A sound drew her focus back to the laird, who was lifting his lips in a smile.
"It's alright." He slurred a little as he spoke but glanced down toward his hand. He seemed to want the contact.
Swallowing, Belle replaced her hand over his and squeezed his fingers through the sheets. Everyone liked having their hand held when they were scared. And death was a scary thing.
"You...are kind," the man sighed, his eyes drooping closed and then blinking open again. It looked as if sleep was trying to claim the laird, but he refused to allow it. He wanted to see her. To talk to her. "Like your mother."
"Mama?" Belle blinked.
Suddenly, the laird was turning away. His hand shrunk back beneath the covers, and his chest began to heave. He wheezed and hacked, coughing into the crook of his arm. His entire body seemed racked with pain as his sickness shook him from head to foot.
Belle felt a familiar, warm hand touch her shoulder and draw her back a step. She did not have to look to know it was Henry.
When the coughing fit subsided, and Laird Henderson could breathe again, he leaned back against his pillows once more. He took several long and rattling breaths.
"Your mother," he said through gasps, "was a kind woman."
"She still is," Belle defended before frowning. "Though, she can be a little bossy."
This seemed to amuse Laird Henderson, for he laughed a laugh that devolved into another coughing fit. When he could speak again, sweat had broken out over his forehead.
"Aye. I suspected as much. She has fire." Blinking up at her again, the laird seemed to assess Belle's face, his eyes darting over every feature and freckle. "You look like her."
Having never owned one of those burnished silver plates they called mirrors, Belle could neither confirm nor deny that. All she had ever known of her own appearance was her reflection in the local creek. The water there never stopped long enough for a clear image.
"You...wanted to see me?" Belle prompted, unsure what to say to a man who was clearly so tired that he could barely string his words together. She did not wish to strain him but, at the same time, he seemed forgetful as to why he wanted to meet her at all.
He had lived his life without contacting her before. Why should it be so important that he do so now?
"The drawer..." the laird said, his eyes turning to the little table by Belle's left hand. "The drawer...in the table. A letter."
Uneasy, Belle reached for the little compartment beneath the table's glossy top and pulled on the bronze handle. It slid smoothly and quietly free. Inside were a number of writing implements and some parchment, but the top-most piece was already folded and sealed with red wax. The Henderson coat of arms had been carved there with a stamp, marking its author.
Picking the letter up, Belle turned to hand it to the laird, as requested. He shook his head again.
"It is for you. Explaining—"
Again, a fit of coughing overtook the laird, and he was forced to turn away.
Belle flipped the letter over. She recognized her own name inked upon its front. Each symbol had been crafted by a pretty hand, elegant flicks adorning each curve and twist.
"I think that is enough of a reunion for one night."
The voice that spoke was the lady's usual cold tone but there was something warm lingering at the edges.
Concern.
Looking up, Belle could read the tension on Lady Henderson's face and around her lips. Her bearing was just a little too stiff as she came to settle her husband's sheets unnecessarily.
"No..." the laird tried to argue, but she shushed him with a hand upon his brow.
"You shall have tomorrow, my dear. For now, you should rest." Her eyes glanced up at Belle. Her stare made her feelings perfectly clear. The arrival of her husband's daughter was a concession she would have to make. Even if she wished it not to be true... "We must see your daughter to her chambers. She will have had a long ride to be here, and it is late."
Recognizing that she was being shooed away, Belle stepped back from the bed. Forgetting to move around the rug instead of over it, she made a straight line toward the door but hesitated when Laird Henderson spoke again.
"Munro," the man said.
Belle's feet paused, and she looked back at Henry.
