Her face was angled slightly towards him. “A matter of respect, you said. Does that respectful manner extend towards my sister as well?”
He had no idea how much she knew of what had passed between himself and Isobel six months ago in France. He framed and discarded several possible replies, but possibly she had not particularly expected an answer because she spoke again before he’d found one.
“I’ll not attempt to warn you off.” She laughed without humor. “I suspect threats, however much substance I could impart, are useless in any case. You seem a man quite used to dealing with all manner of peril. And Issy can more than handle herself, I’ve learned.”
“But?” he prompted. The word hung unvoiced at the end of her sentence.
“But you do owe her honesty, whatever your intentions.”
He’d never lied to Isobel, nor was he about to start. “I’ve never been dishonest with Isobel, although there were and still remain details I cannot tell her about the work I do.”Did.
“Why have you come to Auchencairn? And why now?”
He was starting to apprehend that Lucy opted for bluntness over politesse. Had she been that way before, or was it a change wrought by her experiences of the past year? Isobel had described her sister last autumn as naïve and sweet, but the woman beside him was neither. Undoubtedly her experiences had reshaped her, as trauma does all people.
Plain speaking suited him fine after years with only shades of truth, but it was not entirely comfortable to be the target of such directness.
“I thought to tell Isobel—and you, if you wish to hear it—what came of matters in France after your departure. But I’ll admit there’s more to it than that.”
Although he’d not allowed that motive much daylight on the journey here. A bit myopic, maybe, put against the journey’s length and the difficulty in tracing their precise location. Despite what Isobel had surmised half in jest about his resources, it had not been easy tracing them to this corner of Kirkcudbrightshire, even with Quinn’s help. The lengthy journey had given him ample opportunity to examine his memories; he’d permitted it, with his mind no longer occupied by his work. He’d wondered if what passed between himself and Isobel was founded on anything more than sexual chemistry and the intense circumstances under which they’d met.
As soon as he saw her again on the heugh, hair escaping its pins and the dimple that appeared when she was amused, he’d had his answer. There’d been lust, aye, but also something more than that, or at least the potential for it. And yet for all that, he barely knew her.
Did she mourn for Jamie? Rather, undoubtedly she still grieved and always would. But was that grief still all-consuming? It had seemed that way, given her nightmares and the morning she’d told him of Jamie’s death. And yet...
Not so long ago he’d had little precedent to doubt his instincts or his reason. It was novel, facing so much internal uncertainty, and he didn’t much like it, truth be told.
Lucy required a direct answer after challenging his motives. He collected his thoughts. “I came with no expectations. I do hope—” But then he wasn’t sure how he meant to end it. Hope wasn’t a luxury he’d had in a very long time. He shook his head. “I haven’t a better answer for you, but it’s an honest one.”
“Hope is sufficient as an answer for now.” Lucy’s voice had gone soft enough he had to duck closer to catch her words overthe gentle shushing of the water, the sea breeze, and the cries of shorebirds. “Perhaps the best reason you could give.” Her eyes, so like her sister’s, were nonetheless steely when she fixed them on him. “But you must also be honest with Isobel. She deserves no less.”
“Aye.”
“Then we understand one another.”
“Aye, we do.”
They continued onwards, skirting the edge of the highest tide line, a week or more old. Sand and bits of desiccated seaweed collected on his boots; he’d need to clean them carefully this evening. It had been a long time since he’d had leisure to walk a shoreline. He’d done it often enough in childhood; it was what came of growing up on a coastline with family whose livelihood came from the sea.
Although walking with Lucy was not preciselyleisurely. She strode at a brisk pace, and hers was not a wholly comfortable presence.
“I am not certain I wish to hear about France,” she said after a time. “Or rather, I am not... ready. But perhaps I will be someday.”
“You’ve only to ask, if and when you feel equal to it.”
“Perhaps not soon. If you stay with us long enough, perhaps.Doyou plan to stay long?” And then she shook her head. “No, you cannot know that yet, and it is a conversation that you will in any case have with Issy. For now, it will be enough for you to repair the crofter’s cottage.”
“Aye. Beyond that...” It wasn’t his call. “It will be at Isobel’s will.”
Lucy’s mouth curved in a genuine approximation of a smile. “Wedounderstand one another.”
Chapter 26
Days fell into a pattern. Nate worked on the exterior of the crofter’s cottage when the weather allowed, within when it did not. The structure’s bones were good, but the roof needed replacement. There would be further repairs necessary to the interior once that was completed. Sometimes one of the men from the village came to lend a hand, and he’d stand them a pint or two of Mr. Bairden’s finest afterwards.
Isobel walked on the heugh in all weather. Sometimes he joined her; while he hardly meant to be idle, neither was he driven to work all hours of the day. Nor did she expect it, and she always seemed pleased by his company.
Lulls in conversation with her were comfortable, and he caught her humming more than once. She’d told him in France that it was something she did without conscious thought when she was happy. He said nothing now, not wanting self-awareness to steal her unguarded tranquility. Each time she hummed some tune or another, it eased a place in his chest he’d not known was tight.
