But early a riser that he was, Rose was even earlier. For the last two mornings, she had awakened before him, dressed and was gone by the time he stirred. Yesterday, she’d found him in the stable after she’d spent the day with Mary and his household staff. He’d been with Angus talking over a late spring foal and he’d not been able to share her day with her. Today she had invited him to see what she had done in the herbal, and again, he’d found something else to keep him occupied. He sat forward with his elbows resting on his desk, the correspondence surrounding him all but forgotten as he twisted the silver ring on his finger, more an unconscious result of thought than a need to remove it. Besides, he had already attempted and it would not come off. No amount of greasing or soap would remove it.
Rose had asked him only yesterday if he had ever madea wish on it, and he had laughed at her foolishness, but later he began to think what one would wish for if thatonehad a restless soul and a heart he did not know.
The door swung open and Mary entered carrying a breakfast tray. He had told her he wasn’t hungry, but as usual, the woman ignored him.
Her pale pink shell earrings bobbed with her movement as she set down the tray. Nearly all of the servants working and living at Stonehaven had been a part of the household for generations, but he was closest to Mary, which accounted for his tolerance of her boldness. He leaned back in the chair.
“What do you know of Arthurian relics?” he asked, the question more rhetorical than literal, and he did not expect an answer.
“Ah,” she said, her enthusiasm for the topic obvious. “There was an archeological dig near Stonehaven some fourteen years ago. Naught of significance was found, as is usually the case.” Mary talked as she laid out the serviette, stating that she was still friends with the archaeologist’s wife, who had conducted the dig. “Mrs. Simpson continued her husband’s work after he passed some years ago.”
“Does she still live in Scotland?”
“She lives outside Castleton, on the English side of the border. In fact, if ye suddenly have a hankering for artifacts, your new bride knows her. She sent Mrs. Simpson a letter during her first few days here. They are friends.”
If this Mrs. Simpson person and Rose knew each other, then Ruark suspected Rose had believed the ring to be an authentic relic for a reason. She’d received expert advice on the subject. It was such a silly trinket for him to give much thought, but it had beenhertrinket, and he had carelessly taken it from her. And his mind more and more was diverted to it.
As Mary poured coffee the conversation shifted. Mary told him that Rose had asked to see Jamie. “I said she need no’ askmypermission but his mam’s.”
Ruark looked up as she busied her hands on his tray. “I see.” What Mary did not tell him, what she didn’t have to tell him, was that Julia had already objected to Rose’s visit to Jamie’s room.
But his first instinct had been to protect his wife. “Has someone else made a comment to you?”
“Not yet. But Julia is awaiting Mr. McBain’s return and your young bride has taken it upon herself to care for the lad until he arrives.”
Ruark mentally groaned. Three days he had been back at Stonehaven, but McBain had yet to return. Yesterday one of the outriders accompanying the coach McBain and Anaya had been riding in from Jedburgh arrived with a message from Colum, explaining that the carriage axle had broken outside Hawick. This morning a message arrived saying the axle could not be repaired and that McBain would skewer the first man who attempted to get him on a horse. Colum said he would remain with McBain and Anaya until such time a new carriage would be delivered. Ruark had business with his solicitor in Hawick, and he needed to pick up Colum before traveling south to Workington to sort out theBlack Dragonbusiness with Hereford. But this he did not tell Mary.
“McBain is stranded outside Hawick until I can get another coach to them,” he told Mary. “The family has three in service—and at least I can fetch McBain and Anaya back to Stonehaven.” He dropped a dollop of sweet butter into the porridge Mary had served him. “I have to visit the Roxburghe Shipping office in Carlisle and on my way south I want to ride the southern section of this property.”
Mary’s hands froze. “The southern edge? Ye would go alone?”
Without looking up as he ate, Ruark told her he wanted to check on the planting. “The crop was planted late due to the weather,” he said. “I do not need an army behind me to speak to the tenants, Mary.”
“We both know ye are not going down there to speak to the tenants about their crops. This has to do with what happened to yer father down there. Ye should take Duncan with ye.”
Even if Ruark currently knew Duncan’s whereabouts, he would not take his uncle with him. “Aye,” he said, dabbing the serviette against his lips. “My visit south does have to do with my sire and I will speak to the tenants without Duncan present.”
Ruark would piece together for himself what happened the night his father was killed, and in the process he had unfinished business with Hereford.
“Is it so important to ye that your father is dead? Duncan has already said that Hereford killed him. Perhaps ye should leave it at that.”
Ruark tossed down the serviette. “Why, Mary?”
“Because your da was not a kind man. Whatever happened to him ...”
He deserved. She did not say the words, but they lay there between them in the silence. “Everything happens for a reason,” she said without looking at him.
“Aye? I could not agree with you more. But since when have you become so fatalistic, Mary? I am only going to speak to the tenants. I have to go anyway. I have not been there since my return from the sea, and, as I said, I have business to dispose of farther south.”
Mary sniffed and lifted the tray. Ruark barely rescued his coffee she had just poured. “Then ye best be talkin’ toJulia first before ye leave Stonehaven,” she said. “Assure her that yer new bride has no designs on the life of her son.” Mary then abandoned him to ponder that task.
With a quiet oath, Ruark downed the last of his coffee. He stood and made his way upstairs to Jamie’s bedchamber. Then stopped. He leaned with his hands against the doorjamb. Ruark had never pretended to be any good around children, even older ones who could actually talk. As Rose had noted last night, he had not spent much time with Jamie since his return. But his reasons were complicated even to himself.
He found his brother asleep and Julia sitting in the high-back chair beside him. Upon his entrance, her expression changed from one of worry to one of relief. “How is he?” he asked.
Clutching a woolen plaid shawl to her breast, she rose in a swish of wrinkled muslin and hushed him out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind her before facing him and saying in a low voice, “She was here again this morning, Ruark. In my son’s chambers.”
He felt a burst of irritation at Julia. “What happened?”
