Page 16 of Return to Clan Sinclair
Ceana halted outside Macrath’s library.
What were they discussing? Something they evidently didn’t want Virginia to know.
She was instantly annoyed on her sister-in-law’s behalf. Such behavior reminded her of her brothers-in-law. They, too, were set on proscribing behavior—hers—and ensuring any choice was taken from her.
Her brother was the most obstinate person she’d ever known, which turned out to be great training for handling three Irish brothers-in-law. Now she wanted to enter his library and demand he tell Virginia whatever it was he was trying to hide.
His next words kept her silent and in place.
“I can’t abide the idea of Virginia being frightened.”
What on earth was he talking about?
They shouldn’t have left the door ajar. Nor should she have such a curious nature. She really should leave, pretend she hadn’t heard anything and go to the gazebo, her original destination this morning.
How was she supposed to un-hear what she had heard?
“You know your wife better than I, Macrath, but Virginia doesn’t strike me as the type of person to be frightened by a threat. Instead, I would imagine she would go after him herself.”
Macrath laughed. “You might be right. Still, it’s my duty to protect her. And I don’t want her knowing.”
“I’ll accede to your wishes, but I think knowing about the threat, your wife would be better equipped to handle it.”
“On this we’re just going to have to disagree.”
From the sound of Macrath’s voice, he was moving closer to the door. She scuttled backward, entered the hallway and made her way out the back of Drumvagen.
The passage of years hadn’t softened her brother’s obstinacy. If she went to Macrath and ask, he’d simply refuse to tell her. Nor could she, in all good conscience, go to Virginia and tell her what she’d overheard. Doing so would be in direct violation of Macrath’s wishes.
No, she needed to get Mr. Preston alone and find out what was going on at Drumvagen.
Bruce had been warned about Scottish weather, but so far he hadn’t found it appreciably different from his Massachusetts home. Scottish winters couldn’t be any more deadly than one accompanied by a frigid wind off the Atlantic. Still, he hoped to be home by the time of the first snow, a thought that would have pleased him a week ago. When had it changed?
He stopped on the path, surprise keeping him still. Ceana was sitting in the gazebo, her attention on something he couldn’t see. He could circumvent the structure and continue on to the village or make his presence known.
Since she’d been on his mind since the night before, he veered off the path and headed for the gazebo.
He stood at the steps, his hands on either side of the columns.
“Since I’ve told you about my wife, it’s only fair you tell me about your husband.”
“Is it?”
She’d been gazing at a letter. She looked up, regarding him somberly, her deep blue eyes mysterious and captivating.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I’ll leave you to your letter.”
“I have no intention of reading it,” she said, holding the envelope up for him to see. “It’s from Ireland. No doubt one of my brothers-in-law fussing at me. I didn’t get permission before I left, you see.”
“Why did you need permission?”
She sighed. “I’m my husband’s widow.” She looked off into the distance. “Peter’s been dead for three years,” she said. “Most people normally don’t mention him, as if doing so erases my grief. Was it the same for you?”
“Yes. You loved him very much.”
“Yes. And your wife?”
“The same. How did he die?”
