He held her carefully, and she let her gaze drift to the distance. They were close to the coast, and she stared blindly at a faraway and fathomless gray sea diluting into gray skies above. She thought of Cormac's eyes.
They stood there for a time, in silence.
Cormac spoke finally, and his low voice reverberated in her chest, soothing her. “Some mornings, when I set off in my boat, I wonder what it would be to go and not turn
back. Just keep going. Sailing away, with Scotland at my back. ”
He paused for a time, and she remained utterly silent, wanting the moment never to end.
“Do you ken,” he said finally, “that here we're closer to Scandinavia than we are to London? If you sailed straight from here, you'd land in Norway. And sometimes I do set off, and for a time, I don't turn back, thinking I'll find some icy rock where I can live out the rest of my days. ”
“But you always turn back,” she said, subdued.
“Aye. So far I've always turned back. ”
He pulled away then, and this time she let him, with more peace in her heart than she'd known in years.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“You ease my mind, Cormac. ” She wasn't convinced he didn't blame her. Deep in Cormac's heart, he surely held her accountable. But he at least cared enough to try to make her feel better. “You ease me, and it's always been thus. ” She might not have believed his words, but she'd take them. For now.
Chapter 7
They handed their tired mounts off at the Broad Street mews and headed toward her uncle's Aberdeen town house.
Marjorie was stiff from the day's ride, but she saw from the corner of her eye that Cormac walked with as much fluid ease as ever. He seemed aware of everything around him, and she wondered once more what he'd been like as a soldier.
They reached the house, and he paused on the street to stare up at it. Her uncle's home was much the same as it'd been thirteen years ago: a stone facade harled white with lime, black-painted window sashes.
A dark cloud passed over Cormac's features. He'd not been back to her uncle's since the day Aidan was taken. She followed his eyes up to the second-story window. Her stomach turned, remembering the last time they'd stood together at that window, looking down at a cart full of sweeps below.
“Come,” she said quietly, touching his arm. Ghosts abounded in the old house. He'd best inure himself to them now.
She'd been in her great-uncle Humphrey's care since her mother died. It'd been just the two of them for some time, and she knew that, after supper, her uncle would be found in one place, and one place only. Marjorie walked in and headed straight for the library, Cormac stalking silently at her heels.
Though the room had high ceilings, its dark paneled wood and rows of leather-bound tomes made it feel smaller than it actually was. There were only a few candles and a fireplace, and warm light danced and flickered, cutting swaths of orange through the thick black shadows. “Uncle!” she cried as she entered.
Humphrey bent over a book, his reading glass in hand, mouthing silently to himself. His hair was a fine, fuzzy halo of white atop his head. Her uncle was getting on in years, and the sight of him gave her a pang.
“Uncle?” she said again, walking to him with outstretched hands.
Humphrey looked up, a finger marking his place in his book. It took a moment for his eyes to come into focus, but after a moment's perplexed goggling, the man smiled broadly. A splotch of ink stained his cheek with an indigo-black oval. “Marjorie, dearest. ”
A clock chimed the late hour, and her brow furrowed, part of her aware of Cormac looming uneasily in the shadows. “Shouldn't you be abed? It's so late, and you know sitting for too long in your chair is no good for your gout. ”
“Aye, I'm going, I'm going. But I'm afraid I've misplaced my Botanicals again. ” He rifled through his cluttered desktop, moving piles on top of piles. “Do you know where volume four is?” Shaking her head, she shot Cormac a wry smile and walked to the far corner of the library. She stepped on a small stool, reaching for a thin sheaf of papers bound by a leather cord. “It's between volumes three and five, as it always is. ”
“Oh Marjorie, dear, what would I do without you?” Humphrey beamed, taking the manuscript from her. He gently untied the cord, his face softening with relief. “But whatever brings you here at this hour? You can't simply have sensed that I needed your assistance. ”
“You know how I cannot stay away from you, sir,” she jested. She plopped on the edge of his desk and began to straighten his piles. “I've just now returned. And I wanted you to know I'd arrived back safely. ”
“But… back from where?” The old man bore a look of good-natured bewilderment. “You were away?” Cormac saw Marjorie's shoulders slump just the slightest bit, and anger washed over him. Could her uncle truly not even have noticed that she'd been absent from the house?
“Yes, Uncle. I've been away. Visiting the MacAlpins. But Gregor told me he sent word. Did you not get his message?” Marjorie unearthed a small envelope from one of his stacks.
“Och, girl,” — Humphrey took the letter from her hand — “you know I can't find a thing without you. But where did you say you were?” He glanced at Cormac, seeming to see him for the first time. “You visited a gentleman?”