“She always said she was never more frightened in her life than she was that night climbing down the dark walls of Amleth Hall, but she loved my father and refused to live without him. They both made it down safely and escaped in a boat smaller than a dinghy my father had hidden by the loch.”
“And did they sail all the way to London?”
“Yes,” she told him proudly.
“Well, I hope we make good time, too,” he answered. “I have little more than a week to see you home safe. A boat may be quickest.”
Lyssa kept her own counsel, the romance of the moment destroyed, and she saw the house as it really was. The grounds were completely overgrown and scraggly. The windows were filthy and there was an unkempt air about the place, almost a sense of desertion.
Lyssa took a step forward, anxious. She could not have come all this way only to find no one here. For a horrible moment, she feared she would swoon. To have traveled this distance, to have defied her father and to have held fast to a belief in a place that might not exist—
Ian took her arm by the elbow. “Steady,” he said. “Don’t give up.”
At that moment, the narrow, paneled front door opened.
Chapter Thirteen
Ayoung girl of perhaps sixteen came out the door. She did not wear a bonnet and her hair was unbound down around her shoulders in the Scottish way. The girl’s hair was straight instead of curly and blonde rather than red, but she and Lyssa could otherwise have passed for sisters.
Here was family, the fragile connection Lyssa had longed for since her mother’s death.
Her feet moved of their own will. In two steps, she wasn’t walking but running. Behind her, Ian followed at his own pace.
The girl noticed them and hesitated, watching them approach.
Lyssa was suddenly aware of her appearance and forced herself to slow down. Her clothes were certainly the worse for wear, her curls were absolutely unruly from going for days without a brush to tame them, and she knew her complexion must be a sight from being out in the sun without a bonnet.
She stopped, embarrassed. This was not the way she had pictured meeting her Davidson relatives for the first time.
Ian came up beside her. Sensing her reticence, he took the lead, approaching the young woman.
“I’m Ian Campion and we’re here to pay our respects to Laird Davidson.”
The girl’s gaze honed in on Ian with feminine appraisal, and she liked what she saw. Lyssa realized the girl was actually older than she’d first thought. Indeed she was a woman, and several years older than Lyssa herself.
“The Laird is my cousin,” she said in a voice made all the more musical by its soft lilt.
“Will you tell him Miss Lyssa Harrell of London, a relative of his, wishes to pay her respects?”
“I didn’t know we were expecting company,” the woman countered.
“We were unable to announce our travel plans,” Ian answered.
The woman’s gaze swung back to Lyssa. The color of their eyes were different. Lyssa’s were green like her father’s. Her cousin’s were a guileless blue, and yet, Lyssa felt a hint of uneasiness. She wondered if Ian experienced the same.
“Please come in,” the woman offered and led the way up the steps to the front door.
Ian turned to Lyssa. He raised his eyebrows, questioning what she wished to do.
She had no choice. She’d traveled far to get here and she would not be put off now. Besides, her apprehension was probably due to being tired and finding herself at journey’s end. Putting on her best smile, she moved forward with a confidence she didn’t feel.
At the doorway, she paused in front of her newly discovered cousin. “I’m Isobel’s daughter.”
“So, one of you has finally come home, have you?” her cousin asked, the hint of a smile on her lips not quite reaching those disconcerting eyes.
“I suppose.”
For the space of a heartbeat, the woman took Lyssa’s measure. At last, her cousin said, “I’m Anice Davidson. Your uncle Alan’s daughter.”
