He shrugged. “Perhaps you should.”
“What?” she breathed, stunned.
“He cares for you. He is rich and well-positioned, and free to marry. You could reform him from a pompous ass into an obedient husband.”
“I would never try to reform him or anyone.” Her gaze melted into his. Her fingers gripped his arm. “And I do not love him.”
“Love is not a condition for marriage.”
“So say the lairds of Dundrennan. But you said you loved me,” she blurted.
“I did say that.” His gaze was steady on hers. “There was a moment—some hope, when I thought there was a chance for us here.”
“There is more than a chance, Aedan MacBride.”
“If I lose Dundrennan, I have nothing to offer, lass. You would be better off with Edgar. Stability. Safety.”
“House or none, you are more stable, safe, and sane than Edgar will ever be. And you have something he will never have. Me.”
He tipped his head. “Aye?”
“I love you, Aedan.” While not the sweet moment she wanted, she had to tell him.
“Dear girl.” He reached out a hand, stroked her cheek. She closed her eyes, savored what he would give now, distracted as he was, cool and troubled. Yet she trusted without doubt suddenly that he loved her. “But is love enough?”
“You know it is.” She took his hand in both of hers.
He raised her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles. “I know. I do know,” he emphasized. “But this now, from Neaves and the museum—if the house falls at risk, it jeopardizes the estate, and so the livelihoods of those who depend on it and on me as laird. I will not risk their welfare. And I will not risk you.”
“I am not afraid. I feel safe with you.”
“Until I know what to do, I cannot chance your well-being, do you understand?”
“I will not go to Edgar just because you think I am safer. You are wrong.”
“Then I am wrong. Let me ask you,” he said. “When we were in the Remembrance that night, you saw something. A woman?”
She had nearly forgotten the shock of it. “A ghost—or a trick of the moonlight.”
“It was no illusion. Well,” he went on, “the safest course for you is to keep clear of the laird and his curse. If you no longer loved—”
“Never ask that of me,” she whispered.
“I cannot stop either, aye so. But we should part for now.” Without waiting for an answer, he strode away.
She set a hand to her heart, feeling as if the world tipped wildly and she was losing her balance. Hearing the dulltap-tapof her brother’s cane, she turned.
“Chrissy,” John said from the doorway. “Go after him.”
She nodded, gathered her skirts, and ran down the hallway.
As she reached the stairs, she heard the great oak door slam shut, echoing in the foyer. By the time she raced to the door, MacGregor the butler was crossing through and opened it for her.
“Mrs. Blackburn, the laird just went out.”
She looked out. The graveled drive was empty. Then she heard hoofbeats echoing along the wooded lane. There was no chance to catch him now. Was he off to the hill and his work—or had he gone after Edgar?
She wished he would send the man away forthwith and ignore his threats. But knowing Edgar, those threats would come to bear regardless.
