Sarah had evidently not slept well the night before, and the lulling motion of the carriage was too much of a lure. Douglas watched as she rested her head against the cushioned corner and closed her eyes. In moments, she was asleep.
Douglas hadn’t slept any better, but he would rather watch Sarah than doze. They’d been married only a matter of weeks, and in that short amount of time, he’d seen her grieve for her mother, bristle at her father, care for those in her keeping, and engage in herculean tasks for the benefit of Chavensworth. She was passionate about those people and subjects that interested her, and too damned vulnerable.
She was also an eternal distraction, as if he carried a miniature of her in his mind.
After consulting his pocket watch, he decided to stop for lunch. They’d switched out the horses twice today and made excellent time. This afternoon, they’d be at Kilmarin.
“What do you say, Florie, that instead of eating in the carriage today, we make an adventure of it?”
She smiled brightly because his suggestion alsomeant that Tim would be able to relax as well, and the two of them would be able to share a meal.
“I would like that, sir.” She glanced over at Sarah. “Shall I wake Lady Sarah?”
He shook his head. “Let her sleep,” he said. “We’ll set up our picnic, then wake her.”
A quarter hour later, that was exactly what he did, entering the carriage after they’d set up a meal on a grassy brae. Tim and Florie had moved some distance away, and he’d not encouraged them closer. For one thing, they’d been married barely six months. For another, the class system in England wasn’t as rigid as some societies he’d known; but all the same, Tim and Florie wouldn’t have been comfortable eating with them.
He entered the carriage and sat beside Sarah. Her bonnet had come askew, and he reached over and slipped the bow free, carefully removing the bonnet from her head.
She started, her hand reaching up to touch her cheek, then her eyes opened, at first a little confused, and they filled with emotion.
“I was dreaming of my mother,” she said softly.
“You will,” he said. “For some months, I think. It’s a way of saying good-bye.”
She nodded and looked out the window.
“We’ve stopped,” she said.
“I thought we deserved a relaxing interlude.”
Douglas reached out with his hand, and after a quizzical look, she placed hers in it, allowing him to lead her from the carriage and up the hill. A red squirrel spotted them and danced in alarm back to the seclusion of the Scots pines woodland.
The skies above were a pale blue, nearly covered in fluffy white clouds with flat bottoms. The hills wereindigo turning to gray when the clouds, racing like skiffs on a current of air, passed over them.
They climbed higher, the path running close to the edge of the cliff. As a precaution, Douglas put himself between Sarah and the overhang.
At the clearing, he halted, hearing her indrawn breath with satisfaction.
Below them was the River Tay, gleaming like a sterling snake through the emerald countryside. To the north were the Cairngorm mountains, stretching into the Highlands. To the west were the Loch Earn hills. The air seemed softer here, diffused, as though seen through a fine mesh.
He was home, and his heart knew it, seeming to expand with each mile.
“What is that?” Sarah asked, pulling her hand free and pointing to their left.
“Tulloch’s Folly,” he said. “The tower on it was built last century by one of your ancestors.”
“Does that mean we’re close to Kilmarin?”
“A few hours, no more,” he said.
“Does anyone live there?”
He shook his head.
“Then why build it?”
“I believe it’s an homage to the castles on the Rhine in Germany,” he said. He pointed down to the River Tay. “We have our own version of the Rhine, but no castles.”
