Jo shook her head. “Not this time.”
“We’re sailing to the continent to look at paintings and sculptures and snow-covered mountains,” Cuffe guessed, looking pained.
“No, try again.”
An expression of hope edged its way into the lad’s face. He stared at Wynne, waiting, not wanting to ask. “Tell me.”
Jo smiled, nodding to him to continue.
“We are going to be gone for three months,” he said. “Three weeks at sea to get there and five weeks to return. That should give us about four weeks at our destination.”
“Jamaica!” Cuffe squealed, throwing himself into Wynne’s arms. “We’re going to see Nanny.”
Holding his son tight against him, Wynne looked gratefully at his wife. They’d talked about this trip the night of their wedding at Rayneford. They both agreed that if Cuffe was to be at peace with his life in the Highlands, they couldn’t allow him to feel irrevocably separated from his past and the grandmother who raised him.
They’d made a vow that every so often they’d make the journey to Jamaica. And if Nanny was amenable to the idea, she could come and spend time in Scotland, as well.
Cuffe went across to Jo next, and he hugged her affectionately, fiercely.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
She placed a kiss on his forehead and hugged him back.
They were a perfect pair, Wynne thought, gazing at the two people who completed him. He was the most fortunate man in the world, for he had them and they were family.
His family. His life. His love. His past. His future.
