by Lily Maxton
Theo didn’t need to know everything.
But he did need to know some things. Ian had been right when he’d guessed it would hurt Robert to keep what they were to each other a secret from his family. His siblings were the most important people in the world to him, aside from Ian. And he was able to share in the loves they’d found; he could see them with the partners they’d chosen, the people they loved, and be happy that they were happy.
He wanted that to work both ways.
And if Ian was going to stay on as his brother’s factor, if Robert was going to stay here to be with him, indefinitely…someday they would suspect, anyway. There was no getting around it, unless Robert and Ian left Llynmore, which neither of them wanted to do.
Better, he thought, to tell them now and have it done with.
Ian took his leave of absence—Robert had asked if he’d wanted him to come, but he preferred to face it alone, since he didn’t know what he would find, and Robert acquiesced reluctantly. Before he’d left, though, he’d said Robert should tell his family, if he still wanted to, and he did, even if he was terrified by the prospect.
Out of everyone, Theo was the one he was worried most about. Eleanor, logical, scientific Eleanor, was too enthralled with the vagaries of the natural world to be too surprised by anything she found in human nature. Georgina, uncanny, observant girl that she was…well, he assumed that Georgina already knew, and she hadn’t changed toward him at all.
And Frances—he suspected Frances had more life experience and knew more scandals than all of the Townsends combined—she had been an actress. And some of that had surely rubbed off on Annabel, who’d lived with her for years.
Which left Theo, who loved him, but whose reaction he could not predict.
After days of trying to work up his courage, he found Theo alone in the library, looking through a stack of papers with a ledger spread open in front of him.
It was late afternoon, gold sunlight slanting into the room, gilding everything with a warm hue. It would be a clear night.
“Can I speak with you?” he asked, shutting the door behind him.
His brother glanced up and set the papers aside. He seemed relaxed. There’d been a time when he would have been guarded, a haunted, hunted look behind his eyes. That look would never disappear completely, but it had faded with time until Robert rarely glimpsed it anymore, and he was glad.
Like he’d told Hale, the heart was resilient.
He stepped forward and sat down on the other side of the round table where Theo worked.
“What is it?”
Robert pulse quickened. He’d been hoping to ease into the conversation a little more, but his brother was too blunt and direct to make that easy.
“Well…what are you working on?”
Theo’s brow furrowed. “The accounts for the quarry.”
“Ah. Quarries. Slate. A versatile rock. It’s all quite fascinating, isn’t it?”
Theo looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I suppose.”
Robert set his hand on the table, realized it was trembling, and quickly snatched it back. He felt vaguely ill, his stomach tight and churning. He hadn’t known why he thought he could do this.
Theo, noticing his agitation, asked him what was wrong in the gentle manner of elder brothers everywhere. “What the devil is the matter with you, Robert?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. He didn’t know what he was apologizing for. In an almost detached way, he realized that he was close to tears. Theo was more to him than a brother. In the months immediately after their parents’ deaths, he’d become more like a father, to all of them. He’d held them together, guided them, kept them all from falling apart.
And Robert had to tell him, because not telling him would only grow more and more difficult, a weight crushing his chest slowly. He wanted Theo to share in his happiness—he wanted that, but he didn’t know if he would.
Don’t let me down, he thought desperately. Don’t let my faith in you be misplaced. Don’t tell me that my trust in you is undeserved.
“Robert?” More quiet now. He seemed to realize how much Robert was struggling.
“What if I told you I was in love with Ian Cameron?” he blurted out. He didn’t look at Theo, but at the space behind his head. He remembered Ian’s declaration and how he hadn’t looked Robert in the eyes then, either. It made it easier.
If only a little.
Theo was silent and still for a very long time. Then, “Is this a rhetorical question or are you actually telling me that you’re in love with my factor?”
“The second one,” he mumbled.
He heard a creak as Theo stood, and then he heard him pacing, the sound of footsteps and his cane thumping heavy on the floor. Robert wanted to disappear.
“And,” Theo said, his tone sharp, “does he feel the same way?”
“Yes.”
“And your relationship is physical?”
Robert’s face felt hot enough to burn. He had no idea why Theo was interrogating him like this. “Yes.”
The pacing abruptly stopped. “It’s dangerous, Robert. If the wrong person discovered you…if you were arrested…it’s a capital offense. Even if you were arrested and received a lighter punishment, you might still face the pillory, and you know how vicious that can be.”
Robert finally looked at him, and all he saw in his brother’s face was fear. Worry, for Robert, for someone he loved. But the love itself was unshaken. Relief swept over him, so fast and so potent that it left him weak.
“It is a difficult thing to prove,” Robert pointed out.
“But it has happened before.”
“I’m quite aware of that. We both are. We’ll be as careful as we can.”
“That might not be enough.”
“It will have to be enough. I cannot be without him.”
Theo’s thumb smoothed over the head of his cane. “It sounds like you have already decided.”
“I have.”
Theo looked agitated, the anxiety still not gone from his expression. He’d always tried to protect them…it would kill him not to be able to do so now. “I suppose arguing is pointless then.”
“Yes, I suppose it would be,” he said. “Don’t ask me to choose between you all or him, Theo.”
He sighed. “I won’t. I have a feeling I wouldn’t like your choice. But promise me,” he said, abrupt. “Promise me you won’t take any unnecessary risks. Be more careful, even, than you think you need to be.”
Robert smiled slightly at that. “I promise.”
He tilted his head, studying Robert until he shifted uncomfortably. “I like Cameron. He’s a good man. You could do worse.”
Robert laughed, a bit embarrassed. He pressed his hands to his face. He was still trembling, he realized. His tension seemed to unspool all at once, and his breath left him in a ragged gasp.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Again. “I didn’t know it would be so difficult.”
“That what would be so difficult?”
“Telling you.”
He heard Theo approach him, and then the comforting weight of Theo’s hand settled on his shoulder.
“What did you think would happen?”
“I wasn’t sure. I knew what I hoped, but there’s no way to know,” he admitted. “Ian’s family more or less threw him to the wolves.”
“We’re not Ian’s family,” Theo said, sounding a bit affronted. “We’re the Townsends.”
“What the devil does that mean?”
“It means that you three are probably going to send me to an early grave, but until then, I’ll be here, if you need me. I won’t turn you away. And that’s true for all of us. You helped me, too, Robert, when I was at my most desperate.”
“I remember.”
“Good.” The weight slipped away. “Now, is that all? I have work to do.”
Robert didn’t take offense. He knew his brother was only trying to get them back on steady ground.
He was heading
toward the door when Theo said, “And just so you know, you won’t be inheriting.”
It took him a moment to put that together. “You mean…is Annabel in the family way?”
Theo nodded.
“Congratulations, Theo.”
His brother smiled, as happy as Robert had ever seen him.
Robert started walking toward the door again and turned, realizing he’d forgotten something. “There is one more thing.”
Theo’s expression faded into something more wary. “What?”
“I’m a writer. The Constable Whitley book? That was me,” he said stupidly. “My book.”
Theo stared at him. “Truly?”
He nodded.
“I read it,” Theo said, bemused. Robert felt bemused himself. This conversation had more ups and downs than a Highland road. “Annabel loved it and told me I should. It’s not to my taste, but you’re an extraordinarily gifted writer.”
“Oh…” Robert felt his face heat again. That, from his brother, who scoffed at all things whimsical, was high praise. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” They stared at each other. “I’m going back to my work now. I’ve had more than enough revelations for one day.”
“Of course.”
Robert left the library, the weight he’d been carrying on his chest blissfully absent.
…
Ian recognized the crofter’s cottage immediately. Strange, how things changed and yet remained the same. Strange, how it took his breath away after all these years. The small stone structure by the gray sea, where Ian’s father eked out a living harvesting kelp after they’d been forced from their farm. The lone tree and the little garden plot—same size, same place, different vegetables.
He climbed down from his cart, tired after a five-day journey. This was the farthest he’d been from Llynmore Castle since he’d settled there. For a fearful moment, he wished Robert was with him. He didn’t like that he was afraid.
A shape appeared at the window, but he couldn’t see in. His heart pounded.
He squared his shoulders. He was no longer a boy. He was frightened, aye, but fear no longer ruled him. He’d survived on his own. He’d survived without them.
No matter what happened, there was nothing more they could take.
A moment later, the door opened, and there she was. The same but not the same. Her reddish-brown hair was streaked heavily with silver, her eyes bracketed by spidery lines. She wore a plain, dark-blue dress. She was older. She looked harder.
He supposed he was older and harder, too.
But she recognized him. As soon as she got a good look at him, she recognized him.
“Ian.”
Her voice was the same, but deeper. He hadn’t forgotten what it sounded like. Sometimes he dreamed of her voice.
His throat closed. He couldn’t speak, so he nodded.
It wasn’t a very good greeting after nearly fifteen years.
She nodded back. They studied each other, both, perhaps, wondering what the next step was.
“How did ye find out?” she asked.
“Find out what?” he rasped.
“Your father’s health is failing. You didna ken?”
He shook his head, pain pricking at his chest.
“It’s bad?”
“Aye.”
She stepped up to him. He smelled onions, and he remembered her hands had always smelled like onions for hours after she’d finished chopping them. It was a scent that clung to the skin, sharp but comforting. Or it had been once. Some trace of that old feeling still remained, even if it wasn’t as potent.
She didn’t embrace him. He wasn’t sure if he’d expected her to or not, but it still hurt. Instead, she touched his shoulder.
“He might like to see ye.” Her hand fell.
And he realized this was all he would receive. He wouldn’t get an apology. Maybe she didn’t think what she’d done was wrong. Maybe, given the choice, she would do the exact same thing again.
Ian had hoped for more and expected worse. If this medium, this compromise, was the best she could do, then he would accept it.
“Are Andrew and Elspeth here?”
“Aye, Andrew is. He lives not far from here. Elspeth is in Glasgow. I don’t know if she’ll arrive in time.”
“Glasgow?”
“She married. A Mackenzie.” His mother didn’t sound pleased by this. He smiled slightly. “She has three children now. Your brother has two.”
“Children?” Ian breathed. He had nieces and nephews he’d never met? A brother-in-law and sister-in-law? His stomach clenched painfully.
His mother seemed to understand. “You can meet them all, if ye stay for a few days.” She looked away. “It might be best if you stay at the inn down the road.”
Ian flinched.
“We meant what we said, Ian. You knew the cost of leaving.”
This seemed absurd to Ian. He could visit them, but he couldn’t sleep under their roof? And they’d forced him to leave because they couldn’t accept him as he was. What would the cost of staying have been?
Anger filled his chest, crawled into his throat, but he pushed it down.
He wasn’t here to argue. He wasn’t here to get angry. He was here to put the past behind him, to let go of the bitterness he’d held onto for so long, and perhaps to forge some sort of path into the future.
“Is he inside?”
“Aye.”
Ian drew back his shoulders, braced himself, and stepped into the cottage ahead of her. His gaze went straight to his father, who was asleep in bed. A sharp breath hissed between his teeth, though he tried to stop it.
His father loomed so large in his mind, his imagination, his memory. He’d once been larger and stronger than Ian, and taken up so much space Ian had thought he must be a giant. Ian was bigger now than his father had ever been, and his father was withered and wasted, made even smaller by disease.
His mother looked older. His father looked like he’d aged a hundred years.
The hissed breath woke him.
His eyes fluttered open, and Ian, reflexively, tried to step back so he didn’t startle him.
Douglas Cameron stared at his son in open confusion, and then his brow furrowed and something passed over his face. Ian could have read a lot of things in those shifting expressions—regret, guilt, relief, welcome. He decided it was safer not to read anything at all.
Ian’s father opened his mouth to speak but instead erupted into harsh coughs, his frail shoulders shaking. Ian’s mother sat down on the mattress beside his father and wrapped her arm around his shoulders until he was done.
Ian didn’t really know what to do, so he did the first thing that came to mind.
He reached into his bag and retrieved the fox his father had carved for him long ago. He’d taken it from his chest and placed it there before he left in a strange impulse of sentimentality. Now he stepped forward, so tentatively, so hesitantly, and held out the fox like a peace offering.
His father paused and then accepted it. He held the wood carving to his chest, cradled it like something infinitely precious. A moist sheen covered his eyes.
“Ian?” he whispered hoarsely.
His father reached for him, not to hurt, not to hit, not to push away, simply to clasp his son’s hand in a weak but warm grip.
And after nearly fifteen years of silence, Ian sat down beside his father and cried.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Robert slipped into Ian’s cottage. The slate roof had been finished before Ian had left, and the windows replaced, and the inside was clean, though mostly bare, except for a spindly table by the window and a narrow bed along the wall. The floor was dirt at the moment, but Ian said he would replace it with wood.
He’d had enough of an income to do these things for some time, and when Robert had asked him why he hadn’t before now, he’d shrugged. “Maybe it didn’t feel as permanent before,” he said later.
Before Robert, was what he’d me
ant.
Robert set the package down on the table but was reluctant to leave.
It had been three weeks since Ian had gone to see his family, but it felt like longer. And something about the Highlands without Ian Cameron didn’t feel right to him at all.
He’d filled his days by focusing on the second volume of Constable Whitley, which was nearly finished, and making a trip to Glasgow with Georgina to pick up Ian’s gift. And on those sporadic clear nights, he’d gone to the outbuilding and looked up at the stars, and he’d imagined Ian doing the same.
He found the North Star first, every single time.
Robert sighed and left the cottage, stepping out into a gray day filled with mist.
When he saw the cart, rambling along the road, a dark, muddled shape that gradually grew clearer, his heart lifted.
Ian pulled to a stop less than twenty feet away.
Robert’s pulse quickened and he drank him in—cinnamon hair, darkened from the damp, steady gray eyes, soft, thin lips that held the ghost of a smile. And this was a smile that held no derision, only the promise of joy.
“You’re lurking,” Ian said.
“I do not lurk,” Robert said, offended. “This is the first time I’ve been here, I swear it. I was dropping something off.”
“What?”
“It’s a surprise. You have to come inside.”
Ian’s brows lifted.
“I bought you a gift.” It had seemed a good idea at the time. More than a good idea, as he’d rushed off to Glasgow to procure it. Now that Ian was staring at him, a bit blankly, he felt somewhat ridiculous.
“I haven’t gotten a gift since…” Ian paused. “My father used to carve wooden animals sometimes. Not since then.” He lowered himself from the cart and turned to unhitch the pony.
Robert’s heart clenched. “How were they?”
Ian paused, his hand on the pony’s back. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, and then, “My father’s dead. I got there at the end.”
Even if Ian resented his father, Robert knew a part of him loved him, too. Such bonds could not be easily shaken. “I’m sorry.”
