She paused, with the innate timing of one who knows and spins tales. The harpist in the far corner plucked softly at a ballad of ill-fated love. “And she waited there, in the center of the circle of stones. While she waited, she grew cold, so cold she began to tremble. Her lover’s voice came across the fields to her, like tears in the air. She knew he was dead. And knowing, she laid down, closed her eyes, and sent herself to him. When they found her the next morning, she was smiling. But she was cold, very cold, and her heart was not beating. There are nights, if you stand in the center of the circle of stones, you can hear them whisper their promises to each other and the grass grows damp with their tears.”
Letting out a long breath, Gray sat back and sipped at his wine. “You have talent, Brianna, for storytelling.”
“I tell you only as it was told to me. Love survives, you see. Through fear, through heartache, even through death.”
“Have you heard them whispering?”
“I have. And I’ve wept for them. And I’ve envied them.” She sat back, shook off the mood. “And what ghosts do you know?”
“Well, I’ll tell you a story. In the hills not far from the field of Cullodon a one-armed Highlander roams.”
Her lips curved. “Is this truth, Grayson, or made up?”
He took her hand, kissed it. “You tell me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
She’d never had an evening quite like it. All the elements added up to one wonderful memory—the gorgeous man who seemed fascinated by her every word, the romantic trappings of a castle, without the medieval inconveniences, glorious French food, delicate wine.
She wasn’t sure how she would ever pay him back for it—particularly for the menu Gray had charmed out of the ma?tre d’.
She began the only way she knew, by planning a special breakfast.
When Maggie came in, the kitchen was filled with sizzling scents, and Brianna was singing.
“Well, you’re having a fine morning, I see.”
“I am, yes.” Brianna flipped over a thick slab of spiced toast. “Will you have some breakfast, Maggie? There’s more than enough.”
“I’ve eaten already.” It was said with some regret. “Is Gray about?”
“He isn’t down yet. Usually he’s sniffing at the skillets by this time of day.”
“Then we’re alone for the moment.”
“Yes.” Her light mood plummeted. Carefully Brianna set the last piece of bread on the platter and put the meal into the oven to keep warm. “You’ve come to talk about the letters.”
“I’ve kept you worrying over it long enough, haven’t I? I’m sorry for that.”
“We both needed to think.” Brianna folded her hands over her apron, faced her sister. “What do you want to do, Maggie?”
“What I want to do is nothing, to pretend I’ve never read them, that they don’t exist.”
“Maggie—”
“Let me finish,” she snapped out and began to roam the kitchen like an ill-tempered cat. “I want to go on as we are, and to keep my memories of Da my own. I don’t want to wonder or worry about a woman he knew and bedded a lifetime ago. I don’t want to think about a grown brother or sister somewhere. You’re my sister,” she said passionately. “You’re my family. I tell myself this Amanda made a life for herself and her child somewhere, somehow, and they wouldn’t thank us for poking into it now. I want to forget it, I want it to go away. That’s what I want, Brianna.”
She stopped, leaning back on the counter and sighing. “That’s what I want,” she repeated, “but it’s not what must be done. He said her name—almost the last thing he said in life was her name. She has the right to know that. I have the right to curse her for it.”
“Sit down, Maggie. It can’t be good for you to be so upset.”
“Of course I’m upset. We’re both upset. We have different ways of dealing with it.” With a shake of her head she waved Brianna off. “I don’t need to sit. If the baby isn’t used to my temper by now, he’ll have to learn.” Still she made an effort, taking a couple of calming breaths. “We’ll need to hire an investigator, a detective, in New York. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“I think it’s what we have to do,” Brianna said carefully. “For ourselves. For Da. How will we go about it?”
“Rogan knows people. He’ll make calls. He’s wonderful at making calls." Because she could see Brianna needed it, she managed a smile. “That’ll be the easy part. As to finding them, I don’t know how long that might take. And God only knows what we’ll do if and when we’re faced with them. She might have married, this Amanda, and have a dozen children and a happy life.”
“I’ve thought of that. But we have to find out, don’t we?”
“We do.” Stepping forward, Maggie laid her hands gently on Brianna’s cheeks. “Don’t worry so, Brie.”
“I won’t if you won’t.”
“It’s a pact.” Maggie kissed her lightly to seal it. “Now go feed your lazy Yank. I’ve fired my furnace and have work to do.”
“Nothing heavy.”
Maggie tossed back a grin as she turned for the door. “I know my limits.”
“No, you don’t, Margaret Mary,” Brianna called out as the door slammed shut. She stood for a moment, lost in thought until Con’s steady tail thumping roused her. “Want out, do you? Fine, then. Go see what Murphy’s up to.”
The minute she opened the door, Con streaked out. After one satisfied bark, he was loping toward the fields. She closed the door on the damp air and debated. It was after ten, and she had chores. If Gray wasn’t coming down to breakfast, she’d take it up to him.
A glance at the menu on the table had her smiling again. She was humming as she arranged the breakfast tray. Hefting it, she carried it upstairs. His door was closed and made her hesitate. She knocked softly, got no response, and began to gnaw her lip. Perhaps he was ill. Concerned, she knocked again, more loudly, and called his name.
She thought she heard a grunt, and shifting the tray, eased the door open.
The bed looked as though it had been the scene of a small war. The sheets and blankets were tangled into knots, the quilt trailing over the footboard onto the floor. And the room was stone cold.
Letting out a long breath, Gray sat back and sipped at his wine. “You have talent, Brianna, for storytelling.”
“I tell you only as it was told to me. Love survives, you see. Through fear, through heartache, even through death.”
“Have you heard them whispering?”
“I have. And I’ve wept for them. And I’ve envied them.” She sat back, shook off the mood. “And what ghosts do you know?”
“Well, I’ll tell you a story. In the hills not far from the field of Cullodon a one-armed Highlander roams.”
Her lips curved. “Is this truth, Grayson, or made up?”
He took her hand, kissed it. “You tell me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
She’d never had an evening quite like it. All the elements added up to one wonderful memory—the gorgeous man who seemed fascinated by her every word, the romantic trappings of a castle, without the medieval inconveniences, glorious French food, delicate wine.
She wasn’t sure how she would ever pay him back for it—particularly for the menu Gray had charmed out of the ma?tre d’.
She began the only way she knew, by planning a special breakfast.
When Maggie came in, the kitchen was filled with sizzling scents, and Brianna was singing.
“Well, you’re having a fine morning, I see.”
“I am, yes.” Brianna flipped over a thick slab of spiced toast. “Will you have some breakfast, Maggie? There’s more than enough.”
“I’ve eaten already.” It was said with some regret. “Is Gray about?”
“He isn’t down yet. Usually he’s sniffing at the skillets by this time of day.”
“Then we’re alone for the moment.”
“Yes.” Her light mood plummeted. Carefully Brianna set the last piece of bread on the platter and put the meal into the oven to keep warm. “You’ve come to talk about the letters.”
“I’ve kept you worrying over it long enough, haven’t I? I’m sorry for that.”
“We both needed to think.” Brianna folded her hands over her apron, faced her sister. “What do you want to do, Maggie?”
“What I want to do is nothing, to pretend I’ve never read them, that they don’t exist.”
“Maggie—”
“Let me finish,” she snapped out and began to roam the kitchen like an ill-tempered cat. “I want to go on as we are, and to keep my memories of Da my own. I don’t want to wonder or worry about a woman he knew and bedded a lifetime ago. I don’t want to think about a grown brother or sister somewhere. You’re my sister,” she said passionately. “You’re my family. I tell myself this Amanda made a life for herself and her child somewhere, somehow, and they wouldn’t thank us for poking into it now. I want to forget it, I want it to go away. That’s what I want, Brianna.”
She stopped, leaning back on the counter and sighing. “That’s what I want,” she repeated, “but it’s not what must be done. He said her name—almost the last thing he said in life was her name. She has the right to know that. I have the right to curse her for it.”
“Sit down, Maggie. It can’t be good for you to be so upset.”
“Of course I’m upset. We’re both upset. We have different ways of dealing with it.” With a shake of her head she waved Brianna off. “I don’t need to sit. If the baby isn’t used to my temper by now, he’ll have to learn.” Still she made an effort, taking a couple of calming breaths. “We’ll need to hire an investigator, a detective, in New York. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“I think it’s what we have to do,” Brianna said carefully. “For ourselves. For Da. How will we go about it?”
“Rogan knows people. He’ll make calls. He’s wonderful at making calls." Because she could see Brianna needed it, she managed a smile. “That’ll be the easy part. As to finding them, I don’t know how long that might take. And God only knows what we’ll do if and when we’re faced with them. She might have married, this Amanda, and have a dozen children and a happy life.”
“I’ve thought of that. But we have to find out, don’t we?”
“We do.” Stepping forward, Maggie laid her hands gently on Brianna’s cheeks. “Don’t worry so, Brie.”
“I won’t if you won’t.”
“It’s a pact.” Maggie kissed her lightly to seal it. “Now go feed your lazy Yank. I’ve fired my furnace and have work to do.”
“Nothing heavy.”
Maggie tossed back a grin as she turned for the door. “I know my limits.”
“No, you don’t, Margaret Mary,” Brianna called out as the door slammed shut. She stood for a moment, lost in thought until Con’s steady tail thumping roused her. “Want out, do you? Fine, then. Go see what Murphy’s up to.”
The minute she opened the door, Con streaked out. After one satisfied bark, he was loping toward the fields. She closed the door on the damp air and debated. It was after ten, and she had chores. If Gray wasn’t coming down to breakfast, she’d take it up to him.
A glance at the menu on the table had her smiling again. She was humming as she arranged the breakfast tray. Hefting it, she carried it upstairs. His door was closed and made her hesitate. She knocked softly, got no response, and began to gnaw her lip. Perhaps he was ill. Concerned, she knocked again, more loudly, and called his name.
She thought she heard a grunt, and shifting the tray, eased the door open.
The bed looked as though it had been the scene of a small war. The sheets and blankets were tangled into knots, the quilt trailing over the footboard onto the floor. And the room was stone cold.
