Chapter Thirteen #2
Lyssa didn’t know quite how to take his remarks. As with Anice, there seemed to be a hidden meaning as if he played some game with her. She didn’t know if she was particularly keen on him.
But then he asked, “Would you like to see the painting?”
Without hesitation, she said, “Yes, very much.”
Ramsey stood and offered his hand. “Then come.”
Lyssa placed her hand in his and came to her feet. Anice also rose and as they started from the room, Ian fell into place beside them. He had his knapsack slung over one shoulder and Lyssa sensed he would rather have his pistol out and ready.
Ramsey glanced at him. “Is he always this tiresome?”
“Yes,” she said proudly and could almost feel Ian grin behind her.
Ramsey led her into a long gallery that took up the rear of the house. The walls had more hunting trophies and the paint was plain. These were family quarters. The windows overlooked Loch Linnhe. Through a window off to the left, she could see rooftops.
“Those are the stables,” Ramsey said, noting where she’d been looking. “You’ve heard of the Davidson Stallion?”
“Yes.”
“Wait until you see him. We’ve had nothing but winners out of our mares, but he is a prize.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
“Have you?” he asked. He took her hand. “I’m flattered my horse’s fame has spread already to London. Or has your father kept a particularly sharp eye on this part of the family?” He gave her fingers a little squeeze.
Lyssa didn’t know what to make of his words or his actions.
She tried to move away, but her cousin kept his firm hold.
She could not pull her hand away without insulting him.
“My father admires fine bloodstock,” she murmured and then changed the subject, “Is that Loch Linnhe?” She attempted to gesture with the hand he held.
The movement was awkward but served to get Ramsey to release his hold.
He smiled good-naturedly. He knew what she’d been about. “Yes, it is. There is a cliff there. Not steep, but one should be cautious all the same.”
“Why?” she asked. “Has someone gone off it?”
Anice answered, “Over the years we’ve lost a person or two.”
Lyssa looked out at the smooth water beyond the cliff and did not feel comfortable.
“Come,” Ramsey said and steered her toward a sitting room off the gallery. It was so small it only held a desk and two chairs. The walls were paneled and Lyssa could imagine the lady of the house using this room to make out her menus and list of chores for the week.
Above the desk hung the portrait.
The moment Lyssa set eyes on it, she could not speak. This was her mother as she’d never known her. This was the woman her father had fallen in love with, and Lyssa understood why.
Her mother’s skin was the color of rich cream, her eyes a laughing, sparkling blue. Lyssa remembered how, before her mother had become so terribly ill, their house had been full of her laughter.
In the portrait, her mother’s hair was a rich auburn.
She sat beneath a spreading oak. Over her shoulder, she wore the Davidson plaid, much like Lyssa’s own, and behind her stood a horse as silvery white as the moon.
Gealach. Her grandfather had placed in this picture everything of value to his clan—its pride and its beauty.
The wave of homesickness caught Lyssa off guard. She leaned over the desk as if wanting to see beyond the artist’s brushstrokes. In truth, she was moved to tears by how much she missed her mother.
Her trip was worth all the danger and hardship for this one moment. This was what she’d come looking for—a glimpse of her mother. Of her past. Of what might have been and was no more.
When her mother had died, she’d mourned as only a child can…but she hadn’t realized truly all that she’d lost. Her father had moved on. She couldn’t. There was no replacing her mother in her life. She’d lost the wisdom, the concern, the care…the understanding.
And no matter how long she lived, this void in her life would not be filled. Her mother’s love was irreplaceable.
But that didn’t mean she was betraying her mother’s memory by not stepping forward with her own life.
Sinking into the chair at the desk, Lyssa folded her hands and let the tears flow. They rolled down her cheeks and she didn’t bother to wipe them away.
She sensed Ramsey and Anice withdrawing as if embarrassed by her emotion. Ian moved closer and she welcomed his strength. If they were in private, she might have even reached for his hand.
“If you’d like, I’ll give you the portrait,” Ramsey offered.
“You would?” Lyssa said, looking up at him. “I would be ever so grateful. I would even pay for it.”
Ramsey knelt beside her chair and Ian was forced back. “I could not accept money from you, beautiful cousin.” He spoke in a low voice but she knew his words were heard by everyone…and there was the warmth of male interest in them.
She was too grateful to care. “Thank you. You cannot imagine what this means to me.”
“We’ve all lost someone or something in our lives and this is a fitting gift.” He stood. “Now, come. Dinner will be served in two hours and we still haven’t taken you to your room to freshen up. I’m certain Birdy has seen to your luggage.”
“I have no luggage,” she confessed and then relying Ian’s earlier lie she said, “It was stolen when we were attacked.” She could have told the truth. She didn’t.
Ramsey shook his head. “How fortunate you are to be alive.”
“Yes,” Lyssa agreed.
Turning to their cousin, he said, “Anice, do you have a dress that would fit Lyssa?”
“I’m certain I do. I shall have one or two sent to your room.”
“Thank you, coz,” Lyssa said and meant the words.
Her earlier foreboding had evaporated. In fact, she thought she’d been rather silly.
She took her cousins’ hands and, in an effort to make amends, said, “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to be here…
and for this moment with the portrait.” Tears threatened to overwhelm her again.
She forced them back. “I’d forgotten so much.
If you will excuse me, I would like to go to my room.
” She needed a moment alone to compose herself.
“Of course,” Anice said and shepherded Lyssa out into the gallery, directing her toward a back staircase.
Ian started to follow but Ramsey stepped in his path. “I’ll have Birdy take your bodyguard to the servants’ quarters.”
Lyssa stopped. “No.”
“No?” Ramsey turned as if surprised she would countermand him.
“I mean, my father wants him close to me.”
Ramsey’s eyebrows rose speculatively.
Lyssa met his gaze squarely. “He is my bodyguard, cousin. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“I didn’t mean to imply an impropriety,” Ramsey answered, and heat rose to Lyssa cheeks.
“I’m certain you didn’t.”
For a second, she thought Ramsey was going to push the issue. Instead, he said, “Anice, have Birdy put the bodyguard in the White Room.”
“Come,” Anice said. “I’ll show you both to your rooms.” She started up the stairs and there was nothing left for Lyssa to do but follow, Ian at her heels.
The first floor where the bedrooms were located was a long stone corridor. The carpet down the center of the hall was practically threadbare. The walls were obviously thick and not a sound seemed to travel through the house. The whole effect was positively medieval.
Halfway down the hall, Anice stopped at a room and opened the door, motioning Lyssa through.
The room was done in shades of blue and bur-gundy in a style that had long since passed.
The furniture was heavy and ornate and the bed curtains seemed to have been hanging for a century or more, because the dust was still there.
Yet the sheets appeared to have been changed and there was hot water in the pitcher on the washstand and clean towels.
Lyssa nodded her pleasure. “This is very nice.”
“I thought you would like it. This room was your mother’s,” Anice answered. “I hope you will be comfortable. I’ll have my maid bring the dresses for you, and perhaps a pair of slippers? We seem to be of the same size.”
“I would appreciate them,” Lyssa answered. “And a bath, if it would not be too much trouble.”
“Of course not,” Anice answered.
Lyssa noticed that Ian was looking around the room as if expecting danger lurking in the corners. “Where is Mr. Campion’s room from here?”
“The White Room is at the top of the front stairs,” her cousin said. “He should be comfortable and close. If you’ll follow me, Mr. Campion?” She went through the door.
Shouldering his ever present knapsack, he followed Anice out, but before he shut the door behind him, he whispered, “Be watchful.”
Lyssa nodded. He left and she was alone in her mother’s room. Lyssa tossed her plaid on the bedspread, crossed to the window, and opened the drapes. Her room overlooked the back lawn and Loch Linnhe. She didn’t hesitate to try to open the windows; she wanted the fresh air.
They didn’t open easily and she had to put her shoulder to the task, but she accomplished it.
For a moment, she enjoyed the breeze while looking at the stables, surprised at how well she could see them from this angle.
Stable lads were busy with their chores.
There must have been ten horses being walked or exercised, but she did not see a gray stallion.
Closer to the house, she noticed Birdy talking to three burly tenants.
She hoped they were discussing work to be done in the gardens.
The yards could be quite charming with a bit of planning.
Perhaps she could suggest some ideas to Ramsey over dinner—because she was going to stay for a while.
Her earlier doubts had vanished. She needed to be here.
Her hand on the windowsill, she turned and surveyed the room, and felt a sense of belonging.
A knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” she called, expecting Anice’s maid.
Instead, Ian entered, his knapsack still over his shoulder. He carefully closed the door behind him. “We must get out. Now.”
“Why?”
“Can’t you feel it?” he said with surprise. “Something is not right. I don’t trust your cousins. I don’t like any of this.”