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‘The what?’
‘This rock is called Devil’s Seat.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘You are good at stories—hazard a guess.’
Her eyes lit with interest and she snuggled a little deeper on to the rock.
‘Did you sit here as a child?’
‘Yes, but I am sorry to disappoint you, it was named that before I was born so you cannot lay that at my doorstep. Besides, I was usually a rather well-behaved boy.’
‘In my experience anything that must be qualified with both “usually” and “rather” is suspect. That leaves me to infer that occasionally you were a rather horridly ill-behaved boy.’
‘I had my moments. Rather fewer than Jamie, but perhaps that is only my memory.’
‘Well, if it is any consolation, I find that it is not in the least healthy for children to be perfectly behaved. It is usually a sign something is very wrong.’
He climbed up as well and sat on the boulder slightly beneath her. Her hands rose again towards her hair, but fell away, fisting. He repressed his smile as well as the temptation to tell her looking dishevelled suited her. If he did, she would probably have her hair back into its bun before he could blink.
‘Why is it a sign something is wrong?’ he prompted.
‘Sometimes when children do not feel secure they are less likely to risk displeasure. They become...watchful, careful. Sometimes they do the opposite—they become thorough hellions because they gain attention only when they are horrid.’
‘What were you like as a child?’ he asked, trying not to show his discomfort at his visceral reaction to her words.
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you. I presume you were not conjured fully grown by a magician with a penchant for pixies in grey gowns.’
‘Pixies?’
‘You remind me of a pixie.’
‘Really? Scots must have a very different notion of pixies, then. I always thought they were rather mischievous and...appealing.’
‘My notion is wholly English and that is very accurate. But you are evading my question.’
She turned towards the sea, tucking her fluttering hair behind her ears.
‘Happy. I was happy.’
He waited and after a moment she sighed.
‘It seems so long ago. I wish I could go back. Or I wish my father hadn’t died and we could have stayed in Upper Dunstable.’
‘What was it like?’
‘It wasn’t a large village, much smaller than Lochmore, just a couple dozen houses, but we were like a family. My father was also schoolmaster and the vicarage was always full of children. My mother was quite ill when I was young. I think that was why she never had more children and she loved having the house full with all our friends. Whenever someone could not be found they came to the Vicarage, knowing they would probably be there in the parlour or in the kitchen. Mama and Mrs Dell, our cook, were friendly rivals when it came to baking and they would spend hours trying the new recipes brought by Mrs Flitwick, the grocer’s wife.’
‘Your Mrs Dell must have been quite tolerant. I wouldn’t dare infringe on Mrs Merry’s domain.’
She laughed, the tumbling joyous sound that had struck him as so unlike the image she portrayed, but now it suited her, with her tangled hair glistening from the sea spray and her hands sweeping in wide gestures.
‘Neither would I, even if I had Mama’s penchant for baking.’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Not a smidgen, I’m afraid. I did try, but I was so hopeless they banished me to help Papa in the schoolroom. I would forget to mind the time or add too much salt or confuse rosemary with thyme. Hopeless. Mama said it was because I was always daydreaming and not attentive enough.’
‘Strange. You appear a pattern card of sober efficiency.’
‘I learned to stop dreaming. It is not that difficult to be efficient. It merely requires some determination.’
‘Do you not dream any more, then?’
‘Are you afraid I might neglect Jamie if I do?’
‘No. I merely hope for your sake that you have not forgotten how. That would be a pity.’
She dragged her hair into a semblance of a bun and secured it with the pins in her lap. It was lopsided and did nothing to contain the tendrils dancing about her face. Her mouth flattened, draining of animation; but not her eyes—they were damp and not from the sting of the wind. He didn’t know whether to apologise for raising old dreams or to tuck her against him and soothe her. Neither was appropriate.
