There was a mutinous tilt to her chin. “Perhaps not something so precious as the Circle of Light. Everyone wouldknow then that he truly was a plundering pirate. Everyone would know the Black Scotsman was the Duke of Gleneden. I have thought on this a great deal, Alec—”
“I’m quite aware of that, Irish.”
Maura scowled at him, but went on. “I imagine he would put it somewhere where he could savor it—”
“The mythical object that no one in this century or the last has ever seen. Whose existence cannot be proven—”
“I don’t expect you to care,” Maura cried. “It’s here. Somewhere. I feel it with every breath. I know it’s here at Gleneden.”
“If you feel it, if you are so certain, then why haven’t you found it before now? Why are we still searching for it?”
“You don’t believe me, do you? You don’t believe it’s here. You don’t even believe the Circle exists.”
“Forgive me for not being blessed with the superstitions of the Irish,” he snapped.
Angry hurt flooded her. Her eyes spitting fire, she started to charge past him.
Alec caught her elbow. “For heaven’s sake, Maura, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put it like that.”
Her chin climbed high. “Why not?” she said stiffly. “You are free to speak your mind, and I am entitled to my own beliefs, am I not? Pray forgive me for turning your household upside down,your grace. And do excuse me. I believe I should like to be alone for a while.”
“Maura,” he said softly. “Maura…”
She refused to look at him. Chafing, impatient, he sensed her composure unraveling and let her go.
Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she needed a little time for herself.
Chapter Nineteen
Early in the afternoon, Alec decided to look in on his wife…blood and thunder, he’d yet to stop thinking of her as his wife!
She hadn’t appeared for luncheon, and…well, he was worried about her. Oh, who did he fool? Yes, he was worried. But a little needle of guilt had plagued him ever since she left the library. Indeed, he admitted, from the moment they’d met at the masquerade, thoughts of her never strayed far from his mind.
He rapped lightly on the door between their chambers. There was no answer, nor did he hear any movement. Opening the door, he glanced inside.
He strode back into his room. An hour. If he didn’t see her within the hour, he’d check with the servants.
The thought had no sooner flitted through his mind than he did see her, alone in the courtyard. From the corner window of his room, he watched her. She wore no bonnet; indeed, she rarely did, whereas most women would dare not venture a single step outdoors without one. And most women probably wouldn’t be out walking in the sunlight without a parasol.
A faint smile creased his lips. Maura was like his sister Anne in that regard. Vanity was not in Anne’s nature. There was not a shred of vanity in Maura’s either. Faith, but she was so achingly beautiful it nearly stole his breath.
His smile died. Maura’s head was low, her gaze directed downward, her hands linked behind her back. He couldn’t discern her expression, but it took no stretch of imagination to see that her mood was pensive at best. Perhaps a little dejected…
Some strange, twisting emotion unfolded in his chest. There was something achingly poignant about her pose. Was she so unhappy, then? Was it because of him? Because they had made love?
A knifelike stab pierced his gut. It almost seemed she was following some aimless path, occasionally kicking at the pebbled pathway that wove through the flowers. His mind swerved back. He would never forget how he’d dumped out her precious treasure of pebbles and dirt from her home…the way it hurt her. The way he had hurt her.
Guilt seared him. If time could stretch back, if he could reclaim that moment—he would give everything he owned, all that he possessed.
But time was unforgiving.
Time was everlasting.
He could never take back what he’d done.
Just then, out the window, a child ran up to Maura and seized her hand. A second little boy ran out and latched ontothe other hand. Then another and another, until they were like a flock surrounding her. A girl no higher than Maura’s hip clutched a tiny fistful of her gown. And all at once they were tugging her away, out of the courtyard and down the slope of lawn.
Alec was reminded of the other time he’d watched as Maura held court with the children. Scant wonder they adored her, warming to her from the first. There was a magic, a charm, a beauty in her that could not be captured in words. He delighted in her freshness, their bantering, particularly when pitting anything Irish against the Scots. She was witty and quick, ever ready with a comeback.
