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Ella laughed. “The duke and the vicar can only get away with so much teasing in public these days.”

“Ha! If any two ever pushed the boundaries of acceptability in such things, it is they. After a few months with us all together again, it will be a relief to take my post in the new year.”

Rowena kept her spine straight only by will, pushing away the urge to hug her arms to her stomach. What had she thought? That she would be the oldest of Ella’s friends here this afternoon? Ella already had a childhood friend to keep her company through the end of the year. Rowena would be superfluous.

“Stella is to be a governess.” Ella leaned close, her scarlet curls brushing her shoulder and her brown eyes twinkling. “At least until she can nab herself a wealthy husband.”

Rowena produced the expected grin.

Miss Abbott shook her head. “I believe siblings are a safer topic. Have you any, Lady Rowena?”

“Aye.” A smile slipped out, and her shoulders edged back. “I have now, since my father remarried. Annie—she is eight, and the apple of my eye.”

If not for Annie, would she dread the possibility of a babe more? Probably. But having known the girl since she was four, she well remembered the joy of a wee one cuddled to one’s side. There were worse things than having someone look up into your face as if you were the whole world.

Someone to love. Someone to love
her
. If only she could have such a thing without having to marry Malcolm.

She tugged on the cuffs again and then looked up when a heavy feeling settled. The duke watched her. He still stood on the far side of the room, his mother no longer by his side. No suspicion seemed to shadow his eyes, no outright question in them like so many of the others were sending her. And yet as his gaze remained latched upon her, she had the distinct feeling that he was peering into her very soul.

Her shoulders rolled forward, and she focused on Ella’s expressive hands, gesturing as she spoke to Miss Abbott. She should have told Elspeth to come without her today. Much as she yearned for the chance for a true friend again, it was hardly worth the scrutiny of all these strangers who found her lacking.

All these strangers who seemed to see down to the gaping hole inside.

Five

L
ilias peeked into the chamber from behind a massive tapestry that concealed the hidden access. Voices lifted and laughed and filled the cavernous great room. It was strange to hear English intonations rather than the Highland speech that the earl usually surrounded himself with. Strange to peek out and see peers instead of lairds.

The Kinnaird had seen fit to wear his charm tonight. A rare occasion, but when he pulled it out, he could make friends with the very stones of Castle Kynn, so compelling was his smile. He had exchanged only a few words with the duchess—Lilias couldn’t hear the conversation from her hiding place, but the lips she read indicated an acknowledgment of many years gone by, many lessons learned, and condolences given.

Lady Charlotte Brice may have believed him when she was a girl. But Lilias had a feeling Charlotte, Duchess of Nottingham, wasn’t fooled for a moment.

Now the Kinnaird was with the duchess’s son. The duke. Rowena’s best hope of deliverance. The young man stood with relaxed shoulders, surely not feeling a trap being set. He smiled, he laughed, he responded to his host with ease.

He was more handsome than Malcolm—Lilias hadn’t been able to tell that from the distance at which she had seen him before. About the same age, the same coloring, similar height. He was lither, though, not so bulking and broad. And kinder.
Please, Lord, let him be kinder
.

Her eyes sought Rowena and found her by the window. The girl stood beside the other young man the duke had brought along—a Mr. Abbott, she had heard them say. He smiled at her, gentle and warm, and said something that looked to be serious. Rowena listened with a tilted head, her attention riveted.

Dinner was called, and Lilias straightened her spine, held her breath, and waited for Douglas to catch her gaze.

He did, and gave a minuscule nod.

Her breath whooshed out, indistinguishable above the chatter of the company. He approved. The plan would move forward.

Lilias scurried through the dark passage and came out on the servants’ stairs, well away from where the family and their guests would be going in to dinner. She had to hurry. Get to the old croft, make sure there was peat enough for a fire and some flint to strike one. A blanket or two tucked away.

Food and water would look odd, though her hands twitched to add some to her basket as she hurried through the bustling kitchen. But no, it wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t be there so long.

Just long enough. That was all.

Had there been any purpose to it, Rowena would have whispered a prayer of thanks. Somehow she’d managed to avoid the too-discerning duke thus far. His friend had ended up by her side instead, and though Elspeth had looked none too pleased, Rowena had known acute relief when she found herself positioned beside Mr. Abbott at dinner.

Rowena breathed in and lifted her fork without the shaking she had feared would possess her. She had been reticent when Mr. Abbott had sidled up to her in the great room and struck up a conversation, but she was glad he had. His presence was easy, calming. His conversation absent flirtation.

She avoided so much as looking at Nottingham, seated across from her. His greeting a half hour before had been another comment about her silver eyes that had made her focus them resolutely on the floor. She didn’t want to see the way he took her measure with his every glance, leaving no choice but for him to find her lacking.

At least her evening gown, though disastrously out of mode beside Ella’s, required gloves to cover the yellow-green bruises. She turned to Mr. Abbott again. “Ye mentioned a church ye’ll be taking over in the new year. Where is it? Near your home?”

“I’m afraid not.” But he smiled, eyes gleaming. “Bristol. Very near, as it were, to Ashley Down—the orphanage begun by George Müller. I was beside myself when I learned this. Mr. Müller has long been one of my heroes of the faith. His story is, in part, what inspired me to join the church.”

Rowena frowned. “Forgive me, but I’m unfamiliar with him.”

“Ah.” Eyes lighting still more, he leaned in. “He was a missionary who made it a point to live very meanly, on nothing but prayer and faith, trusting the Lord to provide. Truly inspiring—he would even praise the Lord for an empty plate, saying it was but an opportunity for the Lord to fill it.”

Rowena focused on the plate set before her. Rimmed in gold leaf, filled with food she’d scarcely touched. She had never wanted, not when it came to those things. But what about the other empty places in one’s life? An empty heart? An empty soul? “I daresay this Mr. Müller had many stories to tell of the Lord’s provision.” Men beloved by God always did.

Not like her. The Lord never bothered with the likes of her.

His smile was light, unburdened. “We all do, if we open our eyes to it. He is always directing us toward our better good. Sometimes that means trials, but they will lead us to the place where He knows we need to be. And He will always be there beside us, if we but let Him in.”

She set her gaze on her plate again. If only it were true. But though her plate was full, her life was empty. Worse—broken, in a shambles. She had nothing left of her heart to offer anyone, even God. What her Father hadn’t bruised, what her mother hadn’t taken with her to the grave, what society hadn’t trampled on, Malcolm had destroyed.

“It’s settled, then.” Father’s voice boomed over the table, drawing all eyes to his face. He smiled, as he had been doing all evening. Why did it strike such fear in her heart? “We should have just enough daylight left after the meal to venture out and see it—and with any luck, the rain will hold off until dusk.”

Rowena slid her fork soundlessly onto the table. She had missed something but dared not ask for clarification.

Mr. Abbott could apparently manage the question without any words. Perhaps he and the duke had a language unto themselves, for a mere glance had Nottingham smiling and saying, “There is a druid cairn nearby. Lochaber has offered to show it to us.”

“Well, the gentlemen, at least.” How strange the warm smile looked on Father’s face. “I daresay the ladies would prefer not to tramp through the countryside in their gowns just to see a few standing stones.”

Rowena’s heart sank. She loved tramping to the circle, evening gown or not.

“Oh, but I’d love to see it!” Ella’s eyes were wide and compelling. “Could we not ride there?”

Father managed a look, somehow, that came off as regretful but not condescending. “There isna path enough for a vehicle. Horses can make the trek, but I’ve never kent a lady to want to ride in evening dress.”

Mischief—the exact same shade as it had been a decade ago—sparkled in Ella’s eyes. “Sometimes exceptions must be made. Mightn’t we go, Mama? It is hardly fair that Brice and Abbott get to while we twiddle our thumbs.”

Elspeth sipped at her wine. “Or we could plan an outing for tomorrow, with the whole company.”

“I’m afraid we already have plans for tomorrow.” The duchess dabbed her lips and sent her daughter a small smile. “Perhaps we could borrow more sensible shoes, at least. It
is
a remarkable place. I would have taken you years ago, my dears, but I could never remember the path.”

Father’s hand landed on the table, loud enough to draw attention again. Yet, again, without his usual temper. He smiled. “Then if I might be rude and hurry everyone along—we havena
that
much daylight to work with. We’ll hurry out and then come back for sherry and dessert and some pipe music in the great room. I’ve a man, McCloud, who can play the very fairies from their hiding . . .”

A trill of exhilaration coursed through Rowena’s veins. She couldn’t remember the last time her father had played such a gracious host, couldn’t remember ever joining other people her own age on a spontaneous outing. Perhaps it was old hat to Ella, and even to Miss Abbott, but Rowena could scarcely eat for the excitement of it.

Perhaps for just this one evening, she could put aside thoughts of empty places and act like a normal young lady—off on an adventure, small as it may be, with friends.

Everyone tucked into their food with enough speed that the cook would no doubt be offended when she was told of it, and then they rushed from the table. Elspeth took charge of the women, hurrying them all along to change from their slippers. Minutes later they were all in jackets, boots, and warmer gloves.

And then the crisp autumn air surrounded her, and Rowena squeezed happily into the small, open carriage alongside Elspeth, the duchess, Ella, and Miss Abbott. The men were all mounting horses, her father leading the way toward the cairn. They would only be able to ride so far before they would have to get out and walk, but starting out this way would save a few precious minutes of daylight.

“What is the legend of this one, then?” Ella bounced a bit on her seat, eyes wide and bright upon Rowena. “Men turned to stones? Giants who offended the fairies? Maidens who danced awry?”

“The standing stones are but markers, perhaps ceremonial.” Elspeth’s tone, factual and precise, clashed against Ella’s obvious desire for a romantic tale. “Then at the center is a sunken cairn with portal stones—a burial chamber, no doubt.”

Leave it to Elspeth to strip the tale of all its mystery.

Rowena ignored her stepmother and leaned toward her friend. “They say that if ye tread the circle under the light of the full moon, ye’ll hear the fairies piping a mournful tune. For it is a prince buried there, one who had always paid them homage, and to whom they had promised the crown. But treachery found him, and he was slain on that verra spot, his blood soaking in and turning the sandstone to its rusty color.”

Ella made a show of shivering. “Oh, perfect! When is the full moon?”

The countess sighed. “Not for another week.”

Ella sighed too, but it sounded entirely different than Elspeth’s had. “Ah, well. It seems we’d have no light from the moon tonight, in any case, so unless the fairies would pipe to the rain . . .”