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Four days had passed since Graeme had announced he was once again leaving. Gillian had given up feeling sad about it. This time, she was good and angry.

She’d spent the first two days trying to determine what he’d meant when he said, “There’s something I must do.” The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Gillian had practically thrown herself at him again and again. She’d tried to reach out to him, understand him. And true, she’d suggested they not be intimate for a time, but that had only been to mend their broken relationship. To bring them closer together.

Perhaps she’d been wrong about him all along. Gillian had thought she’d married a loyal and courageous clan chief. And there was no denying he was courageous, but loyal? Not to his English queen. He’d dismissed her without a thought; his announcement that he was leaving had been cold and emotionless.

But she was done. Everything in her life felt like it was on hold. Graeme was gone. No word had come from Lyndwood. Gillian had begun to pull away from daily life at Highgate, living instead in her thoughts. She spent so much time with the ledgers that Allie had finally recruited Aidan to rescue her. The three of them had taken a ride through the countryside yesterday, Aidan showing them each the various properties, telling stories of his childhood.

When Gillian had approached Allie about staying at Highgate indefinitely, her sister had hesitated at first, not wanting to abandon their parents. But Gillian had promised they would visit their mother and father often, wherever they ended up moving. In the end, Aidan was the one who convinced her. She and her brother-in-law had formed a bond almost instantly, an easy thing to do with Aidan. If the looks they gave each other did not always appear so innocent, Gillian shrugged them off. Her sister had agreed to stay.

Feeling listless, Gillian made her way to the garden. The cook had asked for her advice on additional herbs to plant, something she couldn’t help with until she looked at the garden. Though this garden bore little resemblance to the one at Kenshire, she found herself thinking about it nonetheless. Thinking about him.

A lad with a curly mop of hair ran toward her. “My lady, do you know when the chief will be returning? I asked him—”

“Nay, I’m sorry wee one.”

The boy turned to walk away, his shoulders slumped. At Lyndwood, very few people had approached her, perhaps because she looked so inapproachable—or so her sister had always told her. She’d developed a tendency to fold her arms and look away, habits that had proven difficult to break. At Highgate, however, Gillian was stopped nearly every moment of the day. She answered questions, sought counsel when needed, and was overjoyed with her new role as the lady of the keep.

“What did you need to ask my lord?” she asked, calling the boy back. “Perhaps I can help?”

He turned back toward her. “Ya think so?”

She smiled, hoping she could. “Of course!”

“I asked if he could find my ma.” He said it so solemnly that Gillian didn’t have to ask if she’d heard correctly.

“Did you lose her?”

He shook his head. “My pa did.”

Gillian pretended to consider that. “I see. Your pa lost her. And how did he manage such a thing?”

The boy pointed to the sky. “He said she’s up there, but I don’t understand. She’s not got wings. So I asked my lord if he could find her.”

Gillian’s heart broke for the boy. Much too young to have lost a mother. “And what did my lord say to you?”

The boy looked up to the sky again. “He said he didn’t need ta find her. That she was already here.” He pointed to his heart.

Gillian smiled, glad Graeme had not given him false hope.

“I agree with my lord,” she said. “But why are you waiting for him to return, then?”

The boy shrugged. “He told me I could find him whenever I did not feel her here.” He pointed to his heart again. “His ma was in the same place, y’see, and he said we could look for them together.”

Gillian opened her arms and the boy came right into them.

“What is your name?” she asked as she held him to her, his heart beating rapidly beneath her own.

“Gordie, my lady.”

She waited until Gordie pulled away from her.

“My pa is the blacksmith,” he said proudly.

Gillian looked toward the smithy, sure she had not seen the boy here before. “And do you not come to work with your father?”

He shook his head. “He says it’s much too dangerous, but someday—” His chest swelled with pride.