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Uncle Riddick, truly a good man, was both stubborn and her laird, which made for a tricky combination. She was used to obeying him and had done so for most of her life. But she was determined to hold fast on this one, no matter what he thought.
Besides, what else could she do with her life but become a nun? She obviously wasn’t cut out to be a wife, and the idea of dwindling into spinsterhood, dependent on her family, was a humiliating prospect. By joining another religious order she could still be of use to the world, either through a life of contemplation and prayer, or by good works. She would have a purpose, not just rattle around Blairgal Castle like a boring old ghost, useless to everyone.
Her anxiety spiked at the vision of such a future, and her mind involuntarily searched for a reassuring image.
Somehow, Logan Kendrick’s face popped into her brain. He was the most irritating man she’d ever met, and yet she’d felt safe with him. When they’d finally reached the security of her great-uncle’s lands, Donella had been reluctant to say good-bye, as if in doing so, she was losing something important.
Something that could have beensomething,if given a chance.
Heat rushed into her cheeks at the memory of their leave-taking. She was not the demonstrative type, and yet she’d kissed him, clearly catching both Logan and herself off guard.
“You’re looking a bit red in the face, lass.” Her great-uncle peered at her with concern. “You’ve just suffered a great shock to the system, you know. Mayhap we should send for the physician again.”
Donella had the constitution of a draft horse. Uncle Riddick, however, was hypochondriacally inclined and fretted about everyone’s health, especially his own.
The real reason she’d gone red had nothing to do with illness and everything to do with the inappropriate thoughts she’d been having about Logan Kendrick these last three days.
She stood to replenish his cup from the tea service. “I’m very well, sir. I’m just sitting too close to the fire.”
It was a convenient excuse, since there was a roaring blaze built up in the gigantic stone hearth. Family meetings were always held in the great hall. With its medieval suits of armor, heraldic banners, and ancient weaponry, it was an impressive if rather overdone testament to the Haddon family’s history and traditions.
Uncle Riddick was very big on tradition. He was also a master manipulator and was doing everything he could to remind Donella of who she was and what she owed to her family.
As if I could ever forget.
She glanced at the longcase clock. “I suppose the others will be arriving shortly.”
“Alasdair and Eden should be down soon. But I told them I wanted to speak with you first.”
Donella froze. “You didn’t tell them why, did you?”
He impatiently waved her back to her chair. “Of course not.”
“Alasdair wouldn’t stop pestering me about the Murrays. I had to pretend to fall asleep in the carriage.”
Her great-uncle’s rheumy gaze grew sharp. “You leave Alasdair to me. Your secret has been safe for ten years, and I intend to keep it that way.”
Uncle Riddick remained a powerful laird who commanded respect, but he was old and in failing health. In fact, she’d been shocked by the physical changes wrought on his body during her years away. While he still had a sharp mind and an iron will, he’d grown wizened and frail. He’d turned most estate and business dealings over to Alasdair, who was assisted by Donella’s brother, Fergus.
She had serious doubts now that he could manage the situation with Mungo Murray after all.
“Obviously Alasdair was away at the time of the incident,” she said with some hesitancy. “But Fergus was here, as was Uncle Walter. Perhaps it might be best to enlist their help.”
“And what do you think Fergus would do if he found out whatreallyhappened between you and Roddy Murray? Mungo would be the least of our worries if it came to light.”
She winced. “Fergus would challenge poor Roddy to a duel.”
The oldest son of Mungo Murray, Roddy had been smitten with Donella and had wanted to marry her. Uncle Riddick’s terse refusal had resulted in thinly veiled accusations regarding Donella’s character.
A feud had only narrowly been avoided due to the intervention of several chiefs from branches of both clans. Uncle had also made some thinly veiled accusations of his own that seemed to shut the matter down.
That Mungo Murray had never forgotten the insult to his family’s honor was now abundantly clear.
“Only a few people know the truth of that situation, Donella, and it has to stay that way. Alasdair and Fergus would kick up a fuss, and your reputation would end up in tatters. Not that it’s in the best of shape at the moment, ye ken,” her uncle tartly added.
She couldn’t blame him for being annoyed. “I’m so sorry, Uncle. You must want to throw me off the highest turret of Blairgal.”
His expression softened into a wry smile. “You think you did us all a favor by hiding away in that convent, but you were sorely missed. We’re that glad to have you home where you belong.”
