“Cut them off? I couldn’t possibly. They’re my sisters,” she said softly, her eyes unfocused. “I can’t abandon them, Jacob. Not now, not ever.” Her brow pinched together. “Surely you know that, don’t you?”
“I know nothing of the sort,” he said stiffly. “Your sisters have proved to be nothing but trouble for you, and I don’t see why you must suffer because of them. Let us leave this place right now. You will stay with my aunt while we secure a special license. We will marry as soon as possible and then you’ll be free of their constant problems.”
But even before Jacob had finished his words, Hope was shaking her head.
“No, Jacob. I … I can’t leave them.”
“You must.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Hope saw Faith and Grace standing on the staircase, watching her and Jacob. She knew they had overheard everything. Ignoring the sting in her eyes, Hope slowly and purposefully pulled her hands from Jacob’s.
This was the end.
“I’m sorry, Jacob,” she said, her eyes downcast. “But I can’t.”
Thankfully Jacob was too proud of a man to ask twice. After a few moments, the door opened and closed with a frightful slam. Hope jumped at the deafening noise. Her entire world had been upended in only a few hours.
Wiping away the tears that fell down her cheek, she went to the coat rack and pulled down her cloak. She whirled the piece over her shoulders and made her way toward the door.
“Hope?” A small voice sounded from behind her and she turned. There, half way down the stairs, stood both of her sisters, arms intertwined in a comforting grip. Grace took a step down, her arm dropping from Faith’s. “Where are you going?”
“I need to think,” Hope croaked, buttoning the cloak beneath her chin.
“At this hour?” Faith asked, her tone shaky. “Don’t you think it’s rather late?”
“I can’t… I can’t bear to stay still,” she said and opened the door.
She closed the door behind her and made her way down the front steps, turning left and then right. She needed to walk, to be away from the unbearable weight of all that had happened that night and all the uncertainty she now faced.
What in the world were they going to do?
CHAPTER TWO
Scottish Highlands, June 1855
Graham MacKinnon stood perfectly still beneath the barrel-vaulted ceiling of the dining room in Lismore Hall. His gaze was transfixed on a massive portrait suspended on the wall, surrounded by fifty or so mounted deer antlers, an ode to the Scottish sense of decor. The painting had hung in this room for over a hundred years, and while Graham had often studied the faces portrayed in the piece of art, he always found himself a bit surprised to remember that these were his kin.
A dark-haired woman with a hint of a smile on her lips sat on a bench in front of a woodland scene beneath a towering beech tree. She was flanked by two young sons, both of whom resembled her, sitting on either side of her. A stern man with a square chin stood erect behind them, and his hand curled around the lapel of his jacket. He glared down at Graham. All of them were draped in the green and red plaid of the Clan MacKinnon, unaware that their family was only a few short months away from being destroyed.
Graham had never met his great-grandfather, as Fergus MacKinnon had died over eighty years before he was born, but he often found himself wondering about the old highlander. Would Fergus believe that he would be dead only six months after this portrait had been painted, one of the thousands who fell at the ill-fated battle of Culloden? What would he have done if he knew the Crown would seize all of MacKinnon’s ancient clan lands, leaving his widow and two sons with nothing more of their once-vast estate but their beloved Lismore Hall?
And what would he do if he learned that his grandson, Graham’s father, James, had lost Lismore Hall in a single hand of cards fifty years later?
Footsteps echoed from the hallway, jolting Graham away from his thoughts.
“MacKinnon!” an elderly, bejeweled woman said from behind him.
Dragging his attention away from the portrait, he bowed to greet her. Her blackwood cane tapped against the flagstone floor. She came towards him, followed by her butler, Andrews. “I didn’t know you would be stopping by today.”
He smirked, allowing himself to find the humor in the fact that an Englishwoman was living in his ancestorial home. MacKinnon had been visiting her the first Monday of every month for the past ten years, and every time, Lady Belle Smith acted surprised to see him.
“Lady Belle,” he said, bowing over her outstretched hand. Taking it, he pressed his mouth to the back of her small, wrinkled knuckles covered in emerald rings. “Terrible weather we’re having, no?”
A fierce roll of thunder echoed above them as the rain fell loudly against the ceiling. The storm had been raging since the night before. Inhaling deeply, Graham could smell the ancient, exposed timber above his head and the faint, musty scent that emanated through the red sandstone walls that always magnified during a rainstorm.
The storm was a blessing, dissipating the heatwave that had stifled the country for weeks. Graham felt as if he was finally been able to breath. He loathed the heat.
“It’s dreadful, absolutely wretched,” she replied, shuddering at the mention of it. Her eyes flickered to the windows along the far end of the dining room. “But,” she said, perking up, pointing her index finger towards the ceiling, “I have no doubt it will stop storming by tomorrow.”
