Will’s arms shook slightly as he lowered himself back into his chair, and I could tell he was not fully recovered from his incident the previous evening. I hoped his energy was sufficient enough to endure our visit without him suffering for it later. I had no wish to impose on him the overwhelming fatigue that had made it impossible for him even to carry a spoonful of soup from the bowl to his mouth the night before. In any case, our visit would need to be brief if I was to see my sister and her family off.
I settled into the chair closest to Will’s, glancing over my shoulder out the window where he had been staring when we entered. “Oh, my,” I gasped. “What a view.” His rooms looked out over the trees northeast of the manor house toward the ruins of Banbogle Castle in the distance. On such a fine autumn day, the forest blazed with fiery color and the gray stones of the castle glistened in the sun. The sounds of twittering birds and rustling leaves came in through the window, which was open a crack. In the distance, I thought I could even detect the bass rumble of the firth’s water rolling against the shoreline. How peaceful it must be for Will.
“Yes,” he told me, staring at the vista beyond my shoulder. “My brother made certain I had the best view in the manor.”
And, I couldn’t help but think, it must be far nicer than the outlook from his cell at the Larkspur Retreat. If, in fact, he’d had any view at all.
Inchkeith Island was a treeless lump of granite in the middle of the windswept Firth of Forth, with nothing to recommend it save for its isolation. At least once in known history it had been used to quarantine people with disease, and a bizarre scientific experiment commissioned by King James IV had taken place there in the late fifteenth century to discover the original language of mankind. The only reason I knew anything about it was because of my late husband’s fondness for medical absurdity, as well as his appreciation of the novelist Sir Walter Scott, who had derided the test, and its clearly feigned results, for its utter foolishness.
“Will there be anythin’ else, m’lord?” Donovan asked Will as he bent over the table next to him and gathered up his employer’s breakfast dishes. I noticed that much of the food had gone uneaten.
Will looked to me. “Tea?”
“Uh, no, thank you.”
Gage shook his head.
Donovan nodded in confirmation. The china clinked together as he hefted the tray. I frowned as he disappeared through the door, leaving it standing open behind him. I wondered why the servant had not tried to get Will to eat more of his breakfast. Or was my old friend just much more willful than I remembered?
I turned back to find both men watching me. Gage’s stare was knowing, as if he had followed the bent of my thoughts and shared my curiosity, while Will’s was more thoughtful. He seemed content to sit in comfortable silence and enjoy our company. Perhaps his time in the asylum had taught him the value of such companionable stillness.
I, however, felt no such ease. I shifted in my seat while I racked my brain trying to find a safe topic of conversation that was neither inane nor prying.
“It’s all right, you know,” Will surprised me by saying. “We can talk about it. I promise I won’t fly up into the boughs.” He smiled sadly. “Contrary to what you saw last night, I am usually in my right mind.”
I flushed. Was my discomfort so easy to read?
“Oh, I know,” I hastened to assure him. “Michael told us how much you’ve improved since your . . . release. He explained how last night’s . . . ah . . .” I fumbled, trying to come up with the right word “. . . episode has become a rarity.”
“And yet that must be hard to believe, since you’ve seen me no other way,” he replied, not unkindly, before glancing significantly toward Gage.
I burned with shame, cursing Philip for forcing me to bring him along as a guardian. Will was not fooled. He knew why Gage had accompanied me.
“It’s all right,” he assured me, yet again. “I understand why Mr. Gage is here.” His gaze shifted to him. “And though I would like to be insulted, I can’t. Not knowing I would insist upon the same thing were our situations reversed.”
Gage, who had at least had the grace to look uncomfortable when Will was speaking, now shared a more level look with the man.
Still smarting with embarrassment, I blurted out, “Well, I didn’t want him to come.” Gage’s eyes snapped to mine. “His presence seemed entirely unnecessary.”
“I can well believe that.” Will’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “You always were quite stubborn and independent.”
I scowled, wanting to scold him for calling me stubborn, especially after Gage had done so unjustly only the previous night, but I couldn’t. Not when the humor that had flickered so briefly in his gray eyes faded.
“But . . . perhaps . . . it is necessary.”
I searched his face, not wanting to believe he truly meant those words. But from the pain and uncertainty that tightened his features, it was all too apparent he did. A chill ran down my spine like an icy raindrop.
“You can’t believe that,” I protested. “I know you would never hurt me.”
His words were bleak. “I hope not.”