Lake of Destiny

by Martina Boone

  “Even you stare sometimes, Daddy. Anna says that’s people not being happy with themselves, and I don’t want to be afraid of people, like a dog barking. Anyway, you said I’m pretty on the inside, too. Isn’t that enough for May Queen?”

  “Of course, it is. You’re beautiful inside and out.” Connal squeezed her tightly, but over her head, his eyes met Anna’s. Everything he felt was written in them, love and pride and pain and fear. Releasing Moira after another long moment, he stood up with his hands shaking visibly. “I’ll tell you what, duck. You go get ready for bed, and we’ll talk about it some more when I come tuck you in. But I think we should probably both sleep on it, all right?”

  Moira studied him suspiciously. “You’re going to say no, aren’t you? You always say you’ll think about things when what you mean is no.” Frowning at him, she went to Anna and hugged her hard. “Thank you for today,” she whispered. “I had the best time ever.”

  Anna closed her eyes as JoAnne led Moira away. “I don’t know what to say, Connal.”

  “Tell me I’m right in telling her she can’t do it.”

  “I can’t tell you that. If she’s brave enough to want to try, then don’t you have to be brave enough to let her?”

  “I’m her father.” Connal rubbed his temples and shook his head. “It’s my job to protect her so that she doesn’t have to be brave. No good could come of this! She’d be the center of attention, people judging her, staring at her. That’s a heavy weight all pressing down on her shoulders, and she’s just a little girl. How can she bear up under that?” He paced back and forth, the light from the two crystal chandeliers dangling from the twelve-foot ceilings of the great hall spilling over him like water.

  Anna loved him, she realized all over again. She loved him. She was in love with him, and she loved Moira, too. But loving him didn’t make her blind.

  “Are you sure it’s fear for Moira that’s making you want to hide her away? Or is it fear for your own sake?”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because I remember how cruel the tabloids were after Isobel died. I know you don’t want all that dredged up again.”

  “It was the tabloids that drove Isobel to drink—” Connal cut himself off and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “No, that’s not entirely true. If she’d been stronger, she could have handled it better. We were both too young when we started acting. Too young when we got married. I knew she wasn’t happy, but I didn’t know how to help her. Isobel had always been—extreme, living life on the edge, on a pendulum. When she was happy, she swept everyone around her in a wave of joy, and when she was drawn in on herself, the sadness was like an anchor threatening to pull the people around her under along with her. I’ve wondered since if she wasn’t bipolar, but people didn’t talk about mental health as much back then, or maybe I just wasn’t old enough to know enough about it. Not that that’s any kind of excuse.”

  Anna went to him and pressed his hand against her cheek. “You’re punishing yourself, and you can’t do that. There were a lot of other people who should have caught her, not just you. Ultimately, she made her own choices. But however much you try to protect Moira, nothing will bring Isobel back. You can’t keep her from living life, Connal. She’s strong. She’s beautiful inside and out, you said it yourself, and anyone who doesn’t see that is an idiot.”

  “The world is full of idiots. Well-meaning and otherwise.”

  “Yes, and I’m sure the village meant well in picking her as May Queen, but at this point, their intentions don’t make any difference. It’s the reality you have to deal with. How could you refuse when she wants to do it? What would you say to her? That it’s because of her palsy? Because the world is cruel? Because of her mother and the tabloids? Any one of those things are as bad as having a few people staring at her, and I watched her last night and all day today. People weren’t unkind. They stare because they’re not sure what they’re seeing. The palsy isn’t something obvious like a scar. It’s the subtle sense of something being off that make people need to look a little longer. She handled it well.”

  “She wasn’t the center of everyone’s attention then.” Connal raised his head, his expression pinched. “Don’t you see? I failed to protect Isobel, and I can’t fail Moira. I can’t.”

  “The way I see it, the only person you’re failing right now is yourself. You’re refusing to live your life, and you’re refusing to let Moira live it with you. If you want my opinion, you should let her be May Queen if she still wants to after she’s slept on it. Trust her to know herself.”

  Connal clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he placed his hands on Anna’s shoulders. “If I let her do this, you’ll have to promise me you’ll watch her like a hawk. If anything happens to upset her, promise me you’ll bring her home.”

  “You seriously wouldn’t come with her? Even now?”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “You can. You choose not to. Imagine how she’d feel if her own father wasn’t there to see her crowned. To be proud of her.”

  “To ruin her moment. Don’t you see? That’s just another reason she shouldn’t do it in the first place.” A muscle ticked in Connal’s cheek, and he straightened and turned away. “Good night, Anna. Thanks for taking care of her today.”

  Anna stiffened and picked her coat back off the chair. “Is that a no or a yes about Moira?”

  “It’s a maybe. I’ll phone you in the morning,” he said, but his expression was closed.

  Tears welled in Anna’s eyes, making the shape of him blur. But maybe that was simply the man she had thought he was—or could be—melting away in her mind.

  Her hands shook on the steering wheel as she drove the borrowed Vauxhall back to Elspeth’s house. Why did she do this over and over again? Make assumptions about men without seeing who they really were? With Henry, she had believed in the mask he had shown her, but Connal hadn’t done anything he hadn’t promised all along. Connal had stripped his mask off for her. Even so, she had convinced herself there was something in him that wasn’t there.

  It wasn’t that what he’d said about ruining Moira’s moment wasn’t rational. Anna didn’t doubt that he thought he was protecting his daughter, but that wasn’t his only reason for not wanting Moira to be May Queen.

  And wasn’t that exactly the technique Henry had always used? Henry had managed to twist things so that the selfish reasons for his behavior somehow appeared to be entirely selfless. She’d let him get away with it. She’d made excuses for him. She’d enabled him do it.

  Henry’s grades hadn’t been good enough for an Ivy League college, so she had let him talk her into giving up acceptances from Brown and Yale to go to Ohio State because—he’d claimed—a long-distance relationship would have been too hard on her. Then college had been a continuation of high school, where she’d spent countless nights helping him study, helping him with his papers and reports. Her own studying, going out with her roommate, having fun with friends, all of it had revolved around Henry’s schedule. When he had other plans, she was the one who’d had to make adjustments or sit in her dorm alone.

  He’d always had a perfectly plausible explanation. “I know you hate drinking beer with the guys, so I don’t want you to have to come along and spend the night feeling awkward. Go be with your friends.” Or, “Why don’t you put off law school applications until after we get married? A wedding takes so much time to plan, and I don’t want you having to worry about all that on top of studying. Plus we should have a year or two to ourselves before you have to start working around the clock again, don’t you think?”

  Even Mike had made similar arguments. Why wait to get married? She could take a bit of time off from work or dial back her workload. She’d given in on most things that he’d asked, but she hadn’t given in on that. Then he’d left her.

  Maybe men were all the same.

  No, that wasn’t fair. Connal wasn’t Henry. She knew that. His deception wasn�
��t aimed at her as much as it was aimed at himself. Maybe she was the problem. Maybe she was so starved for love that the more someone withheld it, the more desperately she tried to win it. The more she tried to sweep away the obstacles.

  She parked the Vauxhall and walked tiredly up the steps. Letting herself in quietly, she found Elspeth rushing to meet her in the foyer.

  “What happened? Are you all right?” Elspeth asked, her face puckered into lines of worry. “What did Connal say?”

  “The exact wrong things for the exact right reasons,” Anna said. “He’s thinking about letting Moira do it. Even if he does, he won’t come to see her crowned. I hoped this would break him out of his rut, but it won’t. And I’m leaving in three days, and now we’re barely speaking.”

  “Don’t put all that on him, love. That’s you leaving. Your choice, not his.”

  “You’ve already paid for my ticket. I’m not going to waste the money to change it.”

  “Are you sure Connal’s the only one of you who’s running scared?” Elspeth tipped her head to study Anna. “How hard did you fight to keep your job? To keep Mike? It takes effort to stay. Running away is easy.”

  Running away? Anna examined that thought later as she lay in bed unable to fall asleep. Was she running away? Her mother had accused her of that, too, and she hadn’t wanted to hear it then. It was true that she’d convinced herself Mike was coming back because she didn’t want to face the reality that she’d have to fight for him, to marry him, if she wanted him. She hadn’t given any thought to fighting for her job—she’d been too mortified and guilty over the meltdown, over missing the filing. Going back to the partners might not have done any good, but she hadn’t tried. Or maybe she hadn’t wanted the job that much in the first place.

  You fought for the things you couldn’t live without. That was the simple truth. She loved Connal. She loved what she thought they could have together. So shouldn’t she stay and fight for that? For Moira?

  Or was it too soon to take that kind of risk? Was Connal worth the risk at all?

  The wind gusted through the village and rattled the sides of the rented tent, doing its best to blow away the suggestion of summer even as the festival celebrated its approach. Music from the ages twelve-and-under Highland dancing competition drifted out from the tent in fits and starts, carried in by the wind then swept away again. Standing in the crowd gathered outside the inn, Anna huddled deeper into the collar of her jacket with one arm around Moira and the other in her pocket.

  “There it is! They’re coming!” Moira bounced on her toes and pointed up the track that led across the main road and up the hill. “I can see the May Bush.”

  A small hawthorn tree slung across one shoulder and dragging almost to the ground, Brando came around the bend and raised the axe he carried in his other hand as he saw the crowd. The crowd responded with a cheer, the sound echoed by the thirty or so villagers and visitors who had braved the windswept hillside to go with him to find a tree to cut. Brando pushed through the gate into the inn’s courtyard with his kilt swirling, revealing a long, ugly scratch along across one knee, as if the tree had offered up a protest at being made a sacrifice.

  It was just on the cusp of full bloom, buds mixed in among the white, sweet-scented blossoms. Brando carried it to the corner of the courtyard where, at least somewhat sheltered from the wind, he jiggled it into the stand that Duncan had set up earlier.

  When it was secure, he turned and held out his hand to Moira. “Ready, Mo?”

  She nodded with her eyes huge, taking the hand he offered as he helped her up onto the small raised platform beside the May Bush. Cheeks red and eyes roving nervously over the crowd, she held her head high, her long fair hair streaming in the fingers of wind that snuck even into the sheltered corner. Brando knelt to accept the crown of hawthorn leaves that Duncan settled around his head, then he stood and crowned Moira in turn with a wreath of hawthorn blossoms. He led her forward, presenting her to the crowd.

  The cheering was louder this time, mixed with catcalls and whistles. And Moira, who had been so determined, visibly trembled as she stood there, looking even smaller beside Brando’s height and bulk. Edging behind him, she nervously hid the damaged half of her face, but when he whispered for her to smile and wave, she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers. When the applause died down, she jumped off the platform and ran back to Anna.

  Anna hugged her fiercely. “You did great, kiddo.”

  “But you aren’t done yet,” Brando said, coming up behind her. “The May Queen gets to hang the first offering, remember?”

  “Here, I brought a ribbon for you,” Elspeth said, producing a lavender silk scarf from the pocket of her coat. “I thought lavender was a good fairy color. What do you think?”

  Moira nodded and clutched the scarf in a white-knuckle grip.

  “Off you go, then. Go hang it on the tree. Brando will help you,” Elspeth said.

  Moira watched them over her shoulder as Brando walked her toward the tree. Back on the platform, he caught her around the waist and raised her high enough to tie the scarf at the very top while her hair blew across her cheeks.

  “I hope we’re doing the right thing,” Anna said. “It’s not my place to meddle when it comes down to it.”

  “A little late for that sentiment, but it’s high time somebody meddled if you ask me. We’ve all been half-asleep, not seeing that Connal needed a nudge to help him,” Elspeth said, digging in her coat pocket to extract another bit of ribbon. She pressed it into Anna’s palm.

  Anna was surprised to feel cold metal against her skin, and she raised her hand to find a small necklace with a silver cross. The chain was wound through with a thin lavender ribbon, and the cross was etched with a lovely pattern.

  “You can’t mean for me to leave this on the tree?” Anna said. “It’s too valuable.”

  Elspeth gave her a wistful smile. “There’s no point in a sacrifice if it doesn’t have any value. Go on. Make your offering. Then take a bit of blossom to carry the luck home with you.”

  Anna wound the ribbon and the chain on a branch and broke off a small flowering sprig in exchange. Luck, though? That wasn’t what she needed.

  She needed the ability to make a logical decision.

  Stay or go? Take a chance or give up before she risked more pain?

  If the May Bush had an answer for her, it wasn’t ready to share it yet.

  She turned and found Rhona and Sorcha approaching with painted egg shells hung on slender satin ribbons and Fenella and Erica right behind them. Sorcha glared at Moira, her head tipped toward her mother’s as she whispered something that Anna couldn’t hear. Still, the message was clear enough.

  Moira tucked her hand in Anna’s and bit her lip. “They’re not very happy with me, are they?”

  “They’re not very happy at all, sweetie, but remember what I told you? That’s their problem. People have to find happiness inside themselves. Some people never understand that, and they spend their whole lives looking for other people to make them happy. It doesn’t work very well.”

  Moira studied her, her face tilted up and intent. “Are you happy?”

  “You make me happy. That’s a promise. You made me very proud today, and you make lots of other people happy.” Wrapping one arm around Moira’s shoulders, Anna squeezed her close then let go. “I’m going to have to leave you with Elspeth until the play, though. All right? I’ve got to see if the dance competition is going smoothly, check something at the campground, and run back to the house and make sure things are all set for the ball.”

  “Shouldn’t I stay for the whole ball?” Moira asked. “The May Queen always goes to the bonfire.”

  “Nice try, but don’t push your luck. You’ll be so worn out by then that you’ll be happy to be in bed. And I’ll be jealous because I’ll be exhausted, too.” Anna squeezed Moira’s hand. “Now off you go with Elspeth, all right? I’ll see you when the play is over.”

  Moira threw her a grin
and slipped her small hand into Elspeth’s larger one.

  Anna watched them walk away a moment, and then she ducked into the tent to make sure the junior dancing competition wasn’t running late. Next, she borrowed the phone at the inn and rang up Julian to make sure neither Vanessa nor Pierce had snuck back to London instead of staying for the second performance of the play.

  “I’ve been feeding their egos, and Brando’s been feeding their taste buds. Between us, so far they haven’t threatened to mutiny yet,” Julian said. “Vanessa hasn’t called off the critic from The Times, either. Did you see the review on The Scotsman website, by the way?”

  “I haven’t exactly had time to surf the Internet,” Anna said dryly.

  “In that case, allow me to share. ‘Witty, sparkling, and ironic performances by Vanessa Devereaux, Julian Ashford, and Pierce Saunders against a backdrop of amateur actors so terrible they could only be poking fun at Shakespeare’s intentions.’”

  “Connal must have loved that.”

  “You should make sure he didn’t miss it.”

  “Or you could call him yourself. What are you up to, Julian?”

  Julian was silent a moment before he spoke again. “He confessed that he yelled at you yesterday about the May Queen fiasco. He feels terrible about it, but he’s never been at his best when he’s feeling guilty. He’s a bit of an ass when he’s feeling guilty, to tell the truth, so don’t let that put you off. You’ve been good for him, and he needs you. Whether he knows it or not.”

  “He needs something, but I’m not sure it’s me. Anyway, I’m going home in a couple of days.”

  “Don’t. If he hasn’t had the good sense to ask you to stay, stay for yourself. We’re men, darling. The stupider sex. We don’t know what’s good for us until you hit us over the head with it. I’ll supply the bludgeon if you need one.”

  Anna laughed as she hung up, but she couldn’t help wondering if it could be that easy. Could she decide to stay?