“I’m responsible for three other people, as you know.”
He studied her. “It’s not a problem that can’t be solved. Mrs. Beard, who runs the tea house, has rooms to let.”
“She certainly doesn’t have room for all of us,” Isobel protested.
His expression was patient. “You, Isobel, will be living with me and Ian, somewhere else. I don’t know just where yet.”
Oh, of course. If they were to wed. “I must know that all three of them have a place before I even think of a wedding,” she threatened. Suddenly she felt like she was being swallowed up by the landed gentry. They were coming at her from all sides, pulling her away from everything she was and had ever been.
“Then you will marry me?” His face lit up; she still wasn’t sure if he was teasing or not.
She held up her hands to fend him off. “I don’t know. You seem to have taken care of everything. Did you think me so docile that I’d swoon at your proposal because it would save me from ruin?”
“Isobel, you’re anything but docile.” His eyes twinkled with humor. “I’ve thrown everything at you too quickly, I can see that. But please, think about my offer. Where we live together as a family is not important to me. The castle isn’t my home, Isobel, I’ve told you that before. It’s Fletcher’s. We can build a place of our own. Just don’t say no before you think about it.”
He rose from the table. “I’d tell you to take your time, but I’m eager to become a father to my son.” With that, he left her there, sitting alone at the table, staring into space. She quickly followed him, stopping him at the door.
“I see no reason to pretend this won’t happen,” she said.
“So your answer is yes?”
With some reluctance, she replied, “Aye.”
He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them; she still cringed, knowing they were red and rough. She watched him leave, wondering if she’d just made the biggest mistake in her life.
Delilah poked her head into the room. “I thought I saw Himself riding off. He sure don’t make much use of that room he rented, does he?”
Without preamble, Isobel said, “He asked me to marry him and I said yes. I could see no other choice.”
Delilah’s mouth hung open. Suddenly she dipped into a clumsy curtsey. “Nae, My Lady, ye have no other choice.” Delilah’s antic sent Isobel into a fit of giggles. She could hardly imagine becoming a titled lady. How far-fetched was that?
• • •
Duncan rode to the castle slowly, taking the long route that went around the cairns. So. He would be married. He had never believed that would happen, not to him. At one time, when he was fighting in the war, he thought he might die, half believing it, half hoping it wouldn’t be so.
Ponchatoula, Louisiana—November 1864
The Confederate sharpshooters stayed motionless among the thickets of young pines, up in the cypress trees, along the slick, damp, spongy grass of the bayous, waiting for their signal. The ring of dense cypress surrounding sluggish Lake Tickfaw shut out any breeze. Katydids, frogs, and crickets harmonized in the humid air, stopping abruptly when the enemy approached, tromping through the tangle of briar and brackish water like a herd of water buffalo, shouting orders. A bugle sounded the signal for double quick, and the enemy picked up their pace.
No stealth there, Duncan thought with a shake of his head, as he brought his Sharps rifle to his shoulder. Up high in a cypress tree, he waited for the signal. When he heard it he took aim and paused. Another signal, the Rebel cry, and he caught sight of a Yankee coming toward him. He took the shot, downing the enemy with one bullet. A cacophony of shots followed, and the enemy scattered.
Suddenly he felt a stinging pain in his shoulder, and then another, and the last thing he remembered was falling out of the tree onto the swampy ground.
It had been close; too close. But everything that had happened after that was etched into his mind; something he would never forget. And someone he could not save.
Chapter Nine
Geddes left his buggy and tossed a lad a coin to keep an eye on it. He glanced at the roof of the old brothel building, noting the places where it needed repair. Duncan had said there were water spots in every room on the third floor, which could be dangerous if they got a heavy storm.
There was a young woman in the garden, weeding. She wore a big, wide-brimmed hat tied under her chin, and garden gloves.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Miss Varga?” At her nod, he continued. “I’m Geddes Gordon, solicitor to the MacNeils.”
Lily Varga smiled at him; it was a stunning smile. She was quite a lovely girl. “Of course. Did you want to see Isobel?”
“No,” he admitted. “I actually came to see you. You see, I’ve learned that you are helping with the children until another schoolmaster arrives, and I discovered I have many supplies that could possibly be useful to you.” He told her what he had, and she appeared extremely interested. He was glad he had a legitimate reason to be here.
“Would you like some tea, Mr. Gordon?”
Although he was in a bit of a hurry, he said that would be lovely, and he watched as she called to a young lass who was playing nearby and instructed her to get them tea and biscuits.
A moment later Delilah brought them out and plopped them on the garden table that sat between the two of them. She didn’t leave directly, standing and observing them both silently, but someone called her name from inside, and she reluctantly trudged off.
“How’s your pup’s ear?”
Lily reached down and stroked her dog. “She’s much better, thanks to your wife.”
“Varga. That’s an unusual Scottish name.”
She laughed, showing him bright, even teeth. “I’m quite sure it isn’t Scottish. You see, I was raised by Travelers whose ancestors came over from Romany a generation ago.”
His curiosity was piqued. “How did that come about—if I may ask?”
“Naturally I don’t know what led up to my rescue, but apparently the family was traveling from Ayr and stopped by a river to have their meal. My mum claims she heard a mewling, like a small animal, down by the water. When she investigated, she found me, bawling, almost naked, and lying among the lily fronds. That’s why they called me Lily. She often told others that if I’d have been a boy, she would have called me Moses.”
“Amazing.” Geddes bit into a buttery biscuit. “How old were you?”
She raised her eyes and thought a moment. “I’m not quite sure, but perhaps two or three.”
An eerie sensation crept up the back of Geddes’s skull. “That’s quite an unusual story. Were you ever curious about how you got to that place?”
“Oh, yes. From time to time I wondered, but even after I left the family and settled with an elderly couple in Ayr, I discovered it was almost impossible to learn anything.”
“And this doesn’t bother you?”
The girl toyed with the strings on her apron, tying a bow, then untying it. “Sometimes, I suppose. As I grew up I did wonder what the circumstances were, why someone would simply leave me there.” She gave him a shy look. “I don’t usually admit that to anyone; I’m surprised I said it to you. I try to make people think it doesn’t bother me, but that wouldn’t be true at all. But,” she added with a sigh, “there’s nothing I can do about it. At least I’m alive, and whatever happened to put me in that place at that time can be of no use to me now.” She leaned back against the chair and took off her hat; a tumble of honey-colored curls fell to her shoulders. She laid her hat on the ground near the table. “There are worse things than not knowing where you came from.”
Indeed, thought Geddes. He stood. “It’s been delightful taking tea with you, Miss Varga. I’ll have one of the boys collect the materials from my buggy and bring them into the building.”
She stood as he left, and he heard her say, “Fifi, stay.”
Isobel came out just as the advocate was leaving. “He wasn’t here to see me?�
��
Lily shook her head. “He just had some supplies he thought the school might find useful, so he dropped them by.”
“We’re being inundated by that family and all who are associated with them,” Isobel murmured.
“Oh, I don’t think there was anything sinister about his visit, Isobel,” Lily said firmly.
Isobel couldn’t think of a reason either, but even so she felt crowded, recalling Duncan’s recent visit. “I guess you haven’t heard my news.”
Lily put her gardening supplies away in the shed and returned to where Isobel stood. “News?”
“His Lordship, Duncan MacNeil, has asked me to marry him.” She had been surprised at Delilah’s reaction, but Lily’s stunned her.
“Oh, Isobel! That’s wonderful news! I’m so happy for you.” She pulled Isobel into a warm embrace.
“Easy, now, it wasn’t as if he’d fallen in love with me. It’s just for the sake of Ian.”
“Naturally, but Izzy, he could have done any number of things to gain fatherhood. This is so beautiful.”
“He merely wants to be part of a family.”
Lily pulled away. “Of course he does. You are perfect for him. You know each other, well—intimately, if I may say so.” She added, blushing, “And you’re quite pretty and he’s handsome gentry. It’s like a fairy tale.”
“Like Cinderella?”
Lily nodded with enthusiasm. “Exactly.”
“So I’m the scullery maid, relegated to the cellar to clean and scrub and haul away the fireplaces ashes. And who, then, are my ugly stepsisters?”
Lily giggled. “Oh, you know what I mean. You’ll end up like Cinderella with her prince and if you should try to leave, he’d come searching for you until he finds you.”
“Like he simply can’t live without me?”
Lily inhaled deeply then released a sigh. “Yes.”
Isobel patted Lily’s cheek as she prepared to return to the building. “I hope you always have such happy fantasies, Lily.” For a child who was abandoned at the river’s edge, Lily had more joy in her heart than Isobel would have thought possible.
She left Lily as the girl picked up a ball and began to play fetch with her dog. Fantasies had no place in Isobel’s life; she had to focus on the reality of telling her son that his father was not only alive, but close enough to touch.
• • •
The next afternoon, Isobel and Duncan sat down with a curious Ian.
Isobel gave her son a warm smile and squeezed his hand. Lord, she didn’t even know how to begin. He glanced at her, then at Duncan, whose gaze was direct and sincere.
“Ian, I have something to tell you and I’m not sure exactly how…”
Ian looked at Duncan. “We read about Indians in America at school. You are an Indian, aren’t you?”
Duncan nodded. “My mother was a pure-blooded Comanche and my father was a Scot. He was raised right here on the island.”
“Why did he go to America?” the boy asked.
“I guess he wanted an adventure,” Duncan answered, and Isobel was glad he hadn’t said anything about growing up at the castle. Not yet.
“Did he ever come back?”
“No, I’m afraid not. He loved Texas. You know where Texas is, don’t you?”
Ian nodded eagerly. “It’s very big and it’s hot, and there are a lot of Indians living there. Spanish people, too.”
“You sound like you enjoy your history lessons,” Duncan said.
The boy shrugged. “They’re okay.”
“What’s your favorite subject, Ian?”
“Holiday.”
Both Isobel and Duncan laughed. She was grateful that Duncan had drawn Ian into conversation before she dropped the bomb.
Suddenly Ian asked, “Why are you here on Hedabarr?”
“Well, some of my family still lives here. I lived here as well, a number of years ago, and then I returned to America. But I missed your island, Ian. I missed my family and I missed your island.”
“How long have you been gone?” Ian asked.
“Ian,” Isobel interrupted, “you’re asking him too many questions.”
“Nonsense,” Duncan said. He was quiet for a moment and then said, “Years ago, your mother removed a nettle from my hand. Did she ever tell you that?”
Isobel gasped. What was he doing!
“You knew my mam?” Ian’s hazel eyes grew large. He swung his gaze to her. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you knew an Indian?”
Isobel’s gaze bore into Duncan’s. How was she supposed to answer that? “It was a long time ago, Ian—”
“Ian,” Duncan interrupted, “do you believe in miracles?”
The boy shrugged again. “I guess.”
“Do you believe in forgiveness?”
“Sure,” Ian answered. “We learn about that in religious studies.”
Isobel didn’t know where he was going with this, but she held her tongue.
“How do you feel about people who lie?”
Isobel’s stomach dropped.
“Lying isn’t right, is it mam? I know that lying is wrong.”
Isobel squeezed his hand again.
Duncan leaned forward, his brown, toned forearms on his thighs. Once again, Isobel thought she could look at him forever and never get tired of it. “What if someone you loved very much lied to you to protect you? Could you forgive that person?”
Ian frowned. “Protect me from what?”
“Something that could hurt you as you grew older; something that society often looks upon as a sin.”
“Isn’t telling a lie a sin too?”
“You know,” Duncan began, “I believe that sin comes in all shades of black and gray. Some sins, like murder, are the worst. Some, like telling your teacher your dog ate your homework when in fact you didn’t do it all, is a lie, yes, but not so very bad.”
Isobel realized he had completely taken over the conversation and she found that she was strangely relieved. But the worst was yet to come.
Ian processed every word Duncan said. “Who lied to me?”
• • •
Fletcher stepped into Fenella’s clinic. Both she and Geddes were cleaning up after the patients she had tended for the day.
“I got your message,” Fletcher said. “What’s this about?”
Fen pulled out a chair by the table. “You might as well sit, this might take a while.”
Fletcher noticed that both Fen and Geddes glanced at each other, appearing to share some sort of secret that wasn’t necessarily good news. “What’s happened? Has something happened to the cannery deal? Has Duncan—”
“No, no,” Fen interrupted. “This has nothing to do with Duncan or the cannery.”
“Well then, what?”
Geddes cleared his throat. “We may be way off here, but we believe it’s worth relating to you. If you are as curious as we are, we’ll leave it up to you to take it from here.”
Fletcher sat back and waited. When Geddes was finished with his story, he felt both fear and anticipation. “She was found by the river? By Travelers?” He found that a bit unsettling no matter whose child it was.
“Yes,” Fen answered.
“But, why would you think it’s anyone we know?”
“There are many coincidences, Fletcher. She was abandoned, she was two or three years of age, which would make her the same age as Fiona, if Fiona had lived. Her eye and hair coloring are different from Rosalyn’s, but her mannerisms I found eerily similar,” Fen added.
“And she calls herself Lily Varga?”
Geddes nodded. “That’s not all. She has a dog. Fen found a briar in the pup’s ear when she was over there the other day.”
Fletcher shrugged it off. “So?”
“The pup’s name is Fifi,” Fen explained.
Something clicked loud and long in Fletcher’s brain. “Like Fiona’s doll?”
They both nodded.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m quite s
ure,” Fen answered.
Fletcher stood and paced the room. “We can’t just present this information to Rosalyn without knowing for sure. We can’t let her get her hopes up; it would destroy her. She’s agonized over Fiona’s death for years. She loves our boys, of course she dotes on them and adores them, but I know for a fact that she still mourns the death of her daughter.”
“But Fiona’s body was never found,” Fen reminded him.
He suddenly turned toward them. “I have to see this girl for myself before we do anything further.”
They all agreed that it was the best way to proceed.
• • •
The shock of Duncan and Isobel’s news sent Ian scrambling from the room.
Isobel couldn’t hold back her tears. She pressed her handkerchief against her eyes. “Poor laddie, what can he be thinking of me? His own mother, lying to him like that when time after time I’ve told him it isn’t right to lie to anyone. About anything.” She stood. “I should go after him.”
Duncan took her hand. “Let him process it all. There’s plenty of time for you to—”
“To what?” she interrupted. “Prostrate myself before him and beg his forgiveness? I’ve dreaded this moment since the day I saw you walk down the gangway into your brother’s waiting arms.”
“So you recognized me?”
She sniffed. “A woman never forgets the first boy who woos her.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you, but truthfully, now that I’m here and I know I have a son, I can’t say I’m sorry it happened.”
She wasn’t sorry either, for if not for that night, she wouldn’t have her wonderful son. Who, at this moment, probably hated her. She pulled her hand from Duncan’s. “I must go after him.”
Glancing out the window as she hurried from the room, she saw Hamish and Ian in the garden. As eager as she was to console her son, she also wanted to hear what he and Hamish talked about. She stopped near the back door next to an open window.
“Now, now, laddie,” Hamish soothed. “’Tis not such bad news, is it?”
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