“Nothing you could do now would overset me, Captain.”
She stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, refusing to acknowledge the irony in her words.
“I have much to settle before quitting Scotland. I don’t wish to leave anything undone.”
“Quitting Scotland?” She turned to him.
“Aye. I’m shipping off to America.”
“Oh.”
Tavish could see it in her eyes, the vague snap of interest, the wondering as to what he would do there.
He paused, curious if she would inquire.
She did not.
“Very well. I shall wait to hear from you, then.” Lady Isla stood, their interview at an end. “Good day, Captain.” She bobbed a curtsy, sparing him nary a glance as she pivoted and walked away.
Tavish watched her go—the sway of her hips, the upright lift of her head. He looked away before the flame he had long carried for her ignited in his chest.
Hopefully, a week spent with Ross and Fletch—hunting and discussing the details of their proposed venture in Pennsylvania—would see his head straight.
So when next Tavish saw Lady Isla, he would have forgotten all the reasons why he had loved her in the first place.
8
Seven Years Earlier
April 24, 1810
Pettercairn, Scotland
Tavish paced in the wee clearing, anxious for Isla to arrive.
Instead of climbing the slope of Cairnfell, today he was meeting her at its base on the north side. Here, the River Northcairn swung inward in a slow loop, creating a hollow around a quiet pool of water against a granite cliff. Secluded and remote, it was difficult to find unless one knew the way through the dense underbrush.
He tilted his head upward, his skin eager for the sunshine after months of drab skies.
Each year, April would steal a day or two from July, warm lazy afternoons that brimmed with light. Today was precisely such a day. Hotenough that Tavish couldn’t help a longing glance at the dark pool of water. A swim would be just the thing to chase away the lingering remnants of winter.
A twig snapped. He whirled around just as Isla emerged from the surrounding forest, the broad smile on her face somehow brighter than the sun overhead. She dropped a basket covered with a muslin cloth on a nearby rock before racing to him.
“Tavish!” She breathed his name on a happy sigh, throwing herself into his arms.
He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her into his chest, breathing in the heady scent of her lavender soap and clean skin. Her head tucked neatly into the side of his neck, slotting into his body like the final piece of a puzzle.
“I missed you,” she whispered into his throat, lips grazing his skin and igniting a wee fire there.
But then, all of him felt afire near Isla.
What had begun as a meeting between friends had evolved over the past months . . . moving into something deeper and more profound.
At times, Tavish marveled at the depth of his affection for this lass. He was merely seventeen years of age; Isla, only sixteen. Surely, neither of them was old enough to form a true lasting connection. The sort of love that a life could be built on.
And yet . . .
It thrummed within him. A bone-deep assurance that had been steadily growing over the past weeks and months.
