Page 22 of The Moonstone Major
“I won’t.” Did she not understand he lived for every moment he could touch her? “You had better keep that foot rested so you don’t look like a frog hopping to a waltz.”
“The dance is still a month away. I’ll be fine by then.”
“Not if you fail to give your injury sufficient time to heal.” He glanced at his own lame leg. “I know from experience.”
“Join us for supper,” Cormac said before he could make it off the terrace.
There was an undertone of command in that request. Fionn knew he had to accept the invitation even though every moment in Chloe’s presence would now be torture for him.
Well, when was it not?
He shook his head. “Thank you, Lord Burness. I shall return later.”
He strode out before any other requests were made of him.
His leg felt stiff, and he now limped noticeably with every stride. He had taken a hard fall when saving Chloe and now felt the aches deep in his muscle and into his bone.
Although he strode out, he did not immediately return to town. He was curious about what Imogen had said to him the other day. Was his slight resemblance to the Moonstone Cottage ghost significant? After all, he had felt drawn to the sea captain for some reason. Was it possible he did have a connection to the man?
It would explain why he felt compelled to squander his entire bequest on a year’s rental.
He rode over to the cottage.
“Major Brennan, we did not expect to see you today,” Mr. Hawke, the cottage’s groundskeeper, said, running forward to take his horse as he dismounted. “My wife hasn’t prepared any meals for—”
“I did not mean to impose, Mr. Hawke. I won’t be staying long. Just hold on to Sophocles for me.” Fionn handed over the reins of his bay gelding. The horse was standard army issue, bred for strength and durability. Nor did Sophocles actually belong to him. Horse and rider were merely assigned to each other.
In time, he hoped to save enough of his wages to purchase him outright. He had nothing of his own, not a blessed thing.
He walked into the cottage and emitted a long, shattered breath.
It was a beautiful place. He would never earn enough in two lifetimes to afford purchasing it.
The viscount, however, could pay for it out of his pocket change.
Fionn emitted another breath, suddenly finding his situation quite hopeless. He had no family and no assets other than the small inheritance he had just blown on letting this cottage for the year.
How could he ever declare himself to Chloe?
He climbed the stairs and entered the large bedroom that would be his for the coming year. The portrait of Captain Arundel was hanging where it always had been, on the inner wall. He came to stand before it and stared into the captain’s eyes. “Are we related?”
Of course, the portrait did not answer him.
He shook his head and left.
The day was hot, and the stifling breeze now felt damp as he rode back into town. Constable Angel waved to him from across the street and hurried toward him as he was about to enter the fort and climb the steps to his office.
The stone fortification erected sometime in the thirteenth century was situated near the harbor and overlooked it. The massive building was like a rabbit warren, with lots of passageways shooting off in every direction and leading one to the general sleeping quarters, kitchen, larder, offices, map room, dining hall, or armory.
The fortress was ancient but the stone walls kept the place cool at night, which was a blessing in the summer. The enormous hearths to be found in almost every room spread heat throughout the place in winter.
His office was of decent size, as were the meeting room and map room just off it. The officers’ quarters were just beyond the map room. His was largest, since he was commanding officer, but even his quarters were still too small for more than one person to comfortably occupy.
He waited for Constable Angel to reach his side. “Anything new to report, Mr. Angel?”
“Yes, Major Brennan. We’ve found the culprit.”
Fionn’s heart raced with anticipation. “Who is it?”
