The tone of his voice revealed a depth of pain Lyssa had not imagined. Her victory turned bittersweet.
Frances took her husband’s hands. “She’s no longer yours, darling. It’s the way of the world and the way it must be. You have the child and it needs you, but then it must go and create its own life. You can’t keep her forever…and she loves him. Loves him enough to defy all wisdom and convention. Just like I love you.”
“She’s my last link to Isobel.”
“I know,” Frances said with the understanding only a woman who truly loves her husband can give. “But Isobel would want it this way, too.”
Slowly, her father moved to where Lyssa stood with Ian’s arms around her and she realized with startling clarity that he’d been younger than she was now when he’d run away with her mother. “He’s Catholic.” His accusation had no bluster, but a quiet sense of resignation.
“He doesn’t practice,” she said.
Her father’s frown deepened. “But someday, when you have children, he will want his church.”
“I love him, Father. I respect him. We will find some agreement, some middle ground. Certainly, if two people care as much for each other as we do, God can only be pleased.”
For a second, her father appeared ready to protest again, but then Frances said, “Dunmore, it is time.”
In his sad acceptance of what was to be, her father appeared to age right before her eyes. Frances touched him on the shoulder and he covered her hand with his. Now Lyssa was glad her stepmother was in their lives. She would protect and care for Lyssa’s father.
“Don’t let any harm come to her,” her father said to Ian.
“None will,” Ian swore.
“Then go,” he said with a curt motion of his head.
Lyssa was not about to leave him like this. She left Ian’s arms and crossed to her father to hug him one last time. He smelled of lemon oil and spice. His shoulders were still strong and she knew he would be fine…but it didn’t make the parting easier. “I shall think of you every day. And we shall see each other again. I will want to see my half brother.” She kissed his cheek and then kissed Frances, too. “Thank you,” she murmured before facing the man she loved. “Let’s use the door. I have no desire to climb on that tree branch you cracked.”
Her change of subject seemed to spark life in her father. “He came in the window?”
Lyssa nodded. “It was a very dramatic entrance.”
“Well, leave it to the Irish,” her father said, but there was no longer anger in his words.
Ian picked up her portmanteau and held out his hand. Lyssa placed hers in his and together, they left the room. She didn’t even need to look back.
As they went down the stairs, he said, “There is a sloop waiting for us. We should reach the ship by tomorrow morning.”
She nodded, stepped down to the landing and found Parker waiting there. For a moment, their three gazes met. Lyssa spoke first. “Good-bye, Parker. Please take care of Papa and my stepmother.”
“I will, Miss Harrell.” He looked to Ian. “Obviously, I’m not the only one who knows how to make swift arrangements.”
“No, you’re not,” Ian agreed and reached to open the front door.
“Good luck, Mr. Campion,” Parker said and Ian grinned.
They were free.
The sloop was waiting exactly as Ian had said it would. As they set sail, Lyssa and Ian stood at the prow, his arms around her waist, watching night-darkened London drift away. The wind through her hair was exciting and after days of sadness her spirits soared.
He held up his hand. In his finger was a card folded and worn from being carried from one end of the kingdom to another. The Knight of Swords. She was surprised he had it, having assumed she had lost it during their sojourn in the bothy.
“Are you ready for an adventure?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she agreed, taking the card from him.
“Then follow me,” he said and he led her to his private quarters…and it was a very fine adventure indeed.
Epilogue
