Vin supposed the thrill was gone for most of them. What a fool he’d made of himself! One and all, they’d done nothing to deserve such recriminations as he rained on them. Burying his head in his pillow, Vin wished he could just hide himself away forever just as Moira accused him of doing.
He hadn’t lied though when he said he thought nothing would be all right again. Everything seemed foreign to him right now, as did everyone. He didn’t know his family anymore and they didn’t know him. They didn’t know of his nightmares. They didn’t know of the ghosts that haunted his waking moments. They didn’t know how certain sounds or smells could put him right back in Egypt.
Well, they did now, he snorted self-disparagingly. Most likely, they would walk on eggshells with him now, if they didn’t avoid him all together. It wasn’t going at all as he thought it would. Moira’s push for him to embrace his life had fallen at the wayside within the space of one evening.
“You know, I don’t think this room has changed at all since we were children.” Vin levered his head off the pillow to find Francis standing at the door, his expression thoughtful as he surveyed the room.
“It’s the only room that hasn’t,” Vin grumbled. It was true. There was nothing of the house that was the same as he remembered. He could only assume Eve made those changes when she became countess. Women did love to redecorate. It was one of his strongest memories of his mother. Each time they’d go away in the summer, they’d come back to unfamiliar rooms. At least Eve hadn’t changed this room. His room. He had taken an extraordinary amount of pleasure in its familiarity since his return. The dark paneling contrasting with the creamy walls above it. The heavy furniture and green and tan upholstered furnishings. It was comfort and more his home than any other room of the house. It made him recall years and memories far removed from the ones that plagued his nights.
And right now, he wanted nothing more than to stay there and hide from the world. “Go away, Francis.”
“Nay, I willnae,” Francis strode into the bed chamber, pulling the blankets from Vin forcing him to roll quickly on to his back to hide the evidence of his whippings even as he thanked God he was covered elsewhere. The constant parade of physicians since his return had gotten him into the habit of wearing his smallclothes to bed. “Get up!”
“Bugger off!” Vin snapped, pulling the covers back up.
“That’s not very nice,” Francis smiled down at him, the expression an unexpected response to his cursing. “We’ve ladies waiting on us below stairs, so rise and dress, brother.”
“Ladies?”
“Eve and Moira are waiting for us to escort them to Richard’s for luncheon. It would be rude to keep them waiting.”
“I’m not going,” Vin returned stubbornly. Surely, he thought, the last thing anyone would want today was his company. He couldn’t even hold a casual conversation.
“Aye, you are,” Francis returned in kind then studied his reluctant brother with some amusement. A grin tilted up the corner of his lips. “And just in case you’re thinking of continuing in this mulish denial, Moira said to tell you that if you aren’t down in ten minutes, she’ll be coming up to get you herself.”
I’d like to see her try, Vin thought feeling a surprising jolt of amusement. It was a wee jolt but amusement nonetheless.
“The clock is ticking,” his brother called as he went closing the door behind him.
“I haven’t even had breakfast yet!” Vin bellowed, throwing a pillow at the oaken slab but a smile teased the corner of his mouth anyway.
It seemed everyone was content to let the events of the previous evening lay, though from time to time Vin could catch a wary glance from one sibling or another across the luncheon table. It hadn’t taken long to drive from the Glenrothes townhouse to the one Richard now owned in Moray Place at the opposite end of New Town. It might have been quicker to saddle some horses but Eve wasn’t yet able to ride and Francis insisted that Moira and Vin join them in the carriage. He’d been nervous, Vin admitted about facing his family after his uncalled-for explosion the night before, but Moira’s cool, soothing chatter calmed him on the brief journey, prepared him.
Richard’s home was newer than Glenrothes House in the older, eastern end of Carlton Terrace, but smaller and filled to the rafters this day. Though only the youngest four brothers and Fiona were presently residing with Richard and Abby – supposedly only while Eve recovered from her recent labors – James, Sean and Colin and the latter pair’s wives also joined them for the meal. Given the presence of all eleven siblings in the room, Vin might have expected the same raucous behavior of the previous evening to follow, but they were all on their best behavior.
Most likely fearing a repetition of the previous evening, Vin thought again feeling ashamed that his actions had put his family on pins and needles.
Skillfully, the women guided their luncheon conversation speaking of the ball they would soon hold to welcome Vin home – an idea Vin dreaded but seemingly had no voice in. Who would organize the dinner, the orchestra, and the flowers and so on. They didn’t allow the talk to stray back to the previous night or even to Vin specifically at all.
For that, he would be forever thankful.
After the meal, they retired to the parlor for games and reading. Fiona volunteered to read aloud from the recent Rudyard Kipling novel Barrack-Room Ballads. It didn’t sound very promising to Vin, but as he was not acquainted with any other current works, decided to let the matter lie. It was just another area he would have to catch up in. Novels, plays, music. He’d had none of those things lying on the dirt floor of that old tomb. After Jason died, he’d not even had someone to talk to. There were times Vin thought he’d go mad with only the silence, misery and his own thoughts as company.
He wondered how he might find out what else he missed in his absence. Who had written what book, music or opera. How the political world and the monarchy faired. He didn’t even know what was fashionable any longer.
Vin looked at the ladies in their day gowns. The tight sleeves and bodices he remembered were left behind and replaced by fuller sleeves and bodices that draped rather than hugged. Not one of them wore a bustle, he suddenly realized. Too bad, that. Vin had always enjoyed working his way around those. Curiously, he looked at the men’s attire noting the narrower lapels and ties. Even the trouser legs were narrower. Several of his brothers wore their hair slicked back with heavy pomade and wore longer sideburns as well. Vin rubbed a hand over his overly long hair and the smooth jaw he had decided to shave that morning and looked down at his over-sized jacket. He’d never been much of a popinjay but Vin recognized how shabby he must seem to the others.
Something would have to be done about that, he supposed. Eventually.
While Fiona read, liberally scattering her own commentary through the narrative, Vin played chess with Richard, then cards with James, Connor and Tam. Though he did not contribute much to the conversation, time flew quickly as the men talked, giving him occasional insight into some of the things he’d missed and soon it was time for tea.
Still he let the conversation drift over and about him but never settle on him while they all talked and gossiped over tea and cakes. The ritual calmed his nerves allowing him to think that perhaps all would be well.
Vin’s eyes drifted to Moira where she sat apart with Eve and Abby, the trio talking quietly among themselves. She still talked with her hands, he noted, recalling that quirk from many years acquaintance. Just like Jason, Moira had always been one for expansive hand gestures and even now as she spoke to her friends, her hands were flying. Her eyes shone as well with humor. Also…and perhaps, it was simply her bold coloring in comparison to the pair of blonds… Moira seemed more vibrant than the others did, though they were all beautiful women.
God, but he had missed her, he realized, as much as he’d missed his family though he wouldn’t have recognized that fact a month ago. It was that bond of not just knowing someone but having them know you as well. While he had th
at same camaraderie with Francis, Richard, Jack and Jason in the past, he felt that now only, oddly enough, with Moira. He wasn’t certain why. She couldn’t possibly do more than empathize with him. Certainly, she couldn’t understand what he’d gone through.
Nevertheless, she hadn’t yet uttered a sentence to him that contained the words ‘you used to…’ as some of the others had. She hadn’t studied him as if he were an insect under inspection. Indeed, she didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with him. Rather, Moira insisted that they were all different, making him feel almost normal in her company.
She’d simply always been able to read him in a way that went beyond words. Words he didn’t have now.
Words he didn’t want to conjure to describe the past five years.
Words he didn’t even want to think.
“Vin?” Richard sat down next to him, giving him a look that told Vin it wasn’t the first time his brother had called his name. “You doing all right?”
“Aye fine,” Vin responded quickly, sitting at attention. His mind grasping for suitable conversation, he settled on the safest topic possible. “You have a fine brood of bairns, brother.” Richard and Abby’s children had been brought down from the nurseries to be introduced to their uncle Vin. He had a pair of infant nieces who were just old enough to start pulling themselves up on his pant leg and a nephew, Tristram, who they simply called Trist. The lad was four already leading Vin to think his brother must have gotten right on the lad’s production the moment he’d gained his freedom. He tried to tease him about it, but with his expression still so serious, Richard’s eyes once again darkened with regret.
“I dinnae want to leave you there, brother. We tried to find you.”
Cursing himself that his awkward tongue had once again done its best to cause misery, Vin shook his head. “I know. I apologize for implying otherwise, even in jest. It pleases me to see you so happy.”
“It would please us to see you happy as well. You used to be the most cheerful of us all,” Richard offered, then winced. “Sorry. I know it must have been hard for you, but you’re home now.”
“No, you don’t,” Vin whispered, regretting the words the moment they emerged. He tried to quash the thought, but instead the words came out once again, louder this time. “No, you don’t!” He grimaced when some of the others looked at him curiously and looked at Richard apologetically before he lowered his voice. “I’m glad you are happy, Richard, I am. You have a fine family. I wondered and worried for years whether you survived your escape. Even as they were dragging the rest of us back, we begged them for news of you. When Temple told me you had survived…” Vin squeezed his eyes shut to subdue the sting behind them before continuing more fiercely. “But you don’t understand what I went through. You can’t, so don’t say you do. The six months you were there were a holiday compared to what came after. You see, they were convinced that you were going to warn our superiors that they were determined to free Urabi. They thought they had little time to get the information from us they were so certain we knew.”
“That Urabi hadn’t been exiled at all but was being held prisoner by our forces,” Richard said with a nod.
“Aye, they were certain we knew where he was,” Vin went on. “After they moved their camp south…” Vin painfully swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “Every time they couldn’t find him… Never say you know what it was like. You have no idea.”
Richard stared at his older brother for several long minutes noting the pain in his eyes, hearing the ferocity of his voice. Wondering at the words that remained unsaid. The anger was unmistakable. He thought his time there the worst he’d ever known. Had it gotten worse? Was that even possible? Then he wondered if Vin’s anger were directed at him, wondered if Vin blamed him for leaving him there. Guilt that had ridden him for years returned to the surface. He drew a shaky breath. “You’re right, Vin. I don’t know what happened after I was gone. I only remember that while I was there I was glad I had my closest friends with me to make it more bearable; that we had each other to get through it. I hated leaving you there. I hated it! That was the worst part of it. Not the bullet I got in my back when escaping or the fever and infection that followed for months after. It was leaving you and Jason behind.”
Vin met his brother’s gaze seeing his eyes glassy with tears. The anger that had been surging up inside of him leeched away when Richard added stiffly. “I cannot begin to know what happened after I left. That much is true, Vin. But the guilt of survival can torture a man as gravely as knives and whips.” Richard ground his teeth together in an effort to stifle the emotion that was clearly smoldering inside him and Vin felt an answering ache in his own chest. “And I would wager you know that as well as I do.”
“Vin,” Moira’s lilting brogue broke through the thick tension that surrounded them. “It just occurred to me that you haven’t seen St. Bernard’s Well yet. Come, you must let me show it to you.”
Vin knew what she was about. No one could miss it since she was as subtle as a bull in a china shop. Still, he felt thankful for the interruption. He could not talk to Richard any further about this right now though obviously it would need to be addressed. Richard had to know Vin did not blame him. Such a discussion wasn’t one to be held in front of witnesses however, and Vin needed an escape, a distraction before he said something else to insult. “I should like to see it.”
“Can I go, too?” Fiona asked, jumping up.
“Nay, Blossom,” Richard said, watching his brother apprehensively. “Continue with your reading if you are done with your tea, won’t you? I don’t want to miss what happens next.”
“You weren’t even listening!” she stomped her foot.
“Nonsense, I’ll tell you precisely where you left off…”
Chapter 11
The most I can do for my friend is simply be his friend.
Henry David Thoreau
Their words faded into the distance as Moira and Vin made their way to the foyer. “Guthrie,” she called merrily to the butler, “We’ll need our coats, if you will. I’m taking Mr. MacKintosh out to view the waters.”
“Very good, my lady. Just one moment.” The little man scurried off obviously eager to do her bidding.
“Thank you, lovey,” Vin murmured gauchely. “It seems you are the only thing saving me from myself since I returned.”
“Nonsense,” she said briskly, taking her coat from the returning butler and handing it to Vin so he might help her put it on. “You’re just out of practice. The ability to make polite conversation is terribly underrated.”
Vin held out the wool coat awkwardly as she slipped her arms into the sleeves, first one and then the other. The scent of her perfume drifted up from her and Vin was momentarily tempted to press his nose into her hair and inhale the warm bouquet she presented. He shuddered, pushing away the unexpected wave of ardor that washed over him. What was he thinking? He shook his head pulling the coat up over her shoulders reaching inside the back to pull the collar out correctly and turn it down.
A little shiver of pleasure raced down Moira’s spine as Vin’s bare fingers brushed the back of her neck. She wanted to lean back against him, encourage him to make some move, any move that would indicate that he was attracted to her as more than a friend. She turned and met his gaze feeling a flood of emotion in the contact. When she had decided to fetch him for dinner the previous night - suspecting that he wouldn’t come unless directly called on - she had experienced that same rush when she’d found him laid back on his bed staring at the ceiling. It was attraction, plain and simple. Even beyond her deeper feeling, there was this undeniable physical attraction.
For her at least. With a sigh, Moira saw that serious contemplation in his eyes that resided there since his return. How she would love to see his warm brown eyes darken with desire for her.
However, Vin just stepped away from her and offering his arm.
“Shall we?”
Moira nodded, pulling on her
gloves and took his arm lightly. Vin guided her through the rear door and through the small gardens that backed the long row of townhouses. Past the gardens, Moira pointed out a pathway leading to the leith. “It’s lovely here, especially in the fall when the leaves are changing and there is just a bit of nip in the air,” Moira told him, keeping her tone buoyant and carefree, determined to banish any tension lingering in Vin. “Abby would say the spring is best when the waters run the highest and the flowers are in bloom. I would agree that the leaves in the springtime create the loveliest shadows against the water rather like lace, I think.”
They reached the top of the stone stairs that would take them to the stream at the bottom. On she prattled as they descended the alternating flight that wound back and forth along the fifty-foot decline. It was a steep descent and a long one, far greater than the two flights it took Vin to get from his bedchamber to the front door at home. Vin felt his new-found strength and stamina flagging as they continued, his knees grew weak. Just when he thought he’d have to swallow his pride and ask her to take a rest, Moira announced. “Behold, the Waters of Leith.”
Through the trees, the wide but shallow stream came into view. Even in the winter’s hazy light, it was a peaceful sanctuary with low hanging oak branches, moss covered stones and ferns lining the banks. Vin rather thought that Abby had the right of it. In the spring, it would be a quiet fairy world where one might easily forget the troubles that life had dealt him. He nodded his appreciation as they reached the bottom, finally noticing the rotund building that broke the gravel path at the bottom of the steps. “What is this?”
“That is St. Bernard’s Well.”
The rounded structure was perhaps thirty feet high and was twice as tall as it was wide. The top half had stately columns supporting a domed top while the bottom was bricked and had a small door in it that faced them mysteriously. It looked very old, but… “What is it?”
A Question of Lust (Questions For A Highlander Book 3) Page 8