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“These ought to be put on a shelf,” Mrs. Halifax muttered. “I can’t believe you keep your own book on the floor.”
Alistair grunted before rummaging in the pile with Jamie. “Ah, here it is.”
He laid the book out on the floor and opened it. Jamie promptly threw himself down on his stomach to peer closely at the pages, and Abigail sat by his side to look.
“You must have spent many years in New England.” Mrs. Halifax was standing behind her children, looking at the book over their shoulders. “Mind the pages when you turn them, Jamie.”
Alistair strolled to her side. “Three years.”
She looked up at him, her blue eyes startlingly bright in the candlelit room. “What?”
“Three years.” He cleared his throat. “I spent three years in New England recording the information in that book.”
“That’s a very long time. Did not the war interfere with your work?”
“On the contrary. I was attached to regiments in His Majesty’s army the entire time.”
“But wasn’t that dangerous?” Her brows were drawn together in concern.
For him.
He looked away. Her eyes were too beautiful for this dingy room, and he regretted the impulse to bring her and the children in here. Why lay himself open like this, let them see into his life, his past? This was a mistake.
“Sir Alistair?”
He didn’t know what to say. Yes, it’d been dangerous—so dangerous that he’d left behind an eye, two fingers, and his pride in the woods of North America—but he couldn’t tell her that. She was merely making conversation.
He was saved from having to reply by Jamie looking up suddenly from the book. “Where’s Lady Grey?”
The deerhound hadn’t followed them into the library.
Alistair shrugged. “Probably fell asleep by the fire in the dining room.”
“But she’ll miss us,” Jamie said. “I’ll go get her.”
And he hopped up before anyone could say a word and scurried from the room.
“Jamie!” Abigail called. “Jamie, don’t run!” And she was off as well.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Halifax said.
He frowned at her in surprise. “What for?”
“They can be so impetuous.”
Alistair shrugged. He wasn’t used to children, but these ones were rather interesting to have about.
“I—” she began, but she was interrupted by a single shrill scream.
Alistair was out the door without waiting for Mrs. Halifax. He ran down the hallway. The scream wasn’t repeated, but he was sure it’d come from the dining room. Perhaps Abigail had seen a spider. But when he rounded the dining room door, he knew it was something else entirely.
Lady Grey lay by the fireplace as he’d predicted, but Jamie knelt over her, frantically patting her side, and Abigail stood still and pale with her hands pressed to her mouth.
No.
He slowly walked to the fireplace, Mrs. Halifax trailing behind. Abigail simply stared at him, silent tears running down her face.
But Jamie looked up as he neared. “She’s hurt! Lady Grey is hurt. You must help her.”
