“What shall I do?” Adaira asked, her voice muffled by the brown velvet bodice.
“We mourn,” Margaret answered. “We hope for his return, but in the meantime, we must get on with our lives. No matter how sorrowful or desperate those lives are. Even if the worst has happened, Sawny would no’ want us to pine away. He would want us to be stronger than that.”
Adaira lifted her head slightly and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Ye seem to be pining, Lady Margaret.”
Margaret snorted under her breath. “I’m a Keppoch. We have never taken instruction well from anyone. Sawny would also tell ye that.” Margaret wiped her hand across Adaira’s cheek, brushing away the stain of tears. “Now, let us see what ye have brought and enjoy a midday snack. I fear we both could use a wee bite.”
The ride back to Glenachulish was just as gray but somehow less dismal. Conall had kept quiet and out of the way for much of the visit. During their conversations, Margaret had turned most of her words back to Sawny, and for the first time in weeks, Adaira felt like she had a kindred spirit in Margaret, someone who grieved for Sawny as much as she did.
Margaret’s words, however, lingered longer than the shared bannocks and preserves. The statement about not pining away, about living her life — she hated them as much as she realized their import. It was time for her to stop hiding away in her chambers. At least a little bit. Her own mother had to be as worried for Adaira’s health as Adaira was for Margaret’s, more even. Sorcha did not deserve to worry that her daughter might pine away.
And the rest of her family, her kin, and her cousins had been so kind and patient. The least she could do was try.
Even if it was just a little bit. Leaving her rooms – that would be a fine start.
She cleared her throat. “Conall?”
Her brother twisted in his saddle to her. Concern alighted on his handsome, youthful face. “Aye, Ada. Do ye need something?
“Aye. I need to say thank ye.”
He waved a hand at her dismissively. “Och, lass. ‘Tis a fine ride on a fine Scottish day. Ye have nay need to thank me for that.”
“I do. I do need to thank ye for that. And for being patient with me. Ye and Mother and the rest. Thank ye.”
Conall slowed his horse until he was riding right next to her. His amber-green eyes blazed in the gray sunlight.
“Anything for ye, Adaira.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sorcha,Blair,andFionaconvinced Adaira to leave her room the next day. Sorcha immediately sent in a housemaid to air out the stuffy chambers and change the odorous bedding.
It was as Margaret had said, life had to continue on. Sawny would want her to do that, no matter how much guilt and sorrow Adaira felt with the effort.
From the kitchens, Una swept into the main hall, a platter of Adaira’s favorites in her hands. Dried, honeyed apples, late spring berries, candied carrots, bacon, and bannocks coated in preserves. Everything sweet and savory that Adaira adored. A pot of tea and a dainty green and white teacup at the platter’s edge awaited sipping. Thus far, tea was about all Adaira had consumed in the past month, and Una, along with everyone else in the house, was stricken at how much of Adaira had wasted away in that time.
In the clear light of the main hall, her appearance was even more disheartening. Deep purple moons under her eyes seemed to take over her entire face. Her full bright smile was a thin line beneath her gaunt cheeks. Her lustrous hair was flat and stringing against her dull skin.
It was as if a light had gone out in her, a light no one believed could ever be extinguished.
But she did pick at her food, and Sorcha shared a satisfied look with Blair and Fiona. Heartache was no stranger to the Highlands, but each had to walk that stony path their own way. Though Adaira had stumbled in her walk, perchance she would now gain her footing and reach the end of this sorrowful trail.
Conall entered the main hall in a hard stride and approached Sorcha, drawing her to the side.
“We have a visitor,” he prefaced.
Sorcha’s heart dropped to her stomach. “Nay Sawny?”
He shook his head. “Nay. The goldsmith from Ballachulish is here. He has something for Adaira. I thought ye might want to inquire as to what he’s delivering.”
Sorcha patted Conall’s cheek. As a man, he might still be in the shadow of his brothers, but he was a loving, dutiful son and loyal brother, and Sorcha loved that about him. He led her to the double doors where a portly man with a shaved jaw and surprisingly long fingers awaited, a plaid bonnet in one hand and a small box clasped in the other.
“What do ye have for my daughter?” Sorcha inquired. The box was too small to be anything of consequence. Why was he here?
Wordlessly, he lifted the lid to expose the gift nestled within.
A shiny gold band, impossibly shiny, and etched with the delicate outline of a Scots bluebell. Adaira’s favorite flower.
