Page 3 of Love Beyond Words
“Laurel, look at this. This guy looks just like Marcus. I mean, just like him.”
Leaning over her shoulder, I looked down to see what she was talking about.
Across the page was a group portrait of eight men. Sure enough, the man on the far right did bear a startling resemblance to my best friend.
Kate twisted to look up at me.
“You should call him, Laurel.”
“What for? To tell him that I found a portrait of someone who looks like him? He wouldn’t care.”
Kate reached up and grabbed my arm to pull me around to the sofa.
“No, of course not for that. It’s a strange coincidence—another sign that is perhaps telling you that you need to reach out to him—but I hardly see why Marcus needs to know. You need to call him for you. He’s been calling every two weeks for months now. I don’t know what happened between the two of you since you’ve refused to tell me, but I know Marcus, and it couldn’t have been anything bad enough to warrant you cutting him out of your life. He’s too important to you. You haven’t been yourself since the fire. You mope around here pretending to tend to me, which we both know you refuse to do.”
She winked at me, and I knew she meant to reassure me that she wasn’t angry with how stern I’d been with her. During the first two months following the fire, our mother had stayed in Boston to help me care for Kate. It had been an unmitigated disaster. Heartbroken for her daughter, Mom had doted on Kate in a fashion that only furthered her new difficulties. She would do anything and everything for her. It did nothing but slow her recovery. Eventually, fed up and eager to have my house under my control again, I sent Mom back home to Florida. Kate healed more in the three weeks following our mother’s departure than she had in the two months prior, simply because I wasn’t as sympathetic. Even when she cried, even when she begged me to do simple tasks that were easy for me to take for granted but were now incredibly difficult for her, I made her do it herself. Each new victory increased her confidence and slowly, she healed.
Seeing how much Kate had improved was the only thing that helped Mother forgive me for how I’d treated her.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you’ve been such a hard ass. I’m just saying, you always pretend that I need you, but you don’t really do anything for me when you’re here anyway. It’s an excuse. I’m tired of being your excuse. It’s time for you to get your life back. You need your best friend. You need to start writing again. You’re not the one who lost everything in a fire, Laurel, yet you walk around here like you are. Whatever you need to do to get back to the life you had before I moved in here with you, you need to do it.”
Someone’s words had never had such a profound effect on me. I reeled back on the sofa as if she’d slapped me. She was right, but I didn’t know how to begin. Everything felt so completely off course.
“I don’t know how, Kate. I don’t know what to do. I’m not blaming you. I don’t ever want you to think that, but before the fire, I felt like things were just beginning for me, like I was on the verge of some big shift in my life. Then just like that, with one phone call, everything stopped. I floundered, and then I got comfortable in the floundering. Now, I can’t see how to pull myself out of it.”
Kate leaned forward to pull me into a hug.
“I know you don’t blame me, but I’ve upended your life all the same. And don’t worry about what you need to do. Signs always come in threes. You’ve another one due anytime. Just watch for it. You’ll know what to do.”
Squeezing her tight, I laughed at her confidence.
“Is this what you intend to do for your next career? Are you going to start predicting people’s futures?”
Gently pushing me away, Kate stood and reached for Mr. Crinkles.
“It’s not fortune telling, Laurel. It’s common knowledge. As a writer, I’d think you would know that. Anything important almost always comes in threes.”
I smiled at her as she made her way to her bedroom. It took all of three minutes for me to fall asleep on the sofa.
A loud banging on the front door woke me up from a dead sleep at three a.m.
Chapter 2
Allen Castle—Scotland—1651
* * *
The lass was persistent. It was the tenth letter he’d received from her in as many months. He’d yet to open a single one. He knew what he would find—a series of blurred letters to taunt him. Simply more proof that he was losing his sight. And even if he could make out Sydney’s words to him, what would he say in return? There was so much he couldn’t tell her. Until his land was securely deeded to another, he couldn’t tell her the truth of where he lived, or what he did, or even truly, who he was. Until he returned home to the rest of The Eight, he couldn’t know if the damage to his eyes was permanent. Even if it was, Sydney was the last person he would want to know. She was one of the few who knew his heart. If he truly lost his vision, he wanted her to remember him as he was before.
As much as it pained him, he would have to let his friendship with her die.
“Thank ye, Madge. Please take this to my bedchamber and leave it with the others.”
The old woman nodded but leaned in to quietly whisper in his ear.
“Aye, o’course, sir. If ye’d like to have someone read it to ye, I can have my son come to ye when ye retire this evening. I could assure his discretion.”
Raudrich reached out and grabbed her arm as she stepped away to leave him.
