had turned on me and harmed me, I knew neither Michael nor Will would have been able to forgive themselves. And it would have been my fault.
Michael inhaled deeply, pressing his hands into the smooth slab of oak so hard that it jostled the glasses and decanters lined up along its surface, making them tinkle and clatter. I braced for whatever reprimand was coming.
“I have
never
. . . seen Will react that way.” His voice was soft with bafflement. He shook his head. “Not with anyone.” Pushing away from the sideboard, he turned to look at me. “How did you know he wouldn’t hurt you?”
“I . . . I didn’t,” I admitted. “But . . .” I swallowed around the dryness in my throat. “It seemed logical that as long as I didn’t alarm him or try to force him to stop drawing, he wouldn’t be upset. I’m much the same way, you see.” I offered him a weak smile. “When I’m immersed in a painting, I don’t note the servants coming or going with trays of food—left untouched because I don’t recognize my own hunger or thirst.” I laughed nervously. “Sometimes I don’t think I would notice if my studio caught fire. Only the passing of daylight captures my attention, because once it’s too dark to see I have to light lamps in order to continue.”
“Are all artists like that?”
“No,” I admitted, hating to squash his hopes. “I’m a bit . . . eccentric.” That was the word my grandmother had taught me to use many years ago.
“But is it possible . . .”
I shook my head, cutting him off. “Will was never like that before.”
He nodded and turned his face toward the wall.
“How does he usually come out of these trances?” Philip asked.
“Sometimes he just all of a sudden stops and blinks his eyes, like he’s waking up from a deep slumber. Other times he tires himself out and falls asleep. But he’s never come out of it with the help of someone else before.”
I looked up from my examination of the rug below my feet to find Michael studying me in silent contemplation. I didn’t have to glance at my brother-in-law or Gage to know they were scrutinizing me in much the same way.
“It’s not really so surprising,” I said defensively, wrapping my arms tighter around me. “He wasn’t likely to feel threatened by a female. And I didn’t demand anything of him.” I ran the toe of my slipper over a burr in the rug. “I was just letting him know I was there.”
“We know, Kiera.” Philip rested a hand on my shoulder in a gesture meant to reassure me. “Ye did well.”
But I could tell that something I had said had bothered Michael. Had I not been looking him in the eyes as I spoke I might have missed it, but I had seen the flicker of emotion, the flinch that had tightened his shoulders before being masked. His gaze had slid away from mine and fixed on the point where the rug met the floorboards. I frowned, confused by his reaction.
“It’s late,” Philip declared, seemingly unaware of the change in his friend’s demeanor. “If there’s nothin’ else pressing, perhaps we should continue this conversation in the morn.”
Michael cleared his throat. “Of course.”
Philip rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw wearily. “I’ll speak to my aunt and Caroline then, and we’ll try to sort everything out. But I canna promise ye anything. Ye did lie to them, Dalmay. And it might be best for all involved if there was some distance between ye for the time bein’. The engagement need not be so hastily broken, but a little space and reflection are not unwarranted.”
Michael nodded, having not raised his gaze through this entire speech. “I understand. My thanks, Cromarty.”
Philip joined me in my study of our friend’s down-turned head, but did not comment further. “Come along, Kiera.” He pressed a firm hand to the small of my back, guiding me toward the door.
I glanced over my shoulder at Michael, and then Gage, just before Philip steered me through
Michael inhaled deeply, pressing his hands into the smooth slab of oak so hard that it jostled the glasses and decanters lined up along its surface, making them tinkle and clatter. I braced for whatever reprimand was coming.
“I have
never
. . . seen Will react that way.” His voice was soft with bafflement. He shook his head. “Not with anyone.” Pushing away from the sideboard, he turned to look at me. “How did you know he wouldn’t hurt you?”
“I . . . I didn’t,” I admitted. “But . . .” I swallowed around the dryness in my throat. “It seemed logical that as long as I didn’t alarm him or try to force him to stop drawing, he wouldn’t be upset. I’m much the same way, you see.” I offered him a weak smile. “When I’m immersed in a painting, I don’t note the servants coming or going with trays of food—left untouched because I don’t recognize my own hunger or thirst.” I laughed nervously. “Sometimes I don’t think I would notice if my studio caught fire. Only the passing of daylight captures my attention, because once it’s too dark to see I have to light lamps in order to continue.”
“Are all artists like that?”
“No,” I admitted, hating to squash his hopes. “I’m a bit . . . eccentric.” That was the word my grandmother had taught me to use many years ago.
“But is it possible . . .”
I shook my head, cutting him off. “Will was never like that before.”
He nodded and turned his face toward the wall.
“How does he usually come out of these trances?” Philip asked.
“Sometimes he just all of a sudden stops and blinks his eyes, like he’s waking up from a deep slumber. Other times he tires himself out and falls asleep. But he’s never come out of it with the help of someone else before.”
I looked up from my examination of the rug below my feet to find Michael studying me in silent contemplation. I didn’t have to glance at my brother-in-law or Gage to know they were scrutinizing me in much the same way.
“It’s not really so surprising,” I said defensively, wrapping my arms tighter around me. “He wasn’t likely to feel threatened by a female. And I didn’t demand anything of him.” I ran the toe of my slipper over a burr in the rug. “I was just letting him know I was there.”
“We know, Kiera.” Philip rested a hand on my shoulder in a gesture meant to reassure me. “Ye did well.”
But I could tell that something I had said had bothered Michael. Had I not been looking him in the eyes as I spoke I might have missed it, but I had seen the flicker of emotion, the flinch that had tightened his shoulders before being masked. His gaze had slid away from mine and fixed on the point where the rug met the floorboards. I frowned, confused by his reaction.
“It’s late,” Philip declared, seemingly unaware of the change in his friend’s demeanor. “If there’s nothin’ else pressing, perhaps we should continue this conversation in the morn.”
Michael cleared his throat. “Of course.”
Philip rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw wearily. “I’ll speak to my aunt and Caroline then, and we’ll try to sort everything out. But I canna promise ye anything. Ye did lie to them, Dalmay. And it might be best for all involved if there was some distance between ye for the time bein’. The engagement need not be so hastily broken, but a little space and reflection are not unwarranted.”
Michael nodded, having not raised his gaze through this entire speech. “I understand. My thanks, Cromarty.”
Philip joined me in my study of our friend’s down-turned head, but did not comment further. “Come along, Kiera.” He pressed a firm hand to the small of my back, guiding me toward the door.
I glanced over my shoulder at Michael, and then Gage, just before Philip steered me through
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