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Abigail’s heart froze.
Then Sir Alistair said, “Dukes fish as well, I have no doubt. A good thing I’m here to teach you. And your sister.” He smiled at Abigail.
Abigail felt her chest swell, and a smile seemed to take over her face; she couldn’t stop it if she wanted to.
They entered the dim stables and tramped to a door in the corner. Sir Alistair wrenched it open and rummaged about inside.
“Here we are,” he grunted, and brought out a pole longer than he was tall. He leaned it against the wall and bent to the little room again. “I think… Yes, these will do.” Four more poles appeared.
He backed from the storage room and held out an old basket with a leather handle and hinges. “Can you carry this, Abigail?”
“Yes,” she said stoutly, though the basket was heavier than it looked. She wrapped both hands around the handle and lifted it against her chest.
Sir Alistair nodded. “Good lass. And this one for Jamie.” He handed a smaller basket to her brother to carry. “All right, then.”
He shouldered the poles, and they tramped back toward the castle where Mama and Miss Munroe were waiting for them.
“Mama, did you know that King George fishes?” Jamie asked. He held the puppy under one arm and grasped the basket in the other hand.
“Does he?” Mama looked rather suspiciously at Sir Alistair.
“Indeed he does.” Sir Alistair took Mama’s arm with his free hand. “Every day and twice on Mondays.”
“Hmm,” was all Mama said, but she looked happy.
Happy for the first time since they’d left London, Abigail thought as she skipped her way across the dewy grass.
FISHING APPEARED TO be a pastime that involved a lot of waiting around, Helen mused a half hour later. One attached a small hook, cleverly disguised in feathers, to the end of a string and then pitched it into the water, hoping to trick a fish into biting the hook. One would not think that fish were so silly as to confuse feathers and a hook for a fly alighting on the water, but apparently fish were foolish creatures. Or perhaps they were simply very nearsighted.
owly raised his glass of brandy and saluted her before drinking, still watching her over the rim.
Only then could she tear her gaze away, gasping to fill her lungs with air. Something had happened in those few seconds when she’d held his eyes. It was as if she’d seen into his soul.
And perhaps as if he’d seen into hers.
Chapter Eight
Now, all the next day, Truth Teller thought of what he’d seen, and as the shadows grew long in the courtyard, he went to the cage of swallows and opened the door. Immediately they flew out and swarmed the evening sky. When the beautiful young man came into the courtyard, he gave an angry shout. He drew a fine silk bag and a little gold hook from his robes and gave chase to the swallows, running from the castle as he followed them. . . .
—from TRUTH TELLER
Alistair woke the next morning before dawn, as was his usual custom. He stirred the fire, lit a candle, splashed about in the frigid water in the basin on his dresser, and hurriedly got dressed. But when he walked out into the hallway, he paused in indecision. When Lady Grey had been alive, they’d take their morning rambles at this time, but now she was gone and the new, still unnamed puppy was too little to ramble.
He wandered, feeling vaguely irritable and sad, to the window at the end of the hall. Mrs. Halifax had been here. The window was suspiciously clean on the inside, although the ivy still half covered the outside. Hazy peach light was just beginning to illuminate the hills. It was going to be a sunny day. A perfect day for rambling, he thought morosely. Or a day for . . .
The wayward thought crystallized, and he made for the stairs. On the floor below, no light shone beneath the door of the room of his sister and Miss MacDonald. Oh, it’d been years since he’d gotten the drop on Sophia. Alistair banged on the door.
“What is it?” she shouted from within. Like him, she woke at once, fully alert.
“Time to rise, sleepyhead,” he called.
“Alistair? Have you lost what mind you have?” She stumped to the door and flung it open. Sophia wore a voluminous gown, her graying hair in long braids.
He grinned at her grumpy expression. “It’s summer, the day is sunny, and the fish are running.”
Her eyes widened, and then narrowed in excited comprehension. “Give me half an hour.”
“Twenty minutes,” he called over his shoulder. He was already making for Mrs. Halifax’s room around the bend.
