around her, and she sighed against him. It was a moment for fear and worry and questions. But it was also, Robert Sinclair thought, a time of forgiveness. There was no way to wipe away the past, but Maggie had eased it a bit with her simple gesture and her smile.
Chapter 4
Harrington Court, England
H er laughter was full and rich, coaxing forth his own. His hands at her waist were her only support as they twirled in a circle, her arms thrown out, the cloud of her hair shining in the sun. An angel flying in the air .
He had never known such joy. Such utter freedom of the senses and the soul. Would that this moment were his forever. To feel again and again. To pluck from his memory and recall when he grew old .
In the way of fevered dreams, she grew closer and then further apart. Finally, she walked away from him for the last time. He called to her, stretched out his hand, but she continued to walk away. At the edge of the horizon, where the sea met the sky, she turned and blew a kiss to him. A smile was his last link to her as she became no more than mist. There had been tears on her cheeks. And in his heart .
My beloved. My own true love .
A voice came to him, one rough and impatient. A band of something cold and wet bound his forehead, cooled his skin. He wanted to thank the hand that placed it there but was cast into another dream before he could frame the words.
He made a sound in his sleep, a cry of terror, as his world became black again. The voice above him eased him. The hand upon his forehead was cool.
An angel, then. The voice of an angel commanded that he rest or he would never heal. And so he tried. One did not gainsay God.
Someone pressed something to his lips. A bit of cheese, some wine? Only water. The sound of a lute seemed oddly familiar. There, her laughter again.
Come with me, love . A voice that sang with the sound of bells. He turned and she was there, holding her hand out to him. Her hair was black as night. No, brown as a chestnut. A sweet face. A lovely one. Eyes a shade of green. No, deep, dark, with gold at their centers. Eyes to lure and warm .
I am so very tired. A thought. Into it came her voice. Or his. God’s again?
I am here. Sweet love, remember me .
The dream shifted again. A woman’s face again. A smile, a beauty patch, a cloud of scent. A laugh, his own.
Home. Sleep.
Rest now. It’s the only way you’ll heal. I’ll be here .
Voices in his head. He gave himself up to the angel’s voice, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
“You still have not found him?” Anne asked.
“Do you think the soldiers took him?” She looked up at him, horrified.
They stood in the garden. Ian had asked to speak to her, so she’d walked here with him. She’d never imagined, however, that his news would be so terrible.
He nodded. “It is the likeliest possibility.”
“What will they do to him, Ian?”
“Shouldn’t you have worried about that earlier, Anne?” Ian asked, his voice tight with anger. “Before we left Scotland?”
She looked down at clasped hands.
“The earl’s men and I have scoured the countryside, Anne. There’s no sign of him.”
Douglas was a sweet boy. But just as humor was something oddly missing in his nature, so was initiative. He would not know where to hide. Or where to come, if he managed to escape the soldiers.
Shame sat on her like a wet woolen cloak. He was a member of her clan, and she was the daughter of Dunniwerth. Therefore it had been her responsibility to assure his safety. She had not. The condemnation was there in her thoughts as well as in Ian’s words.
“Are you never going to tell me why we left Scotland?”
He’d agreed to accompany her only because he’d been given the responsibility for her safety. And, he’d told her that he wasn’t at all sure she would remain at Dunniwerth if he’d refused to come to England with her. In that, he was correct.
Ian had not approved of the journey, nor of his
Chapter 4
Harrington Court, England
H er laughter was full and rich, coaxing forth his own. His hands at her waist were her only support as they twirled in a circle, her arms thrown out, the cloud of her hair shining in the sun. An angel flying in the air .
He had never known such joy. Such utter freedom of the senses and the soul. Would that this moment were his forever. To feel again and again. To pluck from his memory and recall when he grew old .
In the way of fevered dreams, she grew closer and then further apart. Finally, she walked away from him for the last time. He called to her, stretched out his hand, but she continued to walk away. At the edge of the horizon, where the sea met the sky, she turned and blew a kiss to him. A smile was his last link to her as she became no more than mist. There had been tears on her cheeks. And in his heart .
My beloved. My own true love .
A voice came to him, one rough and impatient. A band of something cold and wet bound his forehead, cooled his skin. He wanted to thank the hand that placed it there but was cast into another dream before he could frame the words.
He made a sound in his sleep, a cry of terror, as his world became black again. The voice above him eased him. The hand upon his forehead was cool.
An angel, then. The voice of an angel commanded that he rest or he would never heal. And so he tried. One did not gainsay God.
Someone pressed something to his lips. A bit of cheese, some wine? Only water. The sound of a lute seemed oddly familiar. There, her laughter again.
Come with me, love . A voice that sang with the sound of bells. He turned and she was there, holding her hand out to him. Her hair was black as night. No, brown as a chestnut. A sweet face. A lovely one. Eyes a shade of green. No, deep, dark, with gold at their centers. Eyes to lure and warm .
I am so very tired. A thought. Into it came her voice. Or his. God’s again?
I am here. Sweet love, remember me .
The dream shifted again. A woman’s face again. A smile, a beauty patch, a cloud of scent. A laugh, his own.
Home. Sleep.
Rest now. It’s the only way you’ll heal. I’ll be here .
Voices in his head. He gave himself up to the angel’s voice, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
“You still have not found him?” Anne asked.
“Do you think the soldiers took him?” She looked up at him, horrified.
They stood in the garden. Ian had asked to speak to her, so she’d walked here with him. She’d never imagined, however, that his news would be so terrible.
He nodded. “It is the likeliest possibility.”
“What will they do to him, Ian?”
“Shouldn’t you have worried about that earlier, Anne?” Ian asked, his voice tight with anger. “Before we left Scotland?”
She looked down at clasped hands.
“The earl’s men and I have scoured the countryside, Anne. There’s no sign of him.”
Douglas was a sweet boy. But just as humor was something oddly missing in his nature, so was initiative. He would not know where to hide. Or where to come, if he managed to escape the soldiers.
Shame sat on her like a wet woolen cloak. He was a member of her clan, and she was the daughter of Dunniwerth. Therefore it had been her responsibility to assure his safety. She had not. The condemnation was there in her thoughts as well as in Ian’s words.
“Are you never going to tell me why we left Scotland?”
He’d agreed to accompany her only because he’d been given the responsibility for her safety. And, he’d told her that he wasn’t at all sure she would remain at Dunniwerth if he’d refused to come to England with her. In that, he was correct.
Ian had not approved of the journey, nor of his
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