Heartbreak and Honor by Collette Cameron

ride, had caused the crick.
    “Why isn’t he allowed? Mama always permits Jeremy to visit her sitting room.” This didn’t make sense. “Why the sudden change?”
    “I don’t want her agitated.” Genny urged Lucan along the passageway. “Doctor Philpott says her heart is quite fragile and advised against upset until she is stronger.”
    “Her heart?” Lucan immediately advanced toward the winding marble staircase. His bath would have to wait. “Has she been ill?”
    Genny hesitated and glanced at Tibbs hovering nearby, wringing his gnarled hands. “Tibbs, you may have your tea now. Take your time. No need to rush. We have things well in hand.”
    “Thank you, Miss Genevieve.” He wobbled the passage’s expanse, his gait as unstable as a week-old puppy.
    “My God, why does Mama permit him to act as the majordomo?” Lucan suppressed a yawn. He needed his coffee.
    She waited until Tibbs left their sight to answer. “The poor dear has nowhere to go. Last month when Mama suggested he might stay here without duties, he cried, arguing he wasn’t a charity case.”
    “Well, I’m hiring another butler to make sure Tibbs doesn’t hurt himself doddering about the place.” Lucan winked at his sister. “Now, what’s this about Mama?”
    Apprehension clouded Genny’s eyes. “Lucan, she suffered a serious seizure. Something about her heart. I think the doctor called it angina, whatever that may be.”
    “Has to do with chest pain, I believe.” He waited for her to ascend the stairs before him.
    “She’s been asking for you.” Genny touched his forearm. “Lucan, we came very close to losing her.”

Chapter 7
    “What do you think they’re discussing?” Tasara, her arm looped through Seonaid Ferguson’s, halted in the kitchen courtyard to nip a few sprigs of mint. “Laird McTavish said he would summon me when he and Dat finished.”
    Try as she might, she couldn’t quell the anxiety ebbing and flowing through her, hence the mint. She thought to brew some tea to calm her stomach, though sipping lavender tea might prove more beneficial for her fraught nerves.
    For more than a week now, she’d been a guest at Craiglocky Keep. If that’s what her position here could be called. The day she left the gypsy encampment, Father had given her a scant moment to kiss and hug Lala and György before he insisted they leave for Craiglocky Keep. Jamie and several other band members stood by as she and Dat rode away.
    Tasara had assumed they would call on the laird, tell him her tale, and then she would return to the traveller’s camp until matters were settled. But, after a brief, private word with his lairdship, Father had pecked her cheek and hurried on his way, leaving her with strangers and no explanation why she wasn’t returning to the tinkers.
    Her belongings, other than her knife always sheathed in her boot, and the moldy bag containing the items she had when Forba found her, remained with the travellers. She hadn’t even been permitted to take her violin, her most cherished possession except for the locket she now wore about her neck. The instrument had belonged to Forba, but after she died, Dat gave it to Tasara.
    So much for Edeena’s claim Tasara wouldn’t be cast from the tribe. What else would one call it? The injustice pinched severely. Left alone, abandoned without a word of explanation from the man she’d called father most of her life, Tasara didn’t have an inkling what to expect . . . or what her future held.
    Maybe she ought to ask Seonaid if she had a premonition in that regard.
    When Tasara had asked her about the unusual gift, Seonaid had lifted a slim shoulder. “I’ve always had the second sight, but I have no control of my visions. Sometimes I know things in advance, and other times, I am as surprised as everyone else. Don’t fret. All will be well.” Seonaid gave her a reassuring smile. “Ah, Fairchild comes to get you even now.”
    She regularly did that, knew things before they