“Mr. Gage and I had a fight.”
He searched my face. “About me?”
“Partly.” My answer was deliberately unclear. I didn’t want to have to lie to him, but I also didn’t want to tell him about Gage having been hired by Dr. Sloane. There was no telling how he would react.
In any case, Will did not seem to mind my hazy response. He turned back toward the sea, seeming to take pleasure in the way the waves rolled up onto the sand and pebbles, leaving foam in their wake. It was such a soothing sound, the wax and wane of the ocean. Only the kittiwakes crying overhead disturbed the tranquillity.
And Will’s next words.
“Kiera, I’m well aware of the risk I pose to you and everyone else. You cannot blame Mr. Gage for wanting to protect you.”
I frowned, unhappy to discover what Will believed I meant by my vague reply, and displeased to hear him admit so readily that he was a danger to others. “This wasn’t about protecting me.”
“Are you certain of that?”
The candor in his voice made me look up.
“To a man, the protection of those he cares for is of the utmost importance. It’s ingrained in us at birth, and our training as gentlemen only amplifies it. To see someone we think of as ours suffer, be it physical or emotional pain, because we failed to protect them from something we should have, well . . . it diminishes us. It . . . tears at who we are.”
His gaze had turned inward, his words pensive, and it made me think that he was talking about himself as much as Gage. Who had Will failed to protect? The soldiers under his command? Or had it been someone in the asylum? I thought of the girl Dr. Sloane had accused him of killing. Did he feel guilt because he had been unable to protect her from whatever had happened to her? The idea that he might be carrying around such a burden wrenched my heart.
His soft gray eyes were clear again when he arched his eyebrows at me in gentle chiding. “It’s plain to see that the man cares for you. And therefore your safety and security are very much on his mind.” The corners of his mouth tipped up in the semblance of a smile and a teasing light entered his eyes. “I know you dislike being cosseted, but give the poor chap a chance.”
Was that it? Was Gage really just trying to protect me? From what? The pain his lies had caused me? Well, he’d certainly failed in that regard.
I scowled at the sea, still smarting from the sting of his most recent betrayal. How was I supposed to continue working with Gage when I couldn’t be certain he was being honest with me? How was I supposed to look him in the eye knowing I’d let him kiss me, even wanted him to, all the while ignoring the indications that I shouldn’t trust him?
Yes, there had been contradictory information. Philip and Alana both believed in him and had urged me to do so. But as highly as I regarded their opinion, I also recognized they didn’t have all the facts, nor did they risk so much by taking the man into their confidence. Though, as far as I knew, Gage had not betrayed the information I had shared with him about my past, nor Will’s, for that matter. And he’d proven quite ably that he would risk his life to protect mine. Even now, angry as I was with him, I couldn’t seem to quiet the instincts that told me I would be safe with him.
The man was beyond infuriating! Why couldn’t he just have been honest and forthright with me from the very beginning?
I turned to find Will again contemplating the sea. I was surprised he could derive so much enjoyment out of it even knowing Inchkeith Island was out there. Did it comfort him to stare across the cold, choppy, sometimes violent waves of the Firth of Forth and know they stood between him and the asylum? Or was he drawn here, unable to turn his back on the place that had caused him so much pain, either out of lingering fear, morbid compulsion, or disbelief?
“You like to come here, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “I grew up here. Michael doesn’t remember it much, and Laura was born at Swinton Lodge, but I spent the first decade of my life in this drafty, old castle.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the crumbling tower. I hadn’t thought of that. Sometimes I forgot that he was fifteen years my senior, even with the gray hair at his temples. He had lived his entire childhood before I had even been a speck in my parents’ eyes. My gaze snagged on the crenellated battlements, reminding me of something his brother had told us.
“Michael talked about your ancestor Sir Roger Dalmay and his dog. How the hound howled at his death.”
“And how he howls at each subsequent laird’s death?”
I turned to him, surprised by the unconcerned tone of his voice. “Doesn’t that bother you? That a dog will supposedly foretell your demise one day?”