“They grieved for her until the day they died, her mother especially. She spoke of her as she lay dying, but Morna never came. She delivered to them a cruel blow.”
Sarah glanced across the table to find that Douglas was watching her grandfather with a curious expression, one she could almost interpret as compassion.
Yes, Donald was old, and yes, he might be frail, but he couldn’t be permitted to say such things about her mother.
“My mother was the kindest and the gentlest person I’ve ever known,” Sarah said. “Everyone loved her. If she never returned to Kilmarin, if she never wished to return, there had to be a good reason. Perhaps it was somethingyoudid that kept her away.”
Linda glanced at her, wide-eyed.
For some time, Donald studied Sarah’s face with great deliberation. Finally, and with great difficulty, he stood, but when Linda moved to help him, he waved her away. “Leave me be, child,” he said. “I’m old, and I move like I’m old.”
“Grandfather, you aren’t old at all.”
Donald ignored her. He took a deep breath, leaned on his cane for just a moment, then straightened to his full height. He left the room slowly, all four of them watching him depart. Neither Linda nor Robert spoke.
Douglas glanced at her, and she nodded, understanding his unspoken question. He came around the table and pulled out her chair. When she stood, Douglas placed his hand at her back, guiding her down the hall to the grand staircase. She didn’t shake off his touch or move away.
She couldn’t go to her mother and ask why she’d left Kilmarin and never returned. All she had were her grandfather’s words, and an ever-present feeling of loss.
Anger was an acceptable haven, but even in that she was frustrated. Who was the worthy object of her anger? Her mother, for hiding secrets? Her grandfather, for his bitterness? Or even herself, for thinking only of reaching Scotland and not about her reception?
“Are you all right?”
Douglas hesitated on the landing, turning to her.
She looked away rather than face his intrusive glance.
“Sarah.”
She nodded. Why must he always see her weep?
“I’m fine,” she said, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. “I’m fine, really.”
He didn’t speak, leading her to their suite in silence.
Once there, he lit the lamp in the sitting room and led her to the sofa in front of the fireplace. She didn’t demur when he bent and renewed the fire. Although it was summer, it was chilly in the room. Or perhaps she was the one who was cold.
She closed her eyes and wished herself away from Kilmarin.
“I’ll draw you a bath.”
She opened her eyes to find him standing over her.
“You needn’t be my servant,” she said, remembering his earlier words. “Not my footman.”
He smiled. “I don’t mind serving you occasionally, Sarah. I’m not constrained to certain behavior by a title. I just won’t be addressed as a servant.”
“I frankly doubt you would have been constrained even as a footman.”
She took his hand and stood, but instead of stepping back, he stepped closer, the tips of his shoes disappearing beneath the fullness of her skirts. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her forehead.
Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe again, but it wasn’t tears that held her silent. Instead, some other emotion, something startling bright, flooded into her mind as if he were sunlight, and just by standing so close to him, he illuminated all the dark corners inside her.
“Oh, Douglas. I made a mistake coming here,” she said, so softly that he had to bend his head to hers in order to hear. His cheek, growing more bristly with his night beard by the hour, gently abraded hers, and she shivered at the touch. When he would have drawn away, she raised her left hand and placed it against his face, keeping him in place just for a moment.
“Why haven’t you made me your wife?” she said, and a second later pulled back, horrified. What had compelled her to ask such a question? She looked up at him, dropping her hand to her side.
He smiled. “Should I have seduced you while you wept? The time was not appropriate, Sarah,” he said. “But my desire hasn’t vanished.”
