially do nothing about it, as her entire fate now hinged on Cuthie’s and Massey’s testimony.
But the mid-summer festival had finally arrived, and Eilidh intended to lose herself in the day.
She dressed and was descending the castle stairs to the great hall for breakfast when a hand snagged her elbow.
Kieran pulled her into the small library on the second floor with its dark paneling and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He shut the door behind them.
“Kieran,” she said, exasperation in her voice, “I cannot be caught alone with you in here—”
“I just need a moment, lass.” He pinned her with his pale eyes, his brows drawn down.
