Setting both her shoulders and her jaw, Stephanie strolled to where Matt stood weaving like a drunkard. “Let’s get you home, Mr. Finch. Do you have a friend who could come and sit with you?” She grasped his arm, one hand above his elbow, the other on his wrist, friendly enough. And ready to twist his arm behind his back if he gave her any trouble. With a piercing glance behind her, she guided him away.
My fault, Jean thought. Your fault. Everyone’s fault. That’s why we have to compromise. Right now her compromise was between dwelling on the immediate past and letting it go.
With a heavy intake of breath, one shared among the others, Lockhart said, “I need to talk to you about the replica, Mr. Cameron.”
“I’ll speak with Blair Castle, suggest leaving it here for a bit, as a memorial to Wesley.”
“Ah, yes. Good idea. Thanks.”
“Oh, and we’ve found—we’re thinking we’ve found—the charm stone that once fit in that empty patch.”
From her pocket Rebecca drew the necklace and indicated the green stone at its center.
“Say what?” Lockhart asked.
Jean ran through the story—the material parts of the story—the Dinwiddie Kitchen, Thomasina, the Bellarmine bottle, Rachel, the necklace.
Lockhart took the necklace and held it up. Caught in its mesh of silver, the charm stone glowed mysteriously. “It’s possible that this is the original stone. We’ll never be able to prove it, though.”
“No,” agreed Alasdair. “There’s no proof at all.”
“The original mounting might be one of the metal scraps from the Bellarmine bottle,” Jean explained. “It’s probably buried in the archaeological labs.”
“I’m recommending not telling the Dingwalls,” Alasdair concluded.
“Don’t worry,” Lockhart told him. “Dr. Campbell-Reid and Dr. Campbell-Reid, would you like to come down to the curator’s lab with me, remove this stone from the necklace and help work up a new explanatory plaque?”
“The pleasure’s ours,” Michael told him. “You get on, we’ll catch you up.”
Still holding the necklace in front of his face, its glints reflecting on his features, Lockhart walked out of the room.
“Well,” said Jean with a smile, “we’ve got something old, the Witch Box, something new, the replica, something borrowed, the necklace. All we need is something blue. Unless you count green, the stone itself.”
“Is there anything you two would like to tell us?” Rebecca wheedled.
Alasdair grinned, Atholl Brose dripping from his whiskers. “Not just yet. Jean and I have a wee bit errand first.”
“What?” Jean asked him, but he was already pulling her toward the door. “See you for dinner?” she called to Michael and Rebecca.
“Oh aye, Linda’s having a day out with the grandparents,” Michael called after them.
Jean and Alasdair, on their own once again, took the first elevator down and the second one up. Alasdair made it down the front stairs with more spring in his step than when he went up. Let go of the past, yes.
“An errand?” Jean asked.
“There’s a jeweler’s shop amongst the others, is there?” Gesturing toward Merchant’s Square, he drew her onto the oyster-shell path.
“A jewelry . . . Oh, Alasdair, no, I don’t need an engagement ring.”
“If it’s worth doing, and it is that, then it’s worth doing properly. Do you fancy an emerald, a polished one? Or a pearl, reminding you that I’m the grain of sand beneath your shell, just as you’re the grit beneath mine?”
She had to smile. An engagement ring. A public declaration of chances chosen and decisions made. Of vows to come. “No, I want a diamond. You know, the hardest of stones. A small one. I’ll pay for half.”
“No, you’ll not be paying for half.”
“Yes, dear,” she said, and her smile spread into a laugh.
Not just holding hands but bumping shoulders, they crossed Henry Street. As they rounded the corner into Merchant’s Square they were greeted by a burst of music. “Mairi’s Wedding,” a cliché on the Celtic-music circuit, but then, nothing became a cliché without becoming a favorite first.
Hugh and his band occupied the front corner of the Cheese Shop patio. The music of pipes, keyboard, guitar, and fiddle leaped and swirled across the street like guests dancing at a wedding. Diners and passersby alike clapped and jiggled. As Jean and Alasdair walked by, Hugh caught her eye and winked.
She waggled her naked left hand at him, imagining the band encircling her ring finger, with a stone to catch the sunlight and break it into its component parts, brilliant because the sum of those parts made a greater whole.
Alasdair opened the door of the jewelry store for her. She looked into his face, the face of her other half. There was the something blue, two blues, his eyes grave, solemn, revealing the subtlest of sparkles.
I’m going to get used to this, she thought, and stepped inside.
About the Author
After starting out in science fiction and fantasy, Lillian Stewart Carl is now writing contemporary novels blending mystery, romance, and fantasy, along with short mystery and fantasy stories. Her work often includes paranormal themes. It always features plots based on history and archaeology. While she doesn’t write comedy, she believes in characters with a sense of humor. Her novels have been compared to those of Daphne du Maurier, Mary Renault, Mary Stewart (no relation), Barbara Michaels/Elizabeth Peters, and J.R.R. Tolkien’s colleague Charles Williams.
Her fantasies are set in a mythological, alternate-history Mediterranean and India. Her contemporary novels are set in Texas, in Ohio, in Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia, and in England and Scotland.
Of her Lucifer’s Crown, Library Journal says: "Blending historical mystery with a touch of the supernatural, the author creates an intriguing exploration of faith and redemption in a world that is at once both modern and timeless.
Of her Shadows in Scarlet, Publishers Weekly says, “Presenting a delicious mix of romance and supernatural suspense, Carl (Ashes to Ashes) delivers yet another immensely readable tale. She has created an engaging cast and a very entertaining plot, spicing the mix with some interesting twists on the ghostly romantic suspense novel.”
Among many other novels, Lillian is the author of the Jean Fairbairn/Alasdair Cameron cross-genre mystery series: America’s exile and Scotland’s finest on the trail of all-too-living legends. Of The Secret Portrait, Kirkus says: “Mystery, history and sexual tension blend with a taste of the wild beauty of the Highlands”. Of The Burning Glass, Publishers Weekly says: “Authentic dialect, detailed descriptions of the castle and environs, and vivid characters recreate an area rich in history and legend. The tightly woven plot is certain to delight history fans with its dramatic collision of past and present.”
With John Helfers, Lillian co-edited The Vorkosigan Companion, a retrospective on Lois McMaster Bujold’s science fiction work, which was nominated for a Hugo award.
Her first story collection, Along the Rim of Time, was published in 2000, and her second, The Muse and Other Stories of History, Mystery, and Myth, in 2008, including three stories that were reprinted in Year’s Best mystery anthologies.
Her books are available in both print and electronic editions. Here is her website. Here is her Facebook Group Page Here is a listing of more Smashwords books.
Charm Stone Page 36