I frowned. “I’m sorry to hear of yer da’s illness,” I said, dragging my manners from the dusty corner they dwelled in these days. With that social expectation nicely met, I asked what I really wanted to, “What missive?”
“Ye left the bed this morning without telling me goodbye,” she said, instead of answering my question. She offered a practiced pout. “Last night, ye said ye would spend the day with me today.”
God’s blood. I had to have been deep in my cups to have said such a thing. “Apologies, Lady Francesca. I’ve clan duties in the great hall this morning.”
My uncle made a choking sound beside me, and no wonder. I rarely appeared in the great hall to fulfill my duties as laird and hear the weekly grievances from my clansmen anymore. There was no need. Uncle Gordon handled it better than I could these days.
“Then what of this afternoon?” she said, her pout growing.
“I’m afraid Munro has council business this afternoon.”
I had no intention of meeting with my meddling council, but I was more than glad to use the excuse now. “I beg apologies, Lady Francesa, but I should nae keep my clansmen waiting.”
“Tonight perhaps? I depart tomorrow morning for home,” she added, sweeping her gaze over me, and when her eyes met mine again, unmistakable hunger was there. I was more than happy normally to stoke a lass’s lust, but not this lass, not Isabella’s cousin. Last night’s encounter with her had been a wine-induced mistake, which James had apparently tried to stop.
“Mayhap,” I lied, nodded, and turned away before she could say more.
Uncle Gordon fell into step with me as I walked.
“Did ye send a missive requesting a report of the children?” I asked, still trying to puzzle out why Francesca was actually here.
“Nay,” Uncle Gordon replied. “If ye recall, Magdalene shared an update about Guinn and Bess with ye just two nights ago.”
I frowned. I didn’t recall my aunt having said anything about my children recently, and that was normally something I foundhard to ignore, try as I might, and she was normally annoyingly persistent about my listening to her updates on Guinn and Bess. I searched my memory but found nothing. “Are both girls well?”
“Aye,” Uncle Gordon said as we made our way down the stone steps to the lower floor of the stronghold. “Bess is still sneaking down to the beach to watch the men train,” Uncle Gordon said with a chuckle. “And Guinn is a verra accomplished sewer for a lass of eight summers.”
“Excellent,” I murmured, hurrying my steps. I didn’t want to think about the girls, let alone talk about them. Doing so reminded me more than anything else of Isabella. I turned right at the landing but paused. “Why is Francesca here? If the children are doing well, why is she here?”
My uncle’s mouth tightened for a moment, but then he smoothed what looked to be irritation away and cleared his throat. “James took it upon himself to send a missive to Lady Isla, telling her to bring the lasses home.”
Memories of last night pelted my brain.
James telling me of the missive he’d sent without my permission. Me yelling. Then James. The clan retreating from the great hall. More harsh words between James and me. My fist hitting his eye. His fist connecting with my jaw.
I’d stumbled from the great hall and collided with a woman. Her face flashed, and I flinched. I’d nearly toppled Francesca over. How we ended up in my bedchamber was lost to me.
“I’m going to kill James!” I roared and started toward the great hall with thunderous steps.
“Munro!” Uncle Gordon called, but I kept going. “Munro!” he bellowed, close behind me.
I didn’t stop. I couldn’t have the girls here. I couldn’t see them every day and be reminded constantly of how I’d failed them and Isabella.
A hand clamped around my arm, and I jerked around. “Leave go,” I said through clenched teeth.
“I ken yer angry,” Uncle Gordon said. “James should nae have sent the missive, but he only meant to help ye and the lasses. And well…” Uncle Gordon shoved a hand through his hair. “Isabella would have wanted them here with ye—with us.”
“Do nae tell me what Isabella would have wanted,” I snarled, acutely aware of how unreasonable I was being. But talking of her hurt so damn much. Instantly, her image flashed in my mind—heart-shaped face, trusting blue eyes, lips always tugged upward with encouraging words. I squeezed my eyes shut. I needed a goblet of wine. Going too long without one was not wise. I concentrated on wine, on the next woman I would bed, on the endless quest to forget what I’d lost.
But it was too late. Guilt reached out to grab me and got hold of me. I opened my bleary eyes and looked at my uncle. “I should nae have given up searching for Isabella’s murderer.”
I could see my uncle’s jaw clench. “Ye searched for two years, Munro. Ye nearly drove yerself mad looking for someone to fight, to kill. Do nae turn back to that path now. Ye accepted the truth that she took her own life, and ye need to stay with that for yer sanity.”
I tugged my arm free. “I’m nae so certain how much sanity I still possess.”
His face softened, and he grasped my shoulder. “I ken it’s hard.”
“Ye do nae ken the half of it,” I said as the familiar weight of my grief pressed down on me. “Whether she took her own life or was killed, I failed her.” I heard how retched I sounded, but I didn’t care. “But if she were killed, at least I could have some vengeance on someone besides myself. It would nae be all my fault.”
