Chapter Eight
With Finn tucked up in bed and sound asleep, Hecate had plenty of time to herself to consider all she’d learned that eventful morning. She shook her head in astonishment at the vagaries of Fate and the universe.
What were the chances that her anonymous patient would have ties to the Ridlingtons? Toherfamily? Hermother? Knowing that Finn had shared rooms with Richard—well, somehow it made him less of a stranger. Hearing him talk of Moira…well, that was something far beyond what she could have imagined.
Somehow she could sense the outlines of a master plan, the framework vague and just outside her grasp, but centred here at Doireann Vale.
As one with the utmost respect for matters beyond the ordinary, Hecate accepted the notion that Finn had been brought to this place by a power greater than his own legs. And she’d been there to save his life at the whim of that power.
The question thus becamewhy?
Some might have spent hours pondering and turning that simple word over in their minds, but not Hecate. Her beliefs assured her that all would be revealed in good time. Finn was alive, his memory was returning and soon they would know all they needed to solve the mystery deepening around them.
Other than that, the only matter that needed some more thought was…his kiss.
Just the memory of it, the way they had fit together like pieces of a puzzle…things inside Hecate liquefied as she recalled the warmth of his lips and the taste of him, the silken heat of their mouths crushing against each other, and the way he’d held her closer than close. It hadn’t seemed nearly close enough…
A tiny shiver rippled through her. Nothing like it had happened before, and she admitted that Finn was the reason. While it was easy for her to say to herself that he wasthe one, believing it was something else again. Her past had not exactly reassured her that she was prepared for—or even capable of—deeper affections.
Her father had believed her mad, and she’d heard him threaten to send her to Bedlam. She’d couldn’t have been much over six years old at the time, but the menace in his voice, the implied threat, had sent her running as far from him as she could go, and from that moment on she’d taken up residence in the tower rooms. They were cold at first, drafty and inhospitable. But she could disappear there, out of sight, and soon her siblings began to slip one or two comforts her way. Simon had tapped on the door with pillows and warm blankets for the lumpy bed. Letitia and Kitty conspired to liberate some curtains and they spent a cheerful afternoon deciding how to hang them. When Richard appeared with a couple of small rugs rolled beneath his arm, Hecate’s sanctuary was complete. Edmund had gone to sea but his letters were full of affection and encouragement.
This, she realised, was the love of a family, showing even back then. Small things, but they meant so much. Those deeds surpassed the distaste exhibited by their parent and it wasn’t too long before she realised that her father didn’t care much for any of them. That knowledge had created a strange bond amongst the siblings, one that had grown and matured into a closeness that was difficult to describe. It wasn’t the love created naturally by a warm and secure upbringing. It was the need for closeness and the touch of something familiar, deepening into something unique and sustaining. It was the quick hugs, the smiles amongst them as they grew from childhood into youths and finally to adults. It was now unbreakable.
They’d been united by a parent who couldn’t give a damn about them.
But theywereunited. And that was a miracle in and of itself.
Now, of course, her brothers and sisters had overcome the last of the old Baron’s legacy of callous dismissal, and given their hearts to their mates. From what she’d seen, the extraordinary glow that bloomed in their eyes was genuine; they had found love despite everything.
So the question remained. Could she?
Dancey Miller-James had been a mistake, and she’d known it all along. But it was her first experience with a man who showered her with attention and affection. And yes, she’d foolishly allowed him to sweep her off her feet. She’d turned a deaf ear to her inner voices when they warned her against him, and opened her heart to his sweet words and thoughtful little gifts. He’d made her feel special in that unique way that only a handsome man can do to an impressionable young woman.
She hadn’t wanted to use her gift to lift the veils of her future. She could have tried scrying, meditating…paying lip service to her inner spirits, while contriving to push aside the warnings she knew were there. But she persuaded herself that his kisses were everything a woman could want, and that his highly-charged air of masculinity merely enhanced his masculine appeal.
And when she did finally meditate on what lay ahead—her attempts to summon a vision failed. It was as if she had no future at all.
Which, upon reflection, was very nearly true.
But it had been Miller-James who lost his life in the carriage accident. And he’d brought it all on himself.
Hecate did not assign blame, because that was a useless waste of her emotions. She’d been a silly green girl and become entangled with an unscrupulous man who had one goal only…to claim her virginity. She knew now he would have walked away once he’d achieved his goal; that she had been nothing more than an amusing little thing he could play with at will.
He was gone. His life wasted. She felt sympathy for his family, but little else.
His legacy was her limp, a hip and leg so badly damaged that by the time the bones had healed, she had to learn how to walk again. And would always need to do so with the assistance of her cane.
She would never dance, never run to pick up her child. She wasn’t even sure she could bear a child, let alone play with it. It had taken some time for her emotions to heal when these realisations crept upon her.
Over almost two years she worked to come to terms with who and what she now was. At last, here at Doireann Vale, she could look forward, knowing she had grown through times of pain and trial, and had survived.
The woman she was now could move on with her life, such as it was.
Whether Finn would play a role in it…well, that was a question best left unanswered for the present.
*~~*~~*
With the arrival of clothing for Finn, procured successfully by Dal on his visit to Bideford, the following days fell into a pattern that Hecate found both comfortable and oddly pleasant.
