“It makes sense to travel Mainland first since I’m here and it’s the largest island,” he said slowly. “I should also visit Cousin Roald’s kelp works since it’s probably the most profitable business in Thorsay. After Mainland, Cronsay. I spoke with Jean Olson very briefly after the funeral, and I see why you suggested her as a possible magistrate. I’d like to talk with her at greater length.”
“She has the most successful linen works in Thorsay,” Signy said. “She runs it as a model of efficiency and good business practices, and she pays her girls better than the other linen manufacturers.” A cloud drifted across the moon, darkening their path, and Signy stumbled on a rock. Ramsay caught her hand to steady her.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He found that he liked holding her strong, capable hand. Hand holding was the simplest of intimacies, so why did he feel such a rush of emotion when she didn’t pull her hand away?
Because he was increasingly attracted to her. As they continued along the path, they discussed other issues and ideas for Thorsay, but he was always profoundly aware of their clasped hands.
When they neared Skellig House, Signy said, “I’ll continue along to Sea Cottage. I want to sleep in my own bed.”
“I’ll walk you there,” he said, reluctant to let go of her.
“That’s hardly necessary,” she protested.
“True, but it’s the gentlemanly thing to do,” he said with mock hauteur.
She chuckled and didn’t release his hand while they continued along the path. As they neared her home, he asked, “Are you pleased to inherit Sea Cottage?”
“Yes, surprisingly so,” she said thoughtfully. “I didn’t imagine you’d evict me, but it means a great deal to me that it’smine. I own my own home. Before now, there was very little that was mine.” She glanced at him. “Do you wish your grandfather hadn’t made that bequest? It comes from the overall estate, after all.”
“Not at all. You deserve it.” As they descended the path that led to the cottage, he said seriously, “I’m going to be relying on you a great deal for some time to come, but don’t let me take too much of your time. You should have a couple of days a week that are yours alone, when you can paint or walk along the beach and conjure new pictures. Start by not coming to Skellig House tomorrow. Sleep late, fish from the rocks, anything that makes you happy.”
She turned to look up at him, her lovely face appearing surprised in the cool moonlight. “Thank you, I’ll do that. I seldom worked on Sundays, but other than that, the old laird never suggested I take a day off even though he said I worked too hard.”
“He didn’t see the connection between you being overworked and the fact that you worked for him?” Ramsay said, amused. “He was being deliberately obtuse, I think.”
“True, but in the last couple of years, he needed a great deal of help.”
“No wonder he said several times what a grand girl you are,” Ramsay said softly. “Because you are.”
Unable to resist, he bent his head into a light, careful kiss. He didn’t want to drive her away, but he really, really wanted to kiss her.
Signy caught her breath but didn’t retreat. Instead she leaned into him so that their bodies were pressed together. She was intoxicatingly warm and desirable. “You are so lovely,” he murmured. “When I caught my first sight of you on my return, I thought you looked like a Nordic goddess.”
“Hardly that. Perhaps a scowling shield maiden.” She pulled her head away from his. “I’m having trouble remembering why this is a bad idea.”
“It’s too soon, we’re both too tired and emotionally drained by the last days,” he explained. “Of course, those reasons could be considered good cause to kiss you again.”
So he did.
* * *
Being kissed by Ramsay and enjoying it was the perfect strange end to a very strange week. After the second kiss, Signy whispered, “Good night,” and retreated into Sea Cottage. Once inside, she leaned against the door and closed her eyes. A Nordic goddess? The man had more imagination than she’d realized. And he kissed very well, with light invitation rather than grabby demand. It made her wonder what the next stage of kissing would be like.
Her reverie was interrupted when Fiona emerged yawning from the front room, then nuzzled Signy’s ankle in a clear suggestion that her supper was overdue. Signy smiled as she scratched her dog’s head. Then she moved into the kitchen and put on water for tea before putting out food and fresh water for Fiona.
After months of watching Duncan decline, it was as much relief as sorrow that he was finally gone. She hoped that wherever he was, he’d enjoyed watching the grand send-off Thorsay had given him.
She pulled out her sketchbook and did a swift drawing of Gisela. Her sister had been shorter and softer and sweeter than Signy. Generous of heart and quick to laugh, she’d been Signy’s best friend. Gisela had been so young when she died, just a girl.
What would she have thought of the uncertain relationship growing between Signy and Ramsay? She might have been surprised, but not condemning. She would have thought that enough years had passed that her sister and her beloved should have moved on with their lives.
Or perhaps Signy was just fooling herself. The water was boiling, so she poured it on the leaves in her teapot. As the tea steeped, she wondered where she would go the next day. It had been so long since she’d had free time that she’d lost the habit.
She looked into the lidded jar that held shortbread and found one battered piece left. She collected it and took a bite. Tomorrow she’d bake and not feel rushed, as if she should be somewhere else.
Bake, take a walk, and then paint the sea . . .
