Lake of Destiny

by Martina Boone

  Anna hadn’t taken the time to read the whole article Flora had waved in front of her, but she’d seen enough. Kindness didn’t sell newspapers or advertising, and too many people were willing to make money from someone else’s work or effort or fame. She’d seen plenty of that working as a lawyer, but she’d thought it was different here in the glen. She’d convinced herself that Connal was wrong to be afraid.

  She was the one who’d been mistaken all along.

  “I’m sorry, Connal. This is all my fault.” She edged closer to him as they rounded the bend with the rowan tree and passed the fence where, ears twitching, Davy Grigg’s black-faced sheep had lined up along the road to watch the procession pass.

  “How do you figure that?” He slanted an evaluating look at her then dug a hand out of his pocket to wrap it around her fingers. “I’m the one who hid from myself too long. The only way that I managed to keep off the radar until now was by not getting involved in anything. Moira lived in the village more than I did. Brando was right: I wrote out checks, hoping to bribe people into wanting to keep us around and keep our secrets. That’s not what I want to be teaching Moira about how to live her life. Look at her, walking up there, waving at everyone. I don’t want this to break her, and it may do just that by the time the tabloids dredge up all the old accusations, half-truths, and outright lies they printed about me before. But what you said earlier made me think. I wasn’t going to be able to protect Moira from the ugliness forever. It was all going to come out eventually, and she was going to have to hear about it. I think that’s what I’ve been dreading most. That she’d see what the tabloids wrote and wonder if it was true. I’ve been stupid. If I’d let the tabloids run with the stories about her palsy while she was younger, it would all be a less intriguing story now. I’ve only made things worse for her.”

  “You don’t know that.” Anna watched Moira take a skipping step to catch up with Brando, not because the procession was moving too fast but because she was stopping often to talk or smile and wave. She didn’t speak to everyone, but she was friendly, and she chatted with the people she knew well as they hung their ornaments and took their blossoms. “We don’t know how big the story is going to be, not yet, and whatever Moira hears, you have to know she’s going to believe in you. She trusts you. That’s who she is, and that’s how you’ve raised her.”

  “Trust can disappear overnight, can’t it?” Connal said softly, watching her. “I asked you to trust me, but I left all the explanations until it was already too late.”

  Anna fought to keep on breathing. “Nothing is ever too late, Connal. Don’t retreat. Don’t pull Moira away.”

  “I need to get her home.”

  “What about the ball?” Anna stumbled to a halt. “And the Sighting? She’ll be heartbroken if she doesn’t get to go to those.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Connal said, looking lost and broken.

  Anna opened her mouth, but what right did she have to suggest anything? Hadn’t events already demonstrated how wrong she had been?

  Maybe there was no right answer in this situation.

  Her heart leaden with guilt and doubt, she let Connal walk in silence along the rest of the route that led up the long drive to the Braeside and down again then past Elspeth’s house. They turned around in the small parking area at the trailhead between Breagh and Inverlochlarig House.

  Flora, true to her word, had organized a roadblock at the end of the road along the loch by the time they returned to the village. A green tractor, two Land Rovers, and a hay wagon barred anyone from driving farther than the inn, but the barrier also made it impossible to see what was waiting for them.

  The first row of pipers approached, and one of the Land Rovers reversed away to reveal a white panel van with Braeside Bakery written on the side and a fading red Toyota Hilux parked across the intersection holding back a small line of cars that had driven up from the highway. Several of the vehicles stood with their doors open, and a huddle of people with phones and cameras shouted questions Connal pretended he couldn’t hear over the music of the pipes.

  The procession turned back along the narrow track toward the inn. More people lined the shoulders, their cell phones raised. One of the reporters to whom Elspeth had spoken on Saturday stood snapping a continuous stream of photos with the large camera slung around her neck.

  Anna moved to ask her to stop, but Connal grasped her arm and shook his head. “Don’t bother. I know from experience that you’ll only make things worse.”

  “That reporter was smart and professional yesterday. I thought maybe she’d be reasonable.”

  “Reasonable to you and me doesn’t allow them to do their job. Do you know what paper she’s with?”

  “The Edinburgh Evening News, I think,” Anna said.

  Connal studied the woman a moment, as if sizing her up, as if debating something within himself. Then he caught Anna’s hand and held her back as the procession ground to a halt and everyone milled around. “Will you keep Moira with you until I come to pick her up?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “If that reporter was even halfway reasonable, I’m going to take advantage of it. Maybe if I give a couple of interviews to legitimate papers, I can get my version of the story out to the public and hope for the best.”

  Shattered Images

  . . . the longest day at last bends down to evening . . .

  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  Wilhelm Meister’s Travels

  The ballroom glowed with white candles and vases of hawthorn blossoms set atop white tablecloths, all lit by chandeliers and strings of delicate white fairy lights. Anna ran a last check of the room: the long tables of small bites and desserts along the far wall, the punch bowl and the display case doing double duty as a table filled with wine, beer, and assorted whiskeys. She shifted a branch of blooms from one side of a vase to the other and stepped back to check the symmetry as a quartet of folk musicians—keyboard, accordion, fiddle, and drums—set up at the head of the room.

  “You need to stop fretting,” Brando said, coming up behind her. “Unless all that fidgeting is helping to calm your nerves.” He wore yet another kilt with a black shirt and a short formal black jacket with silver buttons. His hair was swept back from his face, revealing the firm line of jaw and chin and making his eyes brighter as he smiled down at her. “Elspeth says you haven’t stopped rushing ’round since Connal left with Moira.”

  “I’m too furious to stop. And sad.”

  “Aye, and you’re also beautiful,” Brando said softly, “and this is still a ball. That’s a spectacular dress. You should try to find some pleasure in it.”

  “Trust Elspeth to have a secret stash of designer gowns tucked away in her closet.” Any other day, Anna would have had more fun dressing in vintage Dior that made her feel like Audrey Hepburn, but now she only wished the long night would end.

  “Elspeth was young once, too, you know,” Brando whispered into her ear.

  Anna stepped back to look at him. “She’s far from old now. I only wish she wasn’t so alone.”

  “She still has you.” Brando quirked an eyebrow at her. “Or have you definitely decided to leave?”

  “For now, I’ve decided,” Anna said, “to go stand by the door and help Elspeth greet the guests as they arrive.”

  She did precisely that for the next twenty minutes as people from the glen trickled in. Women came in long gowns and men in kilts and short, dark jackets. Even Julian had scraped up a formal kilt somewhere in a Black Watch tartan, double rows of silver buttons gleaming on his chest and up his sleeves, and Pierce had opted for a Royal Stewart that matched the striking red of Vanessa Devereaux’s gown.

  “Connal has no idea what he’s missing,” Julian said, stopping beside Anna at the edge of the foyer and looking her over with appreciation as he took both of her hands in his and kissed her cheek. “I take back what I said about all men being idiots. He’s got the market cornered.”

 
“Have you talked to him? How is he? He didn’t say anything about the interviews—or anything else—when he came for Moira.”

  “He’s busy kicking himself for being a fool, and it remains to be seen how hard the press is going to push him. Right now, his main concern is keeping Moira out of the mess as much as he can.”

  “She was so disappointed not to stay for the ball, it broke my heart.”

  “With luck, most of the interest will die down quickly. I can’t say I know what I would have done in Connal’s shoes. There’s no such thing as right and wrong when it comes to parenting. There’s no final exam, no study guide. The script and the stage keep changing, and all we can do is improvise.”

  “I didn’t realize you had children,” Anna said.

  “I keep it quiet—for some of the same reasons that Connal didn’t want Moira growing up in the public eye. The world can be ugly. When you have children, you want to give them the fairytale. You want them to believe in midnight and glass slippers, and most of all, you want them to believe that wicked stepmothers and jealous sisters get punished, and the good people in the world get their due rewards. There are too many people like Sorcha and Erica. Did you hear The Sun paid them for that photo? Flora snatched the phone right out of Erica’s hand and gave it to the police. The idiot girl apparently wasn’t even smart enough to try to hide her tracks. Of course, she confessed that Sorcha put her up to it. They wanted to get back at Connal, maybe get him and Moira to leave.”

  Anna started to ask what would happen to them, but when it came down to it, she didn’t care. Julian was right. There would always be people like Sorcha and Erica—and Katharine. Like Henry.

  Did she still hope for the fairytale herself? Prince Charming? Was she holding out for a storybook hero when real people were flawed and complicated and the world didn’t have clear-cut rules?

  Connal wasn’t perfect. The truth was, she didn’t care about that either. She loved him. She loved him and Moira with all her wounded and mended heart. It didn’t matter if loving them was messy and complicated, she realized suddenly. Wherever they were, that was where she wanted to be.

  But for now, she was stuck at the fairytale ball, and they were both alone. Was there more she could have done for them, instead of letting them go off by themselves? More she should have been doing for them?

  The six pipers Elspeth had hired from outside the glen lined up and began to play, calling everyone who’d been milling around the front rooms into line behind them. With Brando as her escort, Elspeth took her place at the head of the queue behind the pipers, and they set off for the ballroom in a dignified procession.

  Julian held out his elbow to Anna. “May I take you in?”

  Anna looped her arm through his. “I’ll warn you, I should come with hazard lights. I’ve no idea what I’m doing.”

  “And I’m a creature of bright lights and big, anonymous cities. Buying a kilt is as far as I’ve gotten into the culture up here, and frankly, after a few dances, I fully intend to stake out a vacant stretch of wall and nurse a series of whiskeys while observing the evening with a jaundiced eye.”

  Brando snorted. “Fine for you, but Anna will be having none of that. She’d better be prepared to dance until her feet ache.”

  The line reached the ballroom, and the pipers slow-stepped across it to the far side and took their places near the other musicians. Once everyone had entered the room, the quartet took over. Bagpipe music was a true reflection of Scotland: no matter the tune, there was an edge of tragedy and dignity and mourning beneath the notes. In contrast, the fiddle and accordion of the dance quartet set off at a lively, joyous pace that sent almost everyone out onto the floor.

  Anna did her best to keep up, but after three dances with Brando where she didn’t know the complicated steps and felt like she was constantly behind, she pleaded off and went to stand with Julian at the edge of the room while Brando went to dance with Elspeth.

  The lights sparkled overhead. Julian brought her a glass of Scotch. “Here, down this,” he said, pressing the glass into Anna’s hand. She threw the drink back in a single swallow, and Julian laughed. “I suppose you deserve that after the day you’ve had. Here, have mine as well.”

  Anna sipped that a bit more cautiously before going off to chat with the other guests, moving through the crowd with Julian or Elspeth or Brando by her side. Eventually, she even managed to find the courage to let Brando lead her out onto the floor again and talk her through the complicated progressive patterns that formed as couples came together and separated, changed partners, and shifted around the room. She wasn’t sure she would have managed to follow the dance even without the alcohol and the distraction, but her mind kept wandering outside the confines of the room. The truth was, she longed to be somewhere else.

  When the dance was over, she thanked Brando and excused herself, heading back to where Julian stood along one of the few stretches of wall not already occupied by tablecloth-draped display cases, groups of pikes and claymores, or sundry other weapons.

  Her back was to the room when the sound behind her underwent a subtle change as the dancers stopped and shifted even though the music had continued. Julian’s chin came up. “Well, this is unexpected. You might want to have a look, darling. I believe someone’s come back for you.”

  Anna turned slowly, and her eyes went straight to Connal who, with Moira beside him in a pink satin dress, had stopped to speak with Elspeth. Seeing Anna, he went still. Wearing a kilt and jacket with a crisp white shirt and bowtie, he strode toward her, his eyes locked on hers while the dancers on the floor moved to give him room.

  Anna’s face went numb, so numb she didn’t know what expression she was wearing, and she fought the urge to press both hands to her cheeks. Her heart gave a thud of hope. Connal had brought Moira back, and he was here, and he was coming toward her with a stubborn set to his chin, and his eyes still fixed on her as though he was afraid she was going to turn and run.

  “You came,” she said when he stopped in front of her, the words squeezed small by the tightness in her throat.

  “A smart woman once asked if it was fear for Moira that had been holding me back all along or fear for my own sake. I wasn’t clever enough then to know how to answer her.”

  Anna’s throat grew even tighter. “And did you figure it out?”

  Connal searched her face, his eyes resting on her heated cheeks. “With help. A very intuitive young lady I had badly disappointed told me that it was all right if we didn’t go to the ball because I had come to the procession. She told me she worries about me when I don’t let myself have fun. And she asked me if I was skipping the ball because I was afraid if I danced with you I’d be even sadder when you went away. My ten-year-old daughter isn’t supposed to be worrying about me. She’s certainly not supposed to be smarter than I am.”

  Anna stared at one of the buttons on his jacket so that she didn’t have to meet his eyes. “Would you be sadder if you danced with me before I went away?”

  “I’d be miserable and stupid if I let you leave at all,” he said. Taking her hands, Connal pressed them flat between his palms and raised them to his chest where she could feel the thudding of his heart. “Before all this mess today, and all the complications, I had promised myself that I wouldn’t say anything to you until after the Sighting. I told myself that it would be unfair to you to say anything—that it was all too fast—and what if you didn’t see the same thing I had?”

  Anna’s eyes flicked back to Connal’s face. “What same thing?”

  He swallowed visibly, and a corner of his mouth kicked up. “I saw you in the loch when I was seventeen. Not only you—you and me and Moira together, the three of us. Moira exactly as she is now, and you exactly as you are. I’d almost forgotten about that image until Moira was born. The more she looked like herself, the harder it became to ignore what the Sighting had shown me. If she was real, then I couldn’t help starting to believe that maybe you were real as well. I told myself it had
to be some sort of déjà vu, my mind playing tricks. How could I have seen Moira without Isobel? How could I have seen anyone besides Isobel when it was Isobel I loved? None of it made sense. Not until I walked up to your car window that night a month ago and saw you sitting there looking up at me, every bit as beautiful as you’d been when I saw you in the loch. That’s partly why I was so horrible, I think. I was in shock.”

  “You saw me?” Anna repeated. “And Moira?”

  “Which seems to mean that, at least for Moira and me, everything in our lives must have happened exactly how it was meant to happen. Even Isobel. The accident and Moira’s palsy. Coming here. All of it.”

  Anna suddenly felt light inside, as if someone had filled her with air and pushed away the anxiety of the last few weeks. The last years. Maybe deep down, everyone wanted to believe in miracles.

  The idea that two strangers could discover each other, like two puzzle pieces waiting for the missing part of themselves, had to be miraculous.

  “I’m not sure that anything about love is meant to make logical sense,” she said, her heart hammering in her ears. “From the first moment you trust your heart to someone else, everything is a leap of faith. It could be the whole purpose of the Sighting is to remind us that some things are gifts and we shouldn’t take them for granted.”

  Connal smiled at her, that wide smile of his that telescoped the world down to the two of them alone. He drew her even closer, and she felt herself open and bloom beneath the heat of his expression, felt herself expand until she was as wide and full as the entire glen and the high green braes around them.

  “I walked down to the inn today,” Connal said, “thinking that I would see Moira and show you both that I was ready to take a leap of faith back into the world. I meant to invite you both to come to the ball with me. The tabloid article caught me by surprise. The ugliness.”

  “The ugliness sells newspapers. That’s not your fault.”