Sorcha’s already rented heart wrenched and her breath caught in her throat. The ring was a work of art by the skilled goldsmith. Something to be proud of under any other circumstance.
A gift for her lass, but from whom?
“Who sent this?” Sorcha asked.
Footfalls sounded behind her, and Sorcha did not have to turn around to know that Adaira had come to investigate with Fiona and Blair in tow.
“What is it, Mother?” Adaira’s throaty voice asked.
The goldsmith’s eyes flicked from Sorcha to Adaira and back.
“’Twas commissioned over a month ago. For the lassie’s wedding. But ‘twas never picked up on her wedding day by her man.”
Adaira pushed past her mother, her ghostly visage peering in the box. Her hands opened and closed as she silently studied the gift.
She did not need to say anything. They all understood what it was.
Adaira’s wedding ring. One that Sawny was to pick up, or have a family member pick up, on the wedding day.
For once in her life, Sorcha was at a loss. Should she send the goldsmith away with the ring? Take the ring and hide it? Pull Adaira away before the sight of the ring brought back memories of that horrendous day and sent her retreating to her rooms once more?
Thankfully, Blair, the diplomat that she was, reacted.
“Why don’t we take this and put it aside? We can send it back to the Keppochs –”
Something inside Adaira seemed to break, as if everything she had been dealing with in a tempestuous storm suddenly blew itself out and her shoulders sagged.
“Nay, I’ll keep it safe. For when he returns. If he returns.”
Sorcha cut her eyes to Fiona, whose own ice-blue eyes were perfectly round. For Adaira to admit thatif– to realize that Sawny might truly be gone – was a gigantic step for her. If Adaira caught their shared looks, she ignored it.
With a confident hand, Adaira scooped the box from the goldsmith. Then she swept past Fiona, back into the main hall. They watched as she grabbed the bacon and bannock from her tray and made her way back up the stairs.
Though the shock of seeing the ring might have disturbed Adaira, she had taken food with her in her retreat.
Sorcha considered that a good sign. She twisted toward the goldsmith.
“How much for the ring?”
The man had the good sense to appear contrite. “Milady, I canna in good conscience take payment for the cursed thing. We all have heard of your lass’s troubles, and I would no’ add to them. I was paid a deposit, and I’ll take the loss on the labor. For your daughter.”
Sorcha felt Blair’s cool hand grip hers, a moment of support during this emotional upheaval. The man’s tactful words and offer struck her to her core.
“Thank ye. And know that Glenachulish MacDonalds will patronize your smithy when we have a need.”
The goldsmith gave Sorcha a curt nod, placed his bonnet back on his head, and made his way back down the front steps.
Blair shifted her stunned gaze from the goldsmith to Sorcha. “Do ye think she took that well?”
They all turned to the stairs where Adaira had disappeared.
“I think ‘tis a good start.”
Once Adaira was in the privacy of her rooms, she released the pained breath she’d been holding and gasped.
She set her food on the table by her door and placed her hand on her panting chest.
Her parents and family might believe she was doing well, and she was not crying nearly as much in the past few days, but her heart . . .
