Wings of Morning (10 page)

Myriad pots hung from an iron rack over the worktable, and in a tall, open cupboard, Regan could see chafing dishes, frying pans, graters, mortars and pestles, in addition to piles of plates and platters. Several wooden boxes stacked atop each other on one shelf likely held the eating utensils. A block of wood in the middle of the table contained all the cutting knives.

“I can’t think of aught I’d need that hasn’t been provided,” Regan said, turning her glance back to that of Anne’s. “I’d like verra much, though, to be of any assistance I could in yer household. What with the extra guests, I’d imagine yer staff ’s a bit overtaxed. And I’m no fine lady, though Iain and Mathilda have treated me as one since I first came to them.”

“And so will we, for ye’re their friend and our guest. But yer generous offer’s most appreciated.” Anne laid a hand on her arm. “I could use some help in the garden, though, if ye’re of a mind for a short walk outside. I thought to cut flowers for the high table for this eve’s meal.”

“Och, aye, m’lady.” Regan could barely contain her eagerness to be of help. “And I’d dearly love to see yer garden, as well. Iain has taught me much of the flowers that grow in Balloch’s garden. I’d be verra interested in seeing what kinds ye grow in Kilchurn.”

“Then come, let’s be gone.” Anne turned and, leading the way, hurried across the kitchen to the back door. It opened directly onto the garden.

Regan followed her outside, then halted, taking in the abundance of flower beds and hedges, all radiating from a large round fountain at the center. “Och, it’s so verra beautiful, m’lady.”

“Anne. Pray, call me Anne.”

“What?” Regan wheeled around. “Och, but I couldn’t. It’d be too forward of me.”

“Yet ye call Iain by his given name. How’s it any different?”

The question gave Regan pause. “Well, I suppose there’s not much difference, save that ye’re the Campbell’s wife and all. And I’m . . . I’m not sure who or what
I
am.”

Compassion flared in Anne’s striking eyes. “Iain told me a bit this morn of yer predicament. It must be verra hard, not remembering who ye really are or where ye came from. And yer poor family. They must be beside themselves with worry.”

At mention of her family, Regan felt a twinge of guilt. She’d not willingly cause anyone pain, and especially not those who loved her. But over time and what with the few bits of memory that had returned, she had begun to doubt she had been that much loved, or even missed. It was a terrible observation to broach to anyone, though, and so she hadn’t—and wouldn’t. She felt the certitude, nonetheless, to the marrow of her bones.

“Aye, it’s been verra hard,” she said, looking down. “But living with Mathilda and Iain and being the recipient of their kindness has made it bearable. Indeed, there are times, not being altogether sure of where and from whom I came, that I almost wish I might never know.” Regan lifted her gaze. “It must sound strange, me saying that, but I cannot help but think I’ve never been so happy as I’ve been at Balloch. Or, leastwise, not for a verra long time.”

In spite of herself, her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t mean to sound as if I’m taking advantage of Mathilda and Iain. Truly I don’t. But the longer I’m with them, the harder it becomes to imagine leaving them. I . . . I just care for them so.”

Anne’s grasp on her arm tightened. “Come. Let’s sit for a time and talk. There’s no rush in getting the flowers.”

“A-aye,” Regan whispered, savagely swiping away her tears. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to see me weeping. Especially not Iain.”

They walked down the footpath until they came to a rose arbor just large enough for two people to sit within. Deep enough to hide their presence, it provided the perfect shelter from curious eyes.

“Now, tell me why you’d think anyone would imagine ye’re taking advantage of Mathilda and Iain?” Anne asked as soon as they were both seated. “And why ye wouldn’t want Iain to see ye weep? He’s one of the most tenderhearted men I know, and wouldn’t take offense. Indeed, knowing him, he’d be the first to take ye in his arms and comfort ye.”

Regan sucked in a strangled breath, then proceeded to choke on it. Her face, which she knew had immediately colored at mention of Iain taking her in his arms, only turned the redder with her prolonged bout of coughing. Finally, though, she was able to catch her breath.

“Aye, Iain’s most certainly a tenderhearted man,” she said as she brushed her freshened tears away. “But I’ve been enough of a burden to him in the past weeks and don’t wish to cause him additional distress.” She paused then, reluctant to reveal more of her private thoughts about Iain. Thoughts like how she never wanted to leave him, yet knew she must.

Anne leaned back, a considering look in her eyes. “The way he talked about ye this morn, not to mention how protectively he acted about ye last eve, I’d wager a guess he doesn’t view ye as a burden. Not any burden at all.”

Regan swallowed hard. “He’s but an exceedingly kind man. He’d treat any person in need exactly the same way.”

“Well, to some extent, that
would
be true.” Her hostess smiled. “But I know Iain, and it’s different with ye. Would ye think me too forward to ask ye how ye feel about him?”

Panic seized Regan, and all she could do was stammer. “I . . . I don’t . . . He’s a dear friend . . . And who wouldn’t find him the most wonderful . . . ?” Frustration filled her. “Och, it doesn’t matter how I feel about him! I’m so far beneath him that even to dream of aught more is presumptuous, not to mention a fool’s quest.”

“Yet ye cannot help what yer heart tells ye, can ye?”

The softly couched question drew Regan up short.
Dear, sweet Lord,
she thought.
Anne knows. Och, she knows!

Suddenly, she couldn’t look at her companion. Regan’s head dropped, and she stared down, unseeing, at her lap. “I don’t know why I told ye what I did. I hardly know ye, after all.” She looked up and met Anne’s understanding gaze. “I’d beg ye, though, not to say a word of this to Iain. I’d die of the shame, I would, and it’d ruin what friendship we do have.”

“And why would it ruin it?”

“Because it’d change everything! And . . . and I couldn’t bear his pity.” She reached out and took her hostess’s hands in hers. “Och, please, Anne! I know ye’re first and foremost Iain’s friend, as well ye should be. But it’ll do him no harm not to know this. Indeed, it’d only distress him, not knowing how to act around me anymore. And I couldn’t bear it. If his friendship’s all I’ll ever have, it’s enough.”

“Ah, but there ye’re wrong, my friend. It won’t be enough. It’ll only tear out yer heart in the end, and ye may even come to hate Iain for not returning yer affection.”

“Nay!” Regan shook her head with fierce resolve. “I’ll never hate him. I’ll leave him before I ever let that happen!”

For a long moment, Anne studied her with thoughtful deliberation, then sighed. “Well, this doesn’t concern me at any rate, does it? What will happen between ye and Iain will happen if it’s meant to. But I will say a prayer for ye. That ye find what ye’re truly seeking.”

Once again, similar words rose in her memory, and this time she saw the face of a man of God speaking them. Father . . . Och, his name was on the tip of her tongue! But whatever his name, his words seemed just as cryptic as Anne’s did just now.

“What ye’re truly seeking . . .”

Indeed, what
was
that? Only one thing was becoming increasingly clear. It wasn’t just her memory that had been lost. There was a big, gaping hole in the middle of her chest, the result of something very dear being ripped away.

Regan only wondered if that hole would be filled anew and her life be complete once more when her memory finally did return.

“Ye and I must have a wee talk, and we must do it here and now,” Mathilda Campbell informed her son a week later.

Iain paused to glance up from the document he was poring over in Kilchurn’s large library and eyed his mother with no small amount of exasperation. “And this is something that can’t wait a time, until I discover the information Niall’s asked me to find for him? I’m here to assist him, as any tanist must, ye know, and my days at Kilchurn should be spent in his service, not my own.”

“And since when is Niall some unfeeling despot, driving ye mercilessly from dawn to dusk?” His mother walked around the table, pulled up a chair beside him, took her seat, then met his gaze. “Not to mention, I
am
yer mither, and ye owe me the proper respect.”

“Fine.” With a resigned sigh, Iain rolled up the parchment scroll, retied it with a piece of ribbon, and laid it aside. Then, folding his hands on the tabletop, he looked to her. “Now, what’s so important that ye insist we must speak of it here and now?”

“What else but Regan?”

He eyed her in puzzlement. “And what’s the matter with Regan? Last I saw her, which was just this morn, she looked hale and hearty.”

Mathilda rolled her eyes. “Och, and why is it the man’s always the last to know?”

The first stirrings of unease rippled through Iain. “Know what, Mither? Has her memory returned? Or does something else altogether trouble her?”

She gave a snort of disgust. “Och, aye, something indeed troubles her.
Ye
trouble her.”

“What?” Iain’s gut clenched. “What’ve
I
done? Tell me, and I’ll straightaway seek her out and make amends.”

“And can ye mend a heart that’s fair to breaking over love for ye? If so, ye’re a far better man than any I’ve known in my life.”

His gut did more than clench this time. It twisted, flip-flopped, then did backspins.
Regan loves me? It isn’t possible.

“I think yer imagination’s a wee bit overwrought here, Mither,” he finally found voice to say. “We’re but friends.”

“And is that
yer
feeling for her, or yer perception of how
she
feels for ye?”

Iain opened his mouth to reply, then caught himself before he flung himself unheeding into her trap. A trap he couldn’t escape without either lying or admitting to the true depth of his affection for Regan. And, though he wasn’t ashamed of his growing love for her, the matter was best settled first between them before sharing the news with others.

“This is a private issue between Regan and me, Mither,” he finally ground out.

“Och,” she cried, throwing up her hands. “I knew it. I knew it!”

He sucked in an irritated breath. “Stay out of this, Mither. It’s none of yer affair.”

Mathilda wheeled about in her chair to face him. “Isn’t it? Don’t I love ye both? Indeed, Regan’s like the daughter I never had. And ye tread on dangerous ground here, lad. Ye truly know naught about her. What if she’s already wed? What will ye do then, when her memory finally returns?”

“Do ye think I haven’t thought about that, agonized over such a possibility?”

“Ye must guard yer heart, lad.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I know it’s a difficult thing to do. Regan’s a dear, sweet lass, without a shred of meanness or guile in her. But ye must keep yer distance—for her sake as much as for yers.”

“I
am
trying, Mither,” he cried. “Even knowing, from the first time I saw her, there was something verra special about her. And ye yerself chided me in the beginning for what ye imagined was my rudeness in avoiding her. Yet even then I knew. I knew . . .”

“Knew what, lad?”

“That she was the woman the Lord had chosen for me.”

Mathilda paled. “Nay. That’s but yer heart shaping things to justify what ye want. Ye can’t be certain the Lord has chosen her for ye. Not two years past, ye were madly in love with Anne. Did ye then imagine the Lord had chosen her for ye as well?”

He shot her an exasperated look. “Two years ago, I wasn’t as concerned about what God did or didn’t want for me in my life. Ye know that, Mither.”

“Aye, I do.” She sighed. “Have a care, though, lad. Just because ye now seek to do the Lord’s will doesn’t mean it’s that much easier to know it. And the desires of our hearts can trick us into doing
their
bidding, rather than that of the Lord’s.”

“I’m doing the best I can,” Iain muttered, nearly at the end of his patience. “How long must I wait then for Regan’s memory to return before I can reveal my true feelings to her? Another six months? A year? Five years? And what if her memory never returns? What then?”

“She asked me the same thing, about her memory not returning, as we journeyed here. She wondered what would happen then. She even,” Mathilda added with a chuckle, “offered her services as one of our servants, so distressed was she at continuing to profit from our hospitality, now that she was again physically able.”

“I hope ye told her to banish such thoughts from her head. I’ll not have her repaying us by working as a servant.”

“Aye, I told her. But she’s an honorable lass, and I fear she won’t let the matter lie for long. Indeed, Anne told me that Regan offered to help in Kilchurn’s kitchen the morn after we arrived.”

He cursed softly.

“She’s trying to make a new way for herself,” his mother said. “Though I think she loves us both like family, she also knows we’re
not
her true family. The true family who has apparently made no effort to try and find her. And that hurts her verra much.”