Besides, she suddenly rationalized, had she been taken in as the laird's daughter, away from her family, she would have had no brother. No memories of Elliott.
"Arabelle?"
Never before had Belle heard her mother speak her name with such uncertainty. It was clear that Elise was terrified of Belle's reaction to this news.
Belle swallowed.
Before she turned around, she tried to feel her face from the inside out; she wanted it to be clear of all anger. She tried to remind herself that her mother was not to blame, that she had done only what she could in the moment.
"It is alright, Mama," Belle told her before turning back and moving toward their little table. She did not sit down but, instead, placed her fingers upon its surface. The roughly hewn wood beneath her fingers felt comfortingly familiar. "Ah ken why ye didnae tell me."
"Thank ye, Belle, but there be more..."
Deciding that if this next revelation was as large as the first, her legs might not hold her upright much longer, Belle took the bench across from her mother. She tried to keep her heart and her face calm as she glanced at the letters shaking in her mother's hand.
"This letter..." Elise began as the curled missive fluttered. "It is from yer papa. It says he wishes to see ye. That...that he doesnae have the time to wait."
"Not the time?" Belle frowned, confused.
"He says he's ill, Belle. Too ill to still be here in a week, maybe. He wishes to see ye. Before..."
Before he dies, Belle finished in her head. For a moment, she was distracted by the bizarreness of it.
It was as if she had gained and lost a father within a single evening.
Her father was dying, and she felt no sorrow. No grief. She was sorry the man was ill, but she could not summon anything more personal to heart. The fact that this man was her father was a fact as unemotional as the grass being green and the sky being—
A knock at the door interrupted all thought. It wasn't the heavy hand of Old Geoff down the street, nor the tentative rattle of one of the children sent with a message.
It was a hard and proper rap of dignity.
Mother and daughter glanced at one another in surprise.
Another knock cut through the tension before either of them could react. When her mother moved to stand, Belle noticed the weakness in her legs and the drained look on her face. Their discussion had seen her so very fatigued.
"Wait, Mama," Belle insisted, placing a hand upon her forearm. "Sit. Ah'll see who it is."
Rising from the table, Belle hurried across the room when a third knock rapped more insistently upon the door. It was only when she reached out for the brass handle that she realized her fingers were trembling. Taking a deep breath and shaking out her hand, Belle straightened her skirt, shook out her hair, and then pulled the door open with a heavy swing.
Immediately, Belle was forced to look up. The man before her was tall and looming in the darkness. He had broad shoulders that blocked out the rising moonlight but was otherwise slender. Straight-backed and trimly dressed in inky black, he reminded Belle of a statue. A trickle of fear fluttered in her belly. She swallowed.
"What do ye want?" she asked.
The man seemed struck by her question or perhaps offended by her tone. She could not make out the color of his eyes in the darkness, but she could see their glint, how they rolled from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. She felt her skin grow hot beneath the assessment.
The voice that answered her was deep and regal. It spoke with clear and punctuated words as if he were addressing a king. A flash of white teeth caught the moonlight, and the palms of his hands glowed as they were turned out in appeal.
"I have been sent here at the behest of Laird Henderson," the stranger said. "I am looking for a young woman by the name of Arabelle Fisher."
3
The creature who opened the door seemed completely nonplussed by Henry's arrival. She stood staring at him with big eyes that had stretched even wider in surprise. Her feet dithered in a way that set her skirts swaying. She was excessively nervous.
"Do I have the correct abode?" Henry tried again to prompt some kind of answer from her.
"The what?" she asked.
Henry adjusted himself. These were not, he had to remember, educated people. He blinked and set his tongue to rights.
