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In shock, Sabrina shook her head, unable to voice any of the tangle of thoughts beating against her except the inane, “His name is Daigh, not Lazarus.”
A stony remoteness entered Daigh’s expression as if his humanity had been obliterated. And she knew at last how and why he’d ended in the sea. The lengths he would go to gain what he saw as his only peace.
“No, Sabrina. Not Daigh. Nor Lazarus. My true name is lost. As am I.”
“May I come in?”
Sabrina looked up from the hearth where she knelt before one of Aunt Delia’s floral scented fires, feeding journal pages to the purple flames. Lady Kilronan’s pixie face peered at her around the corner of the bedchamber door. Her first visitor since Jane had darted in long enough to give her a fearful and slightly awed look, grasp both her hands, and murmur, “Don’t blame yourself . . . you couldn’t have known, Sabrina. And if he ever comes near you . . .” She drew herself up like Joan facing the English army before slinking away at fresh shouting downstairs.
That had been around noon. It was now—quick check of the clock—eight in the evening. She’d been sequestered for over a day while her fate was argued below in loud, carrying tones.
“Have you been sent up to speak to me about the error of my ways?” she grumbled. “A life lesson from one experienced in these matters?”
A shadow passed over the other woman’s features, giving Sabrina a twinge of guilty conscience. It wasn’t Aidan’s wife’s fault Sabrina’s world had once again come toppling down around her ears. Tears caught in the back of her throat, and she stood in a rush of skirts and apologies. “I’m so sorry. That was ill said, and I didn’t mean it. Really. Come in, my lady.”
She beckoned her sister-in-law into the room with a watery smile.
“It’s Cat. ‘My lady’ sounds horribly stiff. As if we were strangers.”
“Aren’t we?”
“For now. But I hope that one day we may count each other as the best of friends.” She smiled warmly despite Sabrina’s lack of manners. “You’ll be pleased to learn we’ve convinced Aunt Delia you went on a long walk with your maid and two heavyset footmen and lost track of time.” She cocked a glance at Sabrina’s dismembered journal. “Are you certain you want to do that?”
Sabrina fingered the wreckage. Tossed the rest onto the fire. Watched the book blacken and wither. Wished she could erase the events as easily.
“It was a mistake to keep such a diary,” she answered through clenched teeth. “It left me exposed to the worst sort of snooping.”
She dusted off her hands. Ignoring the twinge of pain at losing what had been, until this morning, her truest sanctuary. Not even Jane privy to all that lay within her heart.
She made a conscious effort to take a chair facing away from the fire. Arranged herself carefully. Skirts. Limbs. Fussing over shawl or no shawl. Rearranging the pillow. The candle at her elbow. Anything to forget the journal and the ordeal of having to talk to—of all people—her brother’s wife about it.
“May I sit?” Cat motioned to the chair opposite.
Sabrina shrugged her acceptance. It took effort to fight. “If it’s a choice between you or Aidan ringing a peal over my head, I choose you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Cat pulled a face. “He does have a knack for making one’s fists itch, doesn’t he?” She laughed, and for just a moment, Sabrina had a glimmer of what it might be like to have a sister. Someone besides Jane who, while a bosom friend, wasn’t a part of Sabrina’s family and couldn’t understand the horrible aftermath still rippling outward from that long-ago November day.
She eyed the new Lady Kilronan through downcast lashes. Not the arrogant, dark-eyed frostiness of Helena Roseingrave. Nor the simpering malice of Aunt Delia. Cat had an approachable elegance, a kindness in her face that made Sabrina blush with shame at her earlier unkind opinions. She should have known Aidan wouldn’t marry a title-seeking conniver. He’d far too much sense—and cynicism—for that.
And Sabrina had far too little.
“Forgive me for behaving so badly . . . Cat.” She liked the familiar name upon her lips. “I’ve been an absolute shrew. None of this is your fault. You don’t deserve my vitriol. It’s Aidan who spied on me.”
She fumed just thinking about his violation of her most private thoughts.
“He worried over you,” Cat supplied matter-of-factly. “He didn’t know where you’d gone. Neither Miss Fletcher nor your aunt could offer him any suggestions. Your journal was his last hope.”
“That’s no reason for his trespass.”
Cat sighed. “No, it’s an excuse, and not a very good one. But the only one I have. Aidan loves you. He feels responsible for you. A duty to the only family he has left. And to that end he’d justify almost any action. To him, family is strength. He’s come to see the heirs of Kilronan as a bulwark against the world.”
“Against Máelodor, you mean.”
Cat brushed the charge aside. “Against any hurt. You mayn’t believe it, but Aidan was as rocked by your family’s disintegration as you. He was left alone to pick up the pieces as best he could. Just as you were.”
“He didn’t do too badly. He ended with you.”
Cat grinned. “I was merely serendipity.”
