Something about my tone must have caught his attention because he paused, his dark eyes dancing along my form. “You’re right. You’re right.” He caught my cheek in a wide palm, pulling my forehead to his. “It is precious.”
The tension poured out of me. I hadn’t understood what my agitation stemmed from until that moment, but Xander had.
He saw me.
Thirty-Two
KILMARNOCK ABBEY, EDINBURGH - JULY 22, 1816
Dav,
You are never to see the sheep friend ever again.
I would ask you to assure Mother of my well-being, but I know you will not so I will write to her myself. Also, remind her that, while veils may be as long as she pleases in the back, they must be no longer than the floor in the front—it is a safety concern.
The girl’s name is Sorcha. She is a feminine version of Gabriel—unfortunate Hasket brow and all. We are both convinced that she is Gabriel’s natural-born daughter as apparently her mother was quite forthcoming with her history. She is charming and mischievous and not at all impressed with me—thus proving her relation. In fact, she reminds me agreat deal of you in temperament. If you have other questions, I am happy to answer them, but you will need to actually ask them.
Home repairs are coming along smoothly with no notable foibles. A friend from town has come to stay for a while and we are enjoying ourselves immensely.
Warmest Regards,
Xander
XANDER
With Miss Gillanbunking in the kitchens to save time on the ride from Edinburgh, I had no opportunity to sneak off to see Tom at night. Instead I was left with Godfrey’s snores and Sorcha’s unrest for company.
But in exchange for the lack of privacy, we had a set of stairs that were unlikely to collapse in on themselves with a wrong step, a sturdy sheepfold for Fenella, who seemed more or less content to stay there during the night—the day was another story—and a functional entry door. I hated to admit it, but I would’ve made the same exchange again.
“Yer certain ye know the way?” Lock asked as we broke our fast one morning. Tom and I were to set off for Edinburg. Alone. Thank Christ. I didn’t even need my mouth around his cock again—I mean, I did, absolutely—but my skin positively itched for even two minutes of uninterrupted kissing.
“I’m certain I do not. But Tom does. You’ve given him the direction three times.”
“There’s a pub ye should stop at if ye have time, the Black Swan off Wallis. I think ye will like it. Tell them my sister sent ye.” There was something about his tone I couldn’t name, paired with a significant tilt to his brow. I knew I was missing something but hadn’t the foggiest guess as to what. And I honestly hadn’t known the man had a sister.
Before I could question him, we were interrupted by Miss Gillan and Sorcha descending on the table like locusts—Sorcha especially ate like she’d never see food again.
Then Tom arrived, hair still damp from the wash basin and eyes bright. Two minutes wouldn’t be enough time kissing. Would two hours satisfy?
Anticipation curled low in my belly as he tipped his head toward the door with a piece of toast in hand.
“Have a good day,” Lock called after us as I trailed Tom outside.
The morning was bright as we set off for Edinburgh in Lock’s wagon. We arrived in town two hours after we should have with private smiles. I could safely say that two hours wasn’t long enough.
After selecting mattresses and bed linens, we were left in want of a drink. As we turned down Wallis, a memory sparked. And as we drove past the Black Swan across the street, I had Tom stop.
“Lock told me of this place.”
Tom shrugged, generally willing to go along with most things, especially with the promise of food.
The door swung open as we approached, and a burly gentleman with light red hair raised a brow.
“Pardon me,” I said, slightly confused.
“Who sent ye?”
“I beg your pardon?”
