In short . . . he wasn’t coping quite as well as he should.
Ewan, ever the sensitive soul, walked down from Kilmeny Hall the afternoon after Kieran’s disastrous conversation with Eilidh in the forecourt. He cornered Kieran in the small library on the second floor of the castle. Though to call the wee room a library was perhaps a bit of a stretch. It was more like a study lined with books. But given the dreich weather out the window, the warm wood paneling and crackling fire at least didn’t further aggravate Kieran’s mood.
“Ye look like someone’s been stomping on your grave,” Ewan said with no preamble.
“Probably because someone has.” Kieran rolled his eyes. “It’s likely my wife, happy tae be rid of me.”
“Ah.” Ewan sat in a chair beside Kieran, stretching his hands toward the hearth. The days were less cold in June, but Scotland was rarely ever genuinelywarm. Fires were still a necessity, particularly when fog and misting rain rolled in off the ocean.
Ewan looked around the room. “Where is our Miss Fyffe?”
“Hiding from me in her room.” Kieran rested his head against the back of his chair. “Dinnae ye have a lovely wife at home, ready tae burst with child? Why are ye here with me?”
He did not manage to strip the bitterness out of his tone.
Ewan couldn’t help the blessed fortune of his fate any more than Kieran could help the acidic pain of his own.
But it still hurt. To see his friends happily married to women who remembered that they were, indeed, happily married.
Funny, the silly things one took for granted.
That a person’s sense of self would remain constant.
That a wife’s affection would not disappear overnight.
If Ewan found Kieran’s snippy tongue offensive, he didn’t show it.
“I’m here because ye need a listening ear.” His friend stretched out his long legs. “And tae be even more honest, I think Violet could use some space. She accused me twice today of hovering.”
Kieran doubted the truth of that. That Violet needed space. Or that Ewan had been hovering.
More likely, Ewan was attempting to turn the tables, to make Kieran feel likehewas doing the favor and not the other way around.
Kieran asked after Ewan’s painting and got a grunt and shrug as an answer. They spoke of the midsummer festival that Violet still insisted on hosting. It sounded much like a traditional Scottish clan gathering with a fair and contests of prowess.
But eventually, Ewan circled back to the topic weighing on them. “So . . . how is Miss Fyffe?”
Kieran sighed. “Physically? I ken she’s hale and hearty. But emotionally? That I cannae say.”
“Och, go easy on the lass,” Ewan said. “She’s had a series of shocks. She’s scarcely been here five days, but she’s already learned she was married and may have blown up a merchant frigate and her crew. It’s understandable that she needs a wee bit of space tae assimilate it all.”
“Aye, and I’m trying tae be patient.”
Ewan snorted. “Not your strongest character point . . . patience.”
“Dinnae I know it.” Kieran sighed. “But with Jamie . . . ye ken how she is . . . stubborn to the point of madness. She has a tendency tae form opinions that nothing can shake her from.”
But even as the words left Kieran’s mouth, he wondered.
Thatwastrue.
For Jamie.
But what about Miss Eilidh Fyffe?
Miss Fyffe was Jamie as she had been before the ocean voyage changed her. As such, she was more retiring and cautious than Jamie had ever been.
But on the other hand, Eilidh had apologized, unprompted. She was more attuned to other’s feelings. She definitely exhibited a greater sense of fair play.
