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“Of course I do,” I say, placing my hand over his on the parapet. “Lovers or not, I do love you, Dugald.”
His eyes drop to my hand, and it warms under his gaze. His mouth flirts with a smile, then he covers my hand with his free one. Warmth rushes up my arm and I’m acutely aware of his smell and the momentary flash of a threesome makes me unable to meet his gaze.
“Then you will see me again.”
“Good,” I say, but now I’m uncomfortable thinking impossible thoughts so I turn and walk away.
“Quinn?”
I stop, heart hammering, blood rushing to all the wrong bits and leaving me dizzy in its wake.
“Yes?” I ask, not turning back.
“I’m going to take your mother with me.”
Shock douses the hints of arousal as I whirl.
“You’re what?”
Dugald looks impassive, then the raven cries and comes circling out of the sky to land on the parapet next to him. It tilts its head and stares at me with its glassy black eyes. Implacable, like Dugald.
“I’m taking her to your father,” he says.
“You’re—” I cut myself off and close my eyes.
The loss piles in along with losing Moira but then I’m not losing her really. She’ll be where she belongs and one of the last things I have attention on from the modern world will be handled. My mom and dad will have each other, and they will know I’m safe and happy here.
“When?” I ask.
“She asked to stay for your wedding,” he says.
“You’ve already talked to her? Before me?”
“Aye.”
He doesn’t apologize or explain; Dugald being Dugald I don’t know why I would expect anything different. The raven caws and flaps its wings. When it stops, its beak is partly open and those glassy eyes have more understanding in them than Dugald.
“Okay,” I say, finding acceptance and maybe a hint of gratitude that she’ll get to stay that long. It will give us at least three or four weeks as we’ll not be married until we return to the Highlands. I’ll have to make the most of that time and try to squeeze in the missing years plus all the future ones that I’ve yet to live.
“Goodbye, Quinn. For now.”
When I look over, he’s gone.
ChapterThirty
“Quit fussing, Quinn,”Mom admonishes.
“Ach, listen to yuir mother, lass,” Alesoun says, tugging the strings of the corset even tighter.
“But I cannot breathe,” I say as what I am sure must be the last air in my lungs is forced out and I’m lifted onto my tiptoes by her efforts.
“You’re speaking, you’re breathing,” Alesoun huffs, tugging yet again.
“Hold still, you’ll mess up your hair,” Mom says, grabbing me by my shoulders and enforcing her words.
“Is all of this really necessary?”
“Aye,” Mom and Alesoun say in unison.
