Learning they’d likely succumbed to Cumberland’s butchers ripped a new wound in his heart. He couldnae stop the image of what their last hours would have been like, from playing out in his mind.
“Reggie?”
He flinched as Lauren’s hand touched his shoulder, jerking him back through the centuries, but he had no words, to respond. ’Twas as if he was caught between lifetimes. Loyalty to the last, clashed with hope for the present.
She knelt beside him. “These are the ancestors you spoke of?” At his nod, she laid her hand over his. “I’m happy you found them.”
A few silent minutes passed as he fought to ground himself in the present.
“I’m sorry about earlier.” She smoothed the back of his hand with her thumb. “I didn’t mean to take my insecurities out on you. You were right, you know. About me. It was just kind of hard to hear. Even harder to admit.”
He turned his hand up, threaded his fingers through hers, and gave them a light squeeze. Her voice, the warmth of her hand, were lifelines he desperately needed.
“Forgive me?” she asked.
He turned to her, needing to see her face. Needing her to bring him home. “Always.”
Relief eased the worry lines on her face. “Take what time you need. I’m going to wander. I’m fascinated by the stories these old stones tell.”
She hadnae gone more than a few feet when she stopped. “Like this one.”
Something in her voice made him take notice. “What is it?”
“It looks like some kind of absentee memorial, or something. It’s old. The same year as your ancestors.”
“Oh? Who’s it for?”
“Reginald Lyall McColl.”
His blood went cold in his veins.
“Another of your ancestors, I’d guess. You share his name. Maybe a son of that couple you’re looking at?” She turned to him with a teasing look. “Your middle name doesn’t happen to be Lyall, does it?” She laughed. “That would definitely be weird.”
The words,absentee memorial, echoed in his head.They’d kenned he died, then? How? ’Twas no plot of earth marked for him at Culloden. No name on a roster. Only his bones, along with hundreds of others in a mass grave, without even a clan stone they could grieve over.
He tried to ken what they’d have felt, placing a stone over empty ground, knowing that’s all they’d ever have of him. His heart twisted with fresh pain.
What could they have been thinking, staying here? After Culloden, every Jacobite sympathizer was either in hiding or on the run. Or should have been. He glanced down at his parent’s markers, as he rose on unsteady legs, a slow burn building in his chest.
Ye were too stubborn tae leave the glen, aye, da? Stubborn enough for the two o’ ye tae die for it!Anger surged through him.Why, da? What good did it do ye? Yer diein’ dinnae save it! Ye sacrificed the both of ye, for naught!
What did happen to the glen? Was it confiscated by the bloody English assassins that likely murdered his mither and father? Would there be records to tell him who next lived here? With time and patience, he could try piecing together a patchworked picture with the names and dates on the markers. But no’ today. He was tired. Far too tired. Another day, mayhap when his head was clearer, and a beat had returned to his cold heart.
* * *
The walkback to Phoebe’s seemed longer. Mayhap ’twas the sun forging its last stand for the day just above the west hill, with lackluster results, that made everything feel gloomy. Clouds had gathered, obstructing the orb’s usually flashy exit.
Both he and Lauren were quiet. Or, he was, and Lauren was kind enough to let him be. Though they’d both apologized, things still seemed a bit strained, between them. But he couldnae ken how to fix it.
Mayhap he was overthinking. He’d done a lot of that today. Enough that he wished for nothing more than a quiet, cool corner of some grassy glade, where he could close his eyes and turn off his mind.
Phoebe’s guest room, though kindly offered, was far too boxed in for his mood. He needed space. Lots of it. And quiet. For a time, at least. He dinnae ken he’d ever miss anything about the moor, but today the ability to fade into solitude sounded tremendously appealing.
As they approached the outbuildings, Deidre and Phillip stood on the porch of the house, heads together in conversation. Drew, just exiting the barn, saw Reginald and Lauren, and waited for them to catch up.
“Let me guess,” Lauren gave Drew a knowing look as they approached. “Those two left you to care for the horses?”
Drew chuckled as he fell in beside Reginald. “To be fair, Phillip did remove his and Deidre’s saddles before leaving the grooming, feeding and watering to me.” He glanced toward the house. “I doubt they gave those tasks a second thought. Phillip, you see, only uses riding stables where the grooms do everything but sit in the saddle for him.”
