Of the two of them, Eachann had always been the brother who was slow to anger but quick to act, too often acting without much forethought. After Sibeal died, Eachann became selfish and disinterested in anything except his horses. Those animals were like a refuge to him. So much so, he had all but abandoned his children.
At first Calum thought it was only grief that would pass. But with time Eachann hadn’t grown closer to Kirsty and Graham. Instead he let them do as they wished. When they grew wild and whiny and demanded his attention, he had just upped and taken them to the mainland where he put them away in a boarding school.
For months afterward, Eachann was seldom around the house. He was moody and he had stopped helping Calum altogether. He had stopped doing anything but raise and break and ride his horses, as if doing so were his only purpose. There was more and more that his brother sloughed off, until there was little in life that Eachann appeared to care about.
In fact, when Calum thought about it, he realized that Eachann had shown little interest in anything over the last two years. Until now.
His brother stopped in front of him and was searching around them. Calum held the lantern high as Eachann cursed and muttered, “Damn creatures could get themselves killed.”
For the first time in ages Eachann’s voice wasn’t caustic or amused, but filled with a sincere emotion.
Calum stood there thinking about that for a long time. He could let his brother get away with his actions like before, when he lost Sibeal. Or this time he could try to get Eachann to talk.
Calum stood there a moment longer, then reached out and placed a hand on Eachann’s broad shoulder. He could feel the tenseness. Very quietly and seriously he asked, “Why did you really do this?”
Eachann turned and gave Calum a snide look that melted away when he must have seen how concerned Calum was. Eachann took a deep breath, then looked around as if he were searching for the right words. “Why did I do this?” he responded quietly. He looked up at Calum. “The truth?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “The truth.”
Eachann’s expression became empty, a look that Calum remembered seeing before. It was the same look he’d worn years ago when their father died and they both knew they were alone, the same look he had when they’d found his wife Sibeal dead.
His brother took another breath and stared down at the ground. Tension was in the air, the kind of tension that felt alive and made the air suddenly thick and heavy.
Eachann looked up, his eyes not reflecting laughter or cynicism or icy disdain. Instead they were full of something that looked just like plain old fear. They both stood there in the fog, studying each other unguarded.
“Because of Kirsty and Graham.” There was pain in Eachann’s voice when he said his children’s names.
Calum didn’t criticize. All he could say was “Explain.”
But before either of them could move, before he could even take a breath or reach out a hand again, a shot rang out.
Chapter Eighteen
The Proverb says that providence protects children and idiots. I know it because I have tested it.
—Mark Twain
The gun went off with a flash of light and a loud crack. Sudden and powerful recoil knocked the child off the rock and right into the sea.
Before the gunshot could echo around the walls of the cave, Georgina was in the water. She swam deeper, then pressed her hands against an underwater rock ledge beneath the cave entrance. She felt her way around it.
On the other side of the rocks the water was cooler and looked dense and black. She swam downward in a spiral circle. Searching. Out of the corner of her eye, a flash of white flicked just below her.
She flipped and kicked down toward it, grabbing blindly. Her hands found nothing. She reached out again and again, frantically.
Her hand brushed against fabric. Her fist closed over it. The child’s nightgown.
Georgina kicked upward, pulling the girl with her. She could see the surface hovering above them. A small area shone silver-gold in the weak glow of the distant lantern light and waved eerily above the rock ledge, just a few feet away, maybe only one, two, three more strong kicks upward.
Her chest was aching with tight air; it felt as if it would burst. She kicked up again and again, one... two... three... and more times. The pain in her chest scared her, it swelled so severely. Time had seemed to stop.
She tore at her full petticoat until she had ripped it off and it drifted down and away. She held the child with one arm and reached toward the surface. She kicked again, hard and powerfully.
She broke through the surface and gasped. Cold damp air cooled her mouth, throat, and chest. Water slapped at her face. She jerked the child up, slid her hands under girl’s limp arms, and pulled her head out of the water.
Georgina waited to hear the child gasp.
There was nothing. The little girl’s eyes were closed. Her lips were closed. She was grayish and didn’t move.
