Beside the chair was a basket of unfinished needlework, as if Isabella had just stepped away for a moment and would soon return.
The girls hesitated at the threshold, their earlier exuberance dimming to reverent quiet. I wondered how often they were permitted in this shrine to their mama’s memory.
The moment I stepped into the solar, a woman’s voice filled my head.
Tell him there are liars amongst him.
With a hiss, I pressed my fingers to my temples, drawing a deep breath as I fought to maintain my composure. I turned my attention to the physical details of the room—the pattern of the tapestry, the grain of the wooden desk, the delicate stitching on a cushion—anything to anchor me to the present moment.
“Are ye well, Murieall?” Guinn asked, her small face pinched with concern.
I forced a smile. “Just a slight pain in my head. ’Tis nae so bad.”
Munro was watching me, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Perhaps we’ve toured enough for one day,” he said. “The hour grows late, and the lasses should prepare for their evening meal.”
I nodded, grateful for the suggestion, even as I remained determined to keep building the connection between him and his daughters. The pain in my head was rapidly increasing as I struggled to suppress the woman’s voice. I feared what might happen if I lost my battle in front of Munro. I’d left the detail of hearing the voices of the dead out of my story because I didn’t want him to send me away.
We left the solar, Munro pulling the door closed with a gentle reverence that spoke volumes about his enduring grief. The girls moved down the corridor, whispering together as children do when adults show emotion they don’t fully understand.
Tell him there are liars amongst him.
The woman’s voice broke through my wall once more, shattering the silence. The urgency of her tone made my step falter, and dizziness overcame me. The world tilted strangely around me. I gasped, reaching blindly for support as my vision blurred.
Strong fingers closed around my arm, steadying me with surprising gentleness. I looked up to find Munro beside me, his other hand instinctively reaching toward my waist to ensure I didn’t fall. Our eyes locked, and for a moment, the voice fell silent, driven back by the intensity of his blue-grey gaze.
“Ye’re unwell,” he said, his voice low and rough with concern that seemed to surprise even him.
The warmth of his hand seeped through the fabric of my sleeve, and it was strangely comforting. Neither of us moved for several heartbeats, caught in a moment of connection I hadn’t expected, and I was certain he hadn’t intended.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, though the word sounded breathless even to my own ears. “Just a moment’s dizziness.”
The girls had stopped on the landing below, their curious eyes watching this exchange with undisguised interest. Bess grinned and said, “Da, do you like Murieall?”
Munro snatched his hand away as if burned, taking a step back that put proper distance between us once more.
“Ye should rest before this evening,” he said with a gruff tone. “I’ve training to see to.”
Before I could respond, he was already moving down the stairs, his stride long and hurried. “I’ll send James to fetch ye for the evening meal.”
And then he was gone, leaving me alone with the girls on the staircase. I watched his retreating figure, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands had curled into fists at his sides. Was it me he was racing from, the girls, or all of us?
“Da does nae ever touch anyone,” Bess said softly, breaking the silence. “Nae even us.”
Guinn nodded solemnly. “Nae since Mama died.”
I stared down the staircase where he’d retreated. Bess wasn’t exactly right, but I certainly wouldn’t correct her and tell her that her da did touch someone. He touched women in the night in lust to forget his wife, I was certain. It seemed he just did not touch those he cared about during the day.
I looked down at these two small faces gazing up at me with a mixture of confusion and cautious hope, and I couldn’t quash their hope and explain that his touch had been reflexive, and an old habit of protectiveness towards others, no doubt, that had reared for one brief moment when I’d been dizzy. And a plan began to form in my mind of how I would help heal this broken family, not just for my own sake, but for theirs as well. Somewhere beneath Munro’s grief and wine-soaked indifference was a man who had once loved deeply enough that its loss had nearly destroyed him. That capacity for feeling was still there, buried beneath layers of pain and guilt.
Today had shown me that.
“Come, lasses,” I said, descending the last few steps to join them. “Let’s find something pleasant to do before supper.”
As they each took one of my hands, I felt the weight of the task before me. To make Munro feel again would not be as simple as crashing into his chest in a corridor or sharing a moment’s connection on a staircase. It would require breaking through walls he had painstakingly built since losing his wife.
But I had to succeed. My future and perhaps the lasses as well depended on it.
Chapter Seven – Munro
