"Your mamma still misses her husband."
"She does. They were wonderful together."
Her lips turned down in a rueful smile. "I suspect they were terrifying."
"Mamma has changed over the years. She was more approachable when I was a boy. That steely edge only appeared after she lost my father. I think she had to become harder, or grief would have destroyed her. Papa left us far too early. He was only in his fifties when an apoplexy took him. Overwork, I always thought."
She set down her cutlery. This was the closest she’d ever come to sharing confidences with Hamish. And for once, their interactions held no edge. She was surprised that she almost felt at ease, despite the difficult conversation ahead of her.
"My parents were in love, too." Strange to think they had this in common.
"I know they were." Hamish’s response was gentle. "Your father talked about your mother with such affection. It was clear that he never ceased to miss her. He often said you were very like her."
"I’d like to think that was true. She was wonderful." She swallowed the knot of sorrow that blocked her throat. Her mother’s loss still hurt. Her voice was husky as she changed the subject. "Did you see much of Glen Lyon as a child?"
"We had summer holidays in Scotland. Mostly that meant a visit home and a few fistfights when someone called me a cursed Sassenach." He spat the word out, as if it had a rotten taste.
"Did you win?"
Hamish gave a huff of self-derisive amusement. "Once I started to grow into my size, I did."
"One would think that your tenants would treat you with deference because you’re the heir to the estate. They would in England."
He refilled his beaker. She’d hardly touched hers. "The Highlands are more democratic. The shepherd’s son is perfectly happy to knock the block off the laird’s son, if he feels the laird’s son deserves it."
"I see," when in fact, she didn’t.
A reminiscent smile curved Hamish’s lips. "I met Fergus during one of those holidays north. When Diarmid and I had got lost in the hills, he rescued us. By the way, you and he have something in common."
"Oh?" She couldn’t imagine what. She’d found the Laird of Achnasheen almost as daunting as she found Hamish’s mother.
Laughter danced in Hamish’s brilliant blue eyes, made him breathtakingly appealing. "It took Fergus a while to recognize me for what an all-round excellent fellow I am. He didn’t like me much when he met me. In fact, he might have dared to use the S word."
Emily smiled, although she didn’t feel much like laughing. Hamish told this tale as if it was a high old adventure, but she knew enough now to see the unhappy, displaced child at the heart of it. "So did you like growing up in London?"
"Not much. I missed Scotland like the very devil, although I’d have missed my family more if I stayed here. And life was no easier south of the border than it was in the north. When I went to Eton, I had to defend my honor even more often than I had to up here. I was too English for my clansmen and too Scottish for the stuck-up swine who went to school with me."
So in the end, Hamish had belonged nowhere. When he swaggered into her father’s house, Emily had immediately resented his cocky self-assurance. Now she wondered if his pride had led him to overcompensate, to hide his fears of being the eternal outsider.
"You make school sound lonely."
"It wasn’t too bad, especially once I started winning the fights."
More pride. At last, she learned to recognize it and the fierce defenses he placed around it.
"And of course you were clever."
"That doesn’t translate to universal popularity."
He spoke with uncharacteristic hesitation, as if afraid he betrayed himself. But it was too late. She’d caught a glimpse of the boy beneath the glamor. She couldn’t view him through the prejudiced eyes of her childhood ever again.
"Cambridge, however, was a lark." His expression brightened. "Lots of high jinks, plenty to drink, clever chaps to hang about with, and people who taught me all they knew about the stars. I was happy as a pig in mud there. And afterward, I came to your father. That was best of all."
"You were happy with us."
"When my professor’s daughter wasn’t glaring at me, I was."
After what she’d learned tonight, she had the grace to feel a stab of guilt for how she’d treated him. When it came to placing blame for their prickly relationship, she deserved her share. "I was a snotty little madam."