“Wow,” Oliver said with a smile. “That’s grand!”
“And he never looked at a man-made clock again. His crops flourished, his sheep were fatter than elephants, and his heart was fuller than the sea. Do ye ken why?
“Why Isla?” Benedict asked at that time.
“Because he learned that even the lowliest farmer is connected to the greatest, grandest things in the universe. He learned that the sky is not just a ceiling, but a map. It is also a story, and a promise.”
Isla closed the book. The twilight outside was now deep indigo, and the first few stars were piercing the velvet sky.
“What do you think he really learned, Papa?” Oliver asked, turning to his father.
Benedict’s hand found Isla’s, lacing their fingers together as she leaned her head on his shoulder. He squeezed, his eyes on her.
“He learned, son, that even the wisest man cannot do much without a good guide to show him where to look.”
“The Seer told him one more thing,” Isla murmured, leaning in to whisper in Oliver’s ear. “She told him that if you ever feel lost or lonely, just look up. Because the stars that shine over the Highlands are the same ones that shine everywhere. A piece of home is always overhead, if ye ken how and where to look.”
Oliver’s eyes widened, his little mouth forming a perfect “O.”
“Truly?” he whispered, glancing up at the night sky as if testing the idea for himself. “The same stars?”
When Isla nodded, he gasped softly, delighted.
“Then the stars know where everyone is!” he said, pointing at one. “That one there, maybe it’s watching over the manor and Scotland at the same time!” He turned back to her, eyes shining. “I’ll look at them every night, so I never forget where we came from.”
Isla smiled, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “That sounds just right, me darling boy.”
The carriage slowed, and the sound of the horses’ hooves muffled as they turned onto the familiar drive. Isla peered out the window, the sky indigo and highlighting the impressive Ealdwick Manor.
“Well, we are here, Oliver,” Benedict said softly, looking from his son’s peaceful face to Isla’s radiant one. “Welcome home.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Iam glad our journey is over,” Isla said quietly.
She sighed as the coach came to a final halt in front of the door to the manor, leaning her head against the velvet cushion.
Benedict reached across the small gap to lay his hand briefly over Isla’s, running his fingers on her palm. “London has its uses, but I much prefer the country as well.”
“Thank goodness! As much as I loved London and our walks in the city, and of course the theatre, I missed my room and my toys!” Oliver said as he hurried out of the carriage with help from the footman.
“Let us head inside. I think you will be quite happy with what you find there,” Benedict whispered to Isla.
“Whatever do ye mean?” She asked curiously.
“You will see,” he said as the massive oak doors of the main entrance swung open, revealing the high, vaulted ceiling and grandeur of the foyer.
It was usually a cold, echoing space, lined with stern portraits of Dukes and duchesses past. Yet today, the atmosphere was different.
Clustered in the center of the vast hall, looking wonderfully familiar in this new place, was Isla’s family and Benedict’s friend, Lord Murkwood.
“And I told the bloody arse, if ye cannae listen to reason, I will show ye reason with me own two hands!” Callum said to Lord Murkwood.
Eilidh stood near them listening, her face radiant with youthful health and the kind of good cheer the holidays bring.
Lastly, standing stiffly apart yet unable to suppress a pleased smile at their entrance, was her Aunt Honoria.
Isla gasped, pulling her hand free from Benedict’s as she hurried toward them. Before a single footman could move, Callum spotted them crossing the threshold and clapped his hands together.
