Portia watched him a moment, disappointed that her afternoon with him would end so abruptly. “Where will you go?” she asked.
He looked at her, surprised. “With you, of course. The cat comes to you—”
His voice broke off as he realized the import of what he’d said. “The cat comes toyou,” he repeated softly. “YouandIwere meant to meet. That’s why the cat didn’t want me to leave Glenfinnan.”
Now he sounded completely mad.
“That’s nonsense,” she snapped, strangely annoyed. She reached for her clothes and began dressing.
“Is it?” he asked, sitting on the stool and pulling on his boots. “Can you not imagine, just the smallest bit, that we were destined to meet?”
Portia pulled her dress over her head and stood a moment, wanting to reject his theory ... and wanting to accept it.
Had they been destined to meet? It would seem that she was always in his path. He’d almost run over her that first day and then there was the connection of General Montheath and her mother. They could be coincidences, and she found she wanted to believe that they were.
“I can’t accept that there are forces at work that we can’t touch or feel,” she confessed.
“Do we not pray to God?” he challenged.
“God is good. You are speaking of an evil.”
“Or not. Rose wasn’t evil. What if Rose was the one who had reincarnated herself? What if your cat is her?”
“What if you stopped speaking this insanity.” Portia reached back and pulled the laces of her dress, quickly tying them into a bow. She grabbed her stockings and shoes. Her feet were cold now and she was out of sorts because the afternoon spent making love to him that she had looked forward to with sweet anticipation was destroyed. “I need to take that basket to Lizzy,” she said, putting on her shoes.
“Good, I’ll go with you,” he answered, picking up the basket.
“No, put it down,” she ordered sharply. She began folding the blankets. They left them in the bothy. It was easier than one of them carting them around, except now she wasn’t so certain she should meet him on the morrow.
He noticed her change of mood. “What is it, Portia?” he asked. He stood five feet away from her. “I’ve spoken of the curse before,” he said slowly. “I know it is hard for those who aren’t affected to grasp the reality of it.”
She nodded. “I don’t think you are mad,” she said. “Not truly.” Or at least she didn’twantto think he was. She wanted to believe in him. “But this talk of the cat being Rose or Fenella—” She faced him, her doubts clear. “It is not rational. And Lizzy truly is nothing more than a sad soul who dotes on herbs and flowers.”
“Then she’ll know about mugwort.”
“But you want to know about reincarnation.” And every ounce of good sense Portia had resisted his speaking to Lizzy about that spell.Something bad would happen if he did.The warning was very clear in her mind.
“I don’t believe it wise we are seen together,” she said, tying her cloak at her neck. “I thought we knew we must keep up an appearance.”
“Why do you fear my going with you to Lizzy’s?” he asked.
“I’m not afraid,” she lied. “And Lizzy isn’t the reason we shouldn’t be seen together. It is Lady Emma. She will not take kindly to you and me keeping company.” She took the basket from him.
Harry made a dismissive sound. “I don’t care for her opinion.”
“I do,” Portia said. “She is my landlord’s daughter, remember? I like Camber Hall. I like Glenfinnan. I want to keep my roof over my head. Ifshe grows too jealous, she will make her father turn us out.”
She went out the door. Harry followed, catching her arm and turning her to him. “I’m not worried about Lady Emma,” he restated. “And if you want Camber Hall, I shall buy it for you. It is the least I should do for you.”
“You should do nothing for me, especially buying my house for me. What will people think?”
“I don’t care what they think,” Harry answered. “I’m only concerned that you are free of the tyranny of Moncrieffe’s pampered daughter.”
“And I worry about my reputation.” She looked around to assure herself they were alone. This sense of impending disaster was not comfortable. “I would be ruined completely if the valley knew.”
“If the valley knew what? That you are my mistress?”
Mistress. It was such an ugly word.
