The Ruby Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy) by Katherine Logan Page B

exercise before starting a trial, much as Scott had done before he performed surgery.
    “The summer before I turned twelve—” He stopped, cleared his throat. “—my sister and I were swimming in a loch near our house in the Highlands. My father had tied a swinging rope to a tree. He told us to swing out and drop away from the bank because the roots could catch us. What he said made an impression on me. I can’t say the same for my risk-taking sister.
    “I swung out, dropped, swam back to shore. Kristen climbed on the rope, swung out, dangling with a one-handed hold. Her hand slipped and she dropped too close to shore.” His voice broke.
    Kit knew the memory had swallowed him whole.
    “I waited for her to come back to the surface, but she didn’t. I yelled for my father then I dove in after her, swimming faster than I ever had, but I was too late.” The words burst out in an explosion of breath that sounded like he’d held it inside his lungs for years.
    “Roots entangled her foot. I couldn’t get her loose. I tried, but I couldn’t. I swam up for air.” He gulped in a gasping breath.
    Kit knew his mind swam in the dark water of the loch that had defeated a twelve-year old. She knew because she often swam in a similar kind of dark water.
    “I waved to father then dove again. He reached us and sent me back up for air. I took a deep breath and swam back toward the bottom. By then he was coming up with Kristen in his arms. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes. I should have saved her, but I’d waited too long.”
    Kit touched his arm and felt him shudder. She yearned to hold him, to let him know it wasn’t his fault. But she offered only words that he’d probably heard a thousand times. “You were a child. The accident wasn’t your fault.” How many times had she heard the same words spoken to her in the midst of her grief and guilt?
    “Kristen was a wee lass and my responsibility. Her death was my fault.” He planted his elbows on his knees and dug his thumbs into his eye sockets. “You don’t get over that. You try to outrun the pain, but you can’t shake loose from the roots that tie you up in knots. Eventually, the hurt becomes who you are. You learn to live with it. My mother told me if we didn’t love the people we lose it wouldn’t hurt so much. I’ve learned one thing for sure in thirty years. Loving comes with risks. You make choices based on how much risk you’re willing to take.”
    “Cullen,” Henry hollered from the far side of the ferry. “Need your help.”
    Cullen cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Be right there.” He unfolded his legs and stood.
    Kit watched his pulse beat in his neck. Hers, not surprisingly, mirrored his.
    His slow smile appeared as a warning. “Always know what you’re willing to risk, lass. And, if you decide to jump, stay clear of the roots.”
     
     

Chapter Ten
     
     
    WITHOUT A WATCH, Kit relied on her stomach to tell the hour. Telling time based on the position of the sun was like finding her way around a Super Walmart without aisle signs. Tate abandoned her for some canine pursuit that probably involved food while she stayed put at the riverbank to watch people, one tall person in particular. After Cullen’s heartfelt confession, she understood his over-protectiveness. She couldn’t make any guarantees, but she’d try to be more tolerant.
    Unable to shake loose of the images of a frightened Scottish lad frantically ripping out roots to save his entangled sister, Kit opened her journal and fell into another drawing frenzy. She drew a grown-up, rain-soaked, and bleeding Cullen stuck in thick twining vines, hacking at tendrils with the ragged edge of a sheared-off piece of plank fence.
    “Mrs. MacKlenna.” Adam’s voice calling from over her shoulder barely provoked a ripple in her artistic trance. The pencil swept across the page.
    “Mrs. MacKlenna?” He touched her shoulder with an impersonal tap. “Mrs. MacKlenna.” He