Page 68 of Her Highland Prophecy
“Ye feel verra strongly about this,” Gordain observed. Her face was flushed from her impassioned defense of his sisters and her hands were balled into fists.
She relaxed slightly, but he could see that something was still bothering her.
“My Father was the same way,” she admitted after a moment. “When my Mom got sick they didn’t tell us. Grace was very young, but I was already a teenager, but even so, both of us knew that something was wrong. They kept quiet about the doctor’s coming in and out to see her, the treatment they tried to give her, but we knew.”
“What happened?” he asked.
“There was a sickness that year that killed millions of people all over the world. My mother got it, but thankfully no one else in our family fell ill. They didn’t want to tell us. We wouldn’t be allowed to go see her in fear that we would get ill as well, and they did not want us to panic. Many, many people we knew had already died that year.”
“That sounds awful, Princess,” Gordain said, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“It was a difficult time for everyone, but we made it through it,” she said. “But it’s how I know you shouldn’t keep things from your sisters. They will suspect that something is going on and your silence will hurt even more than the bad news you have to share with them.”
Gordain thought of the letter he had given to Tamas to figure out its origin. It was not the same, he told himself. Diana would be leaving soon, and it would not affect her at all.
“Let’s go talk to me sisters,” he said, picking her up gently from the bed and placing her on the ground.
She beamed at him.
What he wouldn’t do for more of those smiles.
25
The next morning dawned too early for Diana’s liking. The sun rising over the horizon heralded the beginning of her last day in Sutherford Castle. The last day she would spend in the company of people she had come to consider close friends, even in the short time she had had with them.
She cringed a little at the thought of what the day would bring. Goodbyes had never been her forte, especially when the other person didn’t know she was even saying goodbye to them.
But first, there was something else she had to do.
She dressed herself carefully, donning the nicest of the three dresses that she had acquired and arranging her hair as neatly as she could without the help of a mirror. She had become somewhat of an expert on getting the old-fashioned garments on and off, and she was excited to share her findings with her fellow history enthusiasts when she returned to the future.
When she was as presentable as she thought she could be she walked down the familiar corridor and knocked on a door that she had only been through once before.
“Enter,” the deep voice of the Laird of the Clan said. With one last deep breath she did as he asked, steeling her nerves as she did so. She had never been one for confrontation and the Laird’s anger toward her and Gordain the last time they were in that room still burned in her mind.
“Miss Huntington,” the Laird greeted with surprise as she entered the still dark chamber. “I was not expecting to see ye this morning. Are ye and me son not leaving for Ballachulish?”
Diana flinched at the sound of her name. No one had called her that since the first night she had stayed at the Castle. Most people either called her Diana or Mistress and it sounded odd to hear it now.
“We are,” she answered the Laird’s question. “But I had something I would like to speak with you about before we go.”
The Laird’s eyebrows went up and he indicated the chair across from him for her to sit.
“Verra well,” he said when he was settled. “Whisky?” he offered. She shook her head, but he poured himself a small glass from the bottle sitting on the small table between them.
He took a sip, closing his eyes as he did so and then turned to look at her.
“Now, what do ye need of me that ye couldnae say to me Son.”
“Why do you think I haven’t spoken to Gordain about it?” she asked.
“Why would ye be here if ye had? Gordain would just tell me himself it he kent what ye wanted.”
It was a logical deduction. Truthfully, she had not spoken to him about what she was about to do because she didn’t want him to know at all. Let him believe that it was his father instead of her.
“You’re right,” she said. “I have something to tell you and I would like for you to not tell him if possible.”
The Laird sat back in his seat, his eyes looking her over with intrigue.
