Pain like a knife ripped through her breast.
Ireland was where she belonged. Not here in Scotland, living beneath a cloud of guilt and deceit.
She sought to think of home. Of Castle McDonough. Jen. Toothless Nan. Patrick the Woolly. The ancient church high upon the hill where pagans and Christians alike had worshiped.
The place where the Circle had once burned so brightly.
But all she could see was Alec, his gaze icy and blue, damning her for not saving him.
At that same moment in Glasgow, Alec opened a small iron gate and strode down a brick walk-way. The house was built of weathered brick, each one very much like the other on the narrow street.
At the door, he rapped the brass knocker three times. Heavy footsteps echoed from within the house. The door was thrown wide.
“Your grace!” the man inside greeted him heartily. He was in his late forties, burly, and stood half a head shorter than Alec. His shoulders and neck were thick with muscle. “Come in, come in, your grace.”
“You may dispense with the formalities, Thomas.” Alec smiled. “It’s just the two of us.”
“Habits die hard. I still call your brother ‘Colonel.’”
Thomas Gates had served with the Highland Regiment under his brother’s command. Alec stepped into a small entryway as Thomas closed the door.
“I’ve always been surprised you remained here in Britain rather than return to India,” Alec commented.
Thomas grinned. “I fancy m’pension more than that accursed heat in India.”
Alec retrieved two pungent cigars from his waistcoat. “Fancy a smoke?”
Thomas released a hearty laugh. “I do. A bit early in the day, but I have just the thing to go with them.”
Inside a small parlor, Thomas filled two brandy snifters. Alec sat back and the two of them enjoyed a bit of small talk.
The cigars had burned down when Alec said, “I hear you’ve turned down a post with Scotland Yard, Thomas.”
Thomas shrugged. “I fancy bein’ me own man now.” He grinned. “I can be a wee bit more discerning about the jobs I take on.”
“Precisely the reason I am here.”
Thomas laughed gustily. “I knew it wasn’t my ugly face that brought you to my doorstep.”
Alec crushed the ashes left on his stub of cigar. “I have a favor to ask of you, Thomas,” he said, wasting no more time on small talk. “In light of being your own man now, how would you like a visit to Ireland?”
“Ireland!” Thomas was clearly surprised. “And the purpose of this visit?”
“A few discreet inquiries. You’ll be amply recompensed.” Alec paused. “Aidan always said there was no better man than you at his back, Thomas. If he trusted you, then so do I.”
His host glanced at him sharply. “What! This sounds like a matter of life and death.”
“No. But it is most certainly a matter of utmost discretion.”
“That’s the nature of my work now,” Thomas said. “Well, it’s actually been that for a great many years,” he added with a grin. “And you know I will do anything for the colonel’s family. But what might be in Ireland other than an overabundance of wind and rain?”
Maura, Alec decided dryly, would have taken vehement exception to his description of her homeland. Reminded of her righteous indignation over his own characterization of Ireland, a faint smile began to crease his lips. But then he thought of her deception, and the smile never quite made it to fruition. He sobered quickly.
Thomas’s own smile faded upon seeing Alec’s somber expression. He frowned. “A matter of utmost discretion,” he repeated. “A matter concerning what?”
Alec had gone very still. There was a faraway look in his eyes.
Thomas frowned. “Your grace,” he prompted. “A matter concerning…?”
