Page 38 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

The laird coughed, and it drew the women’s attention to Si and Finn standing in the doorway.

“Silas,” Jory smiled and crossed the room to take his hands in both of hers. “You look,” she tried to hide a frown. “You look well, cousin.”

“Well and truly trampled by a boar,” Ellen muttered, and Si burst out laughing.

Everyone blinked at him in confusion, as though they hadn’t heard the remark, except for Ellen herself, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise.

She’d written to Mac how her voice was frightened away, but she murmured these sharp little barbs under her breath often enough. Did she not realize she was saying them out loud? Perhaps Mac should tell her—he should tell her—that her voice was still inside her waiting to be set free. Except then she might grow self-conscious, stop whispering altogether, and that would be a very great shame, for when else had Si last laughed out loud?

He winked at her, then turned his attention to Jory instead of waiting for her reaction, but the tips of his ears burned as though her stare could sear his skin.

“How’s the patient?” he asked.

Jory looked at his father. “Comfortable, I think.”

That wasn’t any kind of answer, and she knew it, leading him to the corner shelf that held his father’s whisky decanter.

“He’s old,” she said, not unkindly, but with a helpless shrug.

“He is not.” He poured himself a glass and swallowed it all in one gulp.

“Can you monitor what he eats and drinks?”

Si studied her. “You think it’s poison?”

Jory cast a look around, as though making sure they weren’t overheard. “None that I recognize,” she admitted. “But you could at least rule it out if you’re careful with what he ingests.”

“He only consumes what Mrs. Kynoch prepares,” Si whispered, glancing quickly at the cook, who was taking a turn with the pestle.

Jory shrugged again. “Perhaps he simply has weak lungs.”

“You can’t help him.”

“I can ease his discomfort. With more alertness than these other draughts he’s been taking. I can improve the quality of the time he has left, but no, I don’t believe I can reverse the damage.”

Si poured another drink but merely stared at it.

“I know it’s not what you wish to hear. I’m so sorry I can’t do more.”

“Thank you.” It was Si’s voice, but he didn’t remember uttering the words.

“It’s hard,” she said softly. “Losing someone before you’re ready.”

Si took another drink, willing her to stop talking. Does one ever become ready for such parting?

“But you should know he’s so very proud of you.”

He drained the rest of his dram. What he knew was that his father asked just one thing of him, and he was not capable of giving it.

“You’re welcome here. Stay as long as you like.” Then he nodded at the room as a whole and escaped back to his library, as quickly as he could without running. It was one thing to argue with Keith, to ignore his opinions and seek alternate advice. To do so twice would be foolish.

* * *

It had been several days since Ellen last received a letter from the mysterious MacKenzie, and when she allowed herself to think of it, she feared she quite disgusted him with her talk of dreams and cloisters. She should’ve restricted her comments to hopes of fine weather for the shinty, to dreams of a successful Gathering and prosperity for the clan. Of course, she wanted all of those things too.

Though married, she was quite alone, and without the letters, she was lonelier than ever. She spent her days reading in the cluttered chapel or walking in the garden to avoid her new husband and her nights peeking through the knothole as he avoided her bed.

Jory’s arrival brought with it a fresh wave of longing. Silas hadn’t held her or petted her since carrying her up the stairs after her fall from Buttercup. Indeed, it was hard to say which of them put more distance between their two persons. Was he actually angry, as she originally feared, or still simply guilt-ridden for putting her on the horse? Or, perhaps worst of all, had the Mac told him of her desire to leave? Hadn’t some part of her hoped he’d do just that?