“I realize that, now,” Montgomery said, taking a step forward at the same time he drew back his arm, his fist slamming into the other man’s jaw.
Montgomery watched as Edmund fell like a stone to the path. He stood over the man, shaking his hand as Veronica stared in shock.
“If you knew he was innocent, why did you hit him?”
“He’s innocent of that deed, but you’re not entirely innocent, are you, Edmund?”
He bent, hauled the man up by his collar, and held on until the solicitor blinked a few times.
“You were the one who told me about the Society of the Mercaii. You were the one who urged me to attend.”
Edmund sputtered but said nothing coherent.
“You’re a member, aren’t you? I should have known the night of the séance.”
She took a few steps away from Mr. Kerr.
“Was he there?” she asked. “That night, was he there?”
She stared at Edmund. She’d never known the identity of any of the members of the Society. Yet she’d sat in this man’s company, had held his hand during the séance, and all this time, he’d been there. He’d seen her naked. Perhaps the feeling she’d had about the solicitor was based, not on her Gift, but because he’d made her uncomfortable in other ways.
Montgomery let go of Kerr’s collar, and he fell back to the ground, remaining there and looking up at Montgomery warily.
“Are you going to hit him again?” she asked.
Montgomery turned to look at her. “Do you want me to?”
She’d never had such a champion. What a strange time to want to smile.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want you to hit him again.”
“I got rid of Millicent. It’s your choice what to do with him.”
“Must you continue to employ him?”
“No,” Montgomery said, stretching his hand to her. “Consider him no longer employed at Doncaster Hall.”
He glanced down at Edmund. “I’ll not be summoning you again,” he said. “We’ll just have to find a way to get along without you.” He turned to Ralston. “If you would do away with that, please,” he said, pointing in the solicitor’s direction.
Ralston nodded as he and another man lifted Edmund to his feet.
Montgomery grinned at her, the expression changing his face to someone younger, less marred by memory, less filled with grief.
Her heart turned over in her chest.
She went to him and placed her hand on his cheek.
“I love you, Montgomery Fairfax,” she said softly, giving him the truth.
He pulled her into his arms.
“Thank God for it,” he said, pressing his cheek against her temple. “Thank God for that.”
As they stood there, dawn approached shyly, banishing shadows, spreading over the landscape and setting it aglow.
For weeks, he’d questioned his decision to come to Scotland. As the first tentative rays of a renewed day stretched toward Doncaster Hall, Montgomery knew why his path had led him here. Not only to understand his past but to accept his future.
This moment, this instant, was the most perfect homecoming he’d ever had.
