Page 50

Gillian smiled at the serving girl, trying to remember her name.

“My lady? You’ve got that look about you,” Morgan ventured.

She wasn’t sure how Morgan recognized “that look.” She had so rarely defied her father. For all his shortcomings, he was her father, a fact that nothing would change. And yet . . . she’d also spent plenty of time with Sara throughout the years and could hear her friend’s voice now.

’Tis time your father sees what is in front of his face. Being perfect will not turn you into a son.

Perhaps Sara had been right. Perhaps it was time to break the rules a bit, as her friend had always encouraged her to do.

“And what look is that Morgan?” she asked, standing.

To which her maid mumbled, “The look of the Kenshire women.”

15

Gillian paced back and forth, glancing every so often at the guards stationed on each tower. The battlement, made for defense, was the perfect spot for her to look for any sign of Graeme. He’d been gone for two days, but according to Aidan, he would arrive imminently. Her brother-in-law had been in a closed-door meeting with a member of a neighboring clan for most of the morning, and Gillian could not have been more surprised when he’d sought her out in the hall.

“Our visitor says Graeme is just behind him,” he’d told her.

Gillian had awaited this very news for two days.

“Thank you for letting me know,” she said. And then she waited. Aidan obviously had more to say.

“If Ferguson is in a better mood later, I’ll be sure to introduce you to him.”

“Ferguson?”

“MacDuff. Of Clan Bourne.”

But it was his next words that startled her.

“MacDuff didn’t realize Graeme was just behind him until he met with two Scottish reivers on the road. The men apparently ran with Geoffrey Waryn years earlier, and they know my brother.”

“I see,” she said.

It was common knowledge Sara’s husband still had allies in a community marked by odd allegiances. To each other first, and to country only occasionally.

But why had Aidan told her all this?

At her apparent confusion, Aidan shocked her by saying, “I thought you’d want to know. To be kept informed.”

In all her years, Gillian couldn’t remember one time . . . even one . . . when her father had deigned to tell her, let alone her mother, anything of import about their keeping. Was it so different here in Scotland?

Sara is as involved in the affairs of Kenshire as her husband. But that is most unusual. Is it not?

Now, standing on high, she looked out at the horizon. Beyond the castle walls, rolling hills extended into the distance, still green despite the chill that hung in the air. Though they’d passed a small village on their way to Highgate End, it was not visible from here. Gillian turned in the direction she thought the village might be, but only the activity in the courtyard and the castle’s high walls were visible from this vantage point.

She’d spent the previous day fretting about what she’d say to Graeme, whether she’d tell him all. But the continued warmth she’d received from Aidan and Fiona had encouraged her. She could not protect her family, her sister, alone. This was her new home, and everyone had proved to be most understanding. She’d tell her husband everything and ask for his help.

In truth, she wished she’d been more forthright with Sara too. She’d scarcely let herself believe her family’s position was this strained.

When a hand touched hers from behind, Gillian pulled it back and spun around.

“Graeme!” Though travel worn, he was as handsome as the day she’d first spied him at Kenshire.

She looked back over the parapet. Nothing.

“Where did you come from. I—”