“I ken that in the bustle of everything, ye have forgotten.”
“Forgotten?”
“Aye.” He lifted the cloth off the plate, revealing a lovely iced Savoy cake, prettily decorated with sugared pansies.
“A cake?” Isla laughed.
Tavish smiled, small but tender. “Happy birthday, Isla.”
Oh!
She blinked, mind rapidly counting the days.
“Is it truly the twelfth?”
“Aye.”
“Why . . . I utterly forgot!” she laughed. “You procured us a cake!”
He chuckled. “Mariah helped. I merely asked.”
Isla stared, emotions racing by so fast she struggled to catch hold of any one—surprise, bewilderment, gratitude.
“Also, there is this.” He tugged a small velvet pouch from his pocket. “A wee gift.”
Shaking her head in astonishment, Isla took the velvet bag. “When did you possibly have the time to acquire a gift?”
“I bought it for ye years ago in Portugal . . . on our first birthday apart.”
“And you kept it all these years?”
“Of course, I did. I’ve kept everything, lass.”
There was a weight behind his words that caused emotion to tighten in Isla’s throat.
Fingers trembling, she tugged open the pouch and tipped its contents into her palm. A round locket of deep blue enamel tumbled out. Isla gasped, examining the lovely bit of jewelry—royal blue enamel on one side, and a golden spiked sun nestled into the center on the other.
“Because ye have always been akin to the sun to me—a cheery bit of happiness.”
Isla swallowed back tears.
Pressing the small clasp, she opened the locket, finding it empty.
“I had intended to place a lock of my hair in the center, but . . .” Tavish trailed off on a shrug.
Isla turned the locket over in her hand, reveling in the solid heft of the gold, the smooth enamel cool against her skin.
“You carried it all these years?”
“Aye.” He gave another soft smile. “I couldn’t discard it any more than I could purge your memory. The locket is yours now.”
“Thank you. I will treasure it.” She gently tucked the locket back into the velvet bag, clutching the whole in her fist.
Turning, he reached for a knife to cut the cake.
“But it’s your birthday, too,” Isla murmured. “And I have nothing . . .”
Abruptly, it felt the cruelest thing . . . that he had remembered and wanted to ensure her birthday didn’t go uncelebrated. While at the same time, neglecting his own.
