She thought he’d fallen asleep, but then he spoke. His words were whispered, but she heard them clearly enough.
“I saw it this evening,” he said. “I saw that you have given up your friends and your studies. I realized what little there is here for you and how happy you were to have a piece of it back.”
She had given up a lot, but she had gained some things, too. She liked the challenge of learning how a castle ran. It was a like stepping back into a fairytale of old and she wanted to see if she could improve things or if it all was exactly as it ought to be. She’d found teachers, too, in Rhona and Deirdre. She didn’t much care who she learned from so long as they showed her how things were done. And she’d discovered that some talents eluded her no matter how she tried. Cooking would always bore her, she feared, but she liked spending time with the women as they discussed their lives here. Plus, she’d heard some very good ghost stories that way, and that always intrigued her.
“I’ve asked Mr. Baird to tell stories tomorrow night. Deidre says your father’s run him out of his cottage up north. I can’t understand half of what he said when he came for dinner today, but Rhona says he tells the best tales.”
“He’s not Mr. Baird. He’s just Baird. It’s another word for storyteller.”
“Then he’s well suited to the name. And Juliet has brought a guitar. She sings beautifully.”
“Sounds like the day is well planned then.”
They remained silent for a long time while she struggled to find something to say. In the end, there was nothing, except perhaps a question. “When will you leave?”
“Very soon.” His brogue was coming back. A sure sign that he was feeling something deeply. Or perhaps he was falling asleep. Either way, she had no more ideas of how to connect better with him for all that they were pressed hip to hip, chest to breast.
She slept.
