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She moved without argument, turning so that she faced him as he settled down and checked the oars in their locks. Thanks to the arrangements he’d made earlier that day, the boat was already loaded down with the provisions they’d need. All he had to do was row halfway across the firth, aiming for Daldour Island.
“Once I cast off the bow lines, we’ll be on our way,” said Gavin.
“Let me help you.” Before he could protest, Ina was untying the briny rope and tossing it onto the dock.
He pushed off with one of the oars, letting the boat drift a few feet before dipping the pair of them into the pitch-black water. He pulled back, and they were propelled forward to their destination.
He dipped the oars in a steady rhythm now, the soft splashes the only sound as they hit the water. Rowing was mindless, satisfying work, stretching the muscles he’d neglected to exercise in weeks. Even better, it kept his mind focused as his beautiful wife, bathed in moonlight, squinted at the faint lights of the receding shoreline.
“Do you know,” Ina said after a moment, “the firth used to terrify me.”
“Is that right?”
“I worried that if I fell in, I’d be swallowed up and no one would ever find me again.” She laughed. “I suppose it seems silly now, knowing how much larger the world is.”
“To you the world is Scotland.”
She smiled. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to live anywhere else than Edinburgh. I know London is supposed to be so much more exciting and have so many more people, but I love it here.”
“Then here’s where we’ll stay,” he said. Ina was Edinburgh just as much as Edinburgh was Ina. She didn’t belong in London anymore than he did at his family’s home in Ashington.
“Do you ever miss Oak Park?” she asked, as though reading his thoughts.
He shook his head. “It hasn’t been home for me for a very long time.”
“I’m sorry, Gavin,” she said softly. “Is it because of her?”
It took him a moment to realize she was referring to the letters she’d found. “No, not at all.”
“Your family then?” she asked.
He pulled a little harder on the oars, relishing the burn in his muscles. “My father made his choices, and I made mine.”
A shadow fell over her face as she cocked her head. “Do you ever regret not following one of the paths he wanted for you?”
“I would’ve made a very unhappy officer and an even worse vicar, don’t you think?” he asked.
“I can’t say a minister’s dog collar would’ve suited you particularly well,” she said.
“I might enjoy scholarship and writing, but I lack the necessary strength of beliefs to make a convincing clergyman.”
“Don’t tell Reverend Macdonough,” she said.
He laughed. “What the good reverend doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”
“So instead of following your father’s wishes, you decided to write,” she said.
He nodded. “After Cambridge, I moved to Edinburgh. When I first arrived, I regretted it every month when it came time to pay for my lodgings. I was fortunate enough to receive invitations because of my family name, but while I was eating well enough at other people’s tables I was worrying about how I’d heat my rooms. I didn’t want to be the sort of gentleman who racked up debts he had no intention of ever paying, but on such a restricted income, it was nearly impossible to establish a life.”
“But you wrote?” she asked.
“Wrapped in a wool blanket with my feet on a brick I’d stick in among the coals to steal away some of its heat,” he said, realizing he’d never told her the details of his genteel poverty, because what man wants to linger on his failures?
“And after your book?” she asked.
“Things had already begun to change by the time the book was printed. After I’d spent a year on my own. My father finally agreed to settle a small income on me.”
One hundred pounds a year. That was all. It was a pittance compared to what the baronet could afford, but that didn’t matter to Gavin. It had been enough to supplement his small income. Enough to buy him at least partial freedom.
