Page 82 of The Scottish Bride
That gave him pause. Liam glanced at Tamsin, walking across the clearing with her cousin. He was discovering, as James had, that a woman with the Sight was a complicated and fascinating creature and a treasure of great value.
“Liam?” Isobel asked. “You seem far away.”
He smiled. “Just enjoying our reunion, lass.” He was learning how well Lady Isobel had taken to life in the forest, and what a help her uncanny ability was in warning her husband of danger or a reassurance of peace. Tamsin and Isobel had more in common than they could know.
“The child is due mid-winter, as I was saying. I will not be here in the woodland much longer if my husband has his way.”
“I am not sure he will have his way,” Liam chuckled. “But you know he is concerned for your wellbeing and the child’s. If it were my wife, I would want her safely tucked away as well.”
“I know. And you have a wife now! I did not expect that news of you. She seems lovely. I wonder—an odd question, but does your lady have a touch of the Sight?”
“I think so. How could you tell? Does one seer recognize another?”
“No more than anyone else. But Finley said she is kin to Thomas the Rhymer, so I wondered. And when I met her, I saw a lovely soft light all around her. She has clarity and strength,” she said, “and she cares for you.”
“Does she?”
“Oh, so much. I saw it in her eyes when she watched you. I am glad you married this one.”
“Just a handfasting,” he confessed. “Temporary.”
She gave him a doubtful look. “Is it? I think it is just what you need. What you both need. Something troubles her, and you have such steadiness. She will benefit from that.”
“She does not share that opinion, I think.” He shrugged. “She does have the Sight. I have seen it come over her like a storm. It passes quickly but frightens her.”
“It can come on that way. Once I found some peace in my heart, it came easier. Now it is natural, something ordinary and reliable. So Lady Tamsin’s kinsman was a prophet,” she mused, looking toward Tamsin and Kirsty.
“So they say. The gift of the Queen of Faery, if one believes it.”
“Life is more than what we see here on the earth, more than heaven above and hell below. I have seen more layers, and God’s salvation and peace is there for all. But I do not debate that with priests,” she laughed. “Well, Gideon and Uncle Murdoch both understand the world is wider and more magical than we can truly know.”
“You,” he said, “have grown into a wise woman.”
“Always was, but no one asked.” She knocked his arm gently, teasing. “Your Tamsin must guard what she can do until she is sure of it. And you—my dear, she is a fortunate lass. You are a rock. You understand and respect her where others might not.”
“She does not put much faith in me, my dear. With reason,” he added.
“Not yet,” she murmured. “But she will.”
He cocked a brow in doubt.
“She will.” Isobel set a hand on his arm. “It is so good to see you. Now tell me about Gilchrist and Gideon. I miss them so, though Finley told me the twins felt the need to help at Holyoak for now. But oh, those two played such pranks on us as children.” She laughed.
“They did. And still look too much alike. But Gideon’s tonsure does help to tell them apart,” he drawled.
Late that night,Tamsin rested beside Liam on a thick bed of sheepskins and woolen blankets that cocooned them in warmth. With her head on his shoulder, she listened to his breathing, his heartbeat, even and deep. Untroubled and soothing, his rhythms wove with the random sounds of the forest at rest; wind rustling through leaves, branches creaking, birds and small animals fluttering, chittering, chirping. Never silent, even at night, the woodland sounds surrounded her under soft moonlight. Closing her eyes, she cozied against the man she could call husband.
But she was not ready to do that yet. She had so many questions, including about the hint that he knew more about the Rhymer than he let on.
Yet here, now, he felt so familiar, warm and strong and safe, her head on the firm pillow of his arm, his heartbeat thumping under her cheek, his body blending with hers. They were not strangers in that sense now. And yet he was distant, an enigma still. As she was to him, perhaps. They had much to learn about each other.
They had no home, no celebration. Their marriage had been based on rescue rather than love and affinity. She knew what she deeply wanted: the shield and comfort of family, a peaceful home, a future of hope and happiness, infused with love and passion. A dream, truly.
But she did not know if he shared that dream, or if their agreement, the rescue and favor of this marriage, would last even a year. If she truly had the Rhymer’s gift, it did not seem to help her know what to do, what to think.
Word by word and step by step, she would have to make her own way, she told herself. Page by page and promise by promise, she would do what was necessary, walk through what lay ahead—adventure, danger, challenge… Even love, dared she dream it. She wanted to think it waited for her—just here, in his arms.
She was not ready to open her heart and her hopes entirely though. Her instinct to protect herself was so honed now that drawing in was more familiar ground than acceptance. But now she truly yearned to be free of that wall if she could find a way.
