Ivy laughs. “He’s in love with her, mother.”
I don’t shake my head. Instead I look at the floor and feel like I’m ten again and Ivy’s telling mum I have a girlfriend.
“Are you?”
“And he’s in love with her bodyguard too.”
I’m going to murder my sister.
My mother’s laugh sounds like Christmas bells. “You never made things easy, Isaac.”
“Nothing good is ever easy.” I look at her and see her smiling. “You taught me that.”
She gives me a nod and smiles, no judgement. My mother taught me that: people in glass houses shouldn’t fire bullets; you never knew where they’d ricochet.
* * *
It’s later that night when Ivy and Nate have gone to bed and I’m sitting by the fire with a book, my mother working on a crossword, when she brings up the subject of Blair and Ben.
“Ben’s disappeared, Ivy said.” She puts the paper down.
“We don’t know why. Or where.” I look up from the pages.
“So now it’s you and Blair?”
“Kind of. I told her I love her. She hasn’t said the words back.” But Ben had. Before he left.
“Sometimes they’re not easy to say because so much rests on them. Saying the words is a commitment.”
“I know. It isn’t one I’ve ever made before.”
“When you say them you give someone the power to break your heart, because if they do, they do it knowing how you feel.”
“Ben told us how he felt before he left.”
She looks at the flames flickering in the fireplace. “Do you believe he told you the truth?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
Chapter Five
Some hae meat an canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit.
The Selkirk Grace is said by Laird Stewart, the King’s brother and father to Blair’s cousins, both of whom sought the crown. I knew from a conversation I’d had with her late into one night that Lachlan was trying to persuade her to abdicate, or subtly trying to, offering her time away where he could be a caretaker.
She wouldn’t be moved; not at present. Her uncle is everything I expect from a Scottish Lord; his accent thick and strong, a full beard and wide waist and he wears a tartan kilt and sporran.
I glance at Blair across the room and she catches my gaze. It’s Burns Night and the first official banquet of the new year. The room is warm and the smells of rich food are oozing everywhere, wine and whisky are flowing and even though the King’s chair is empty, there’s an atmosphere of enjoyment. The windows are covered with condensation and the air is thick with laughter. There’s an ease to the place that there hasn’t been since my first visit as an adult, months ago now.
The waiting staff immediately start serving cock-a-leekie soup, and there’s no waiting for everyone to have a bowl before people tuck in. Spoons clang against crockery and arms stretch out for bread. I should be concentrating on the conversations around me, picking up details that might slip from whisky coated tongues, but I’m looking at Blair.
She’s wearing a blue dress, knitted and high necked, but her arms are bare. Her blonde hair is curled and bounces about her face, meaning she has to move it away before she can start eating.
