Page 120 of A Scot in the Storm
Mrs. Gable made a low sound of agreement while chopping carrots.
But Abigail wasn’t fine, and suddenly she couldn’t bear it another moment. The heart, she was discovering, had very little respect for orderly behavior.
“I need air,” she said abruptly.
Mrs. Gable looked up at once. “Aye, a fine evening for a wee walk.”
“Aye,” Rory said quietly. “I’ll walk with ye.”
“Well then,” the housekeeper said briskly. “Try no’ to freeze to death before supper. I’ve no interest in explaining that to the household.”
Outside, the world had gone silver-blue beneath the approaching dusk.
Snow crunched beneath Abigail’s boots as she crossed toward the cliff path overlooking the sea, Rory falling into step beside her without speaking.
The sea rolled dark below the cliffs, restless beneath the sweep of the lighthouse beam. Snow drifted through the light and vanished into the water as though the whole world were being slowly erased and written again.
“You’ve been grieving your brother,” Rory said quietly.
Abigail stopped walking as the wind moved around them while snow drifted pale through the darkening air. She stared toward the sea because she couldn’t look at him.
“What makes you say that?”
Rory was quiet for a moment.
“Because I ken what grief looks like.”
Abigail swallowed hard. “I thought I was hiding it better.”
“No,” he said gently. “Ye were trying harder.”
That nearly undid her. The beam swept once slowly across the water below.
“You remember I told you about Sam,” she said.
“Aye.” Rory’s voice softened. “He isna well.”
Hearing him say it so simply hurt in a way she hadn’t expected.
“He would have loved today,” she whispered. “All this snow. The chaos. Duncan committing crimes against forestry.”
Rory’s mouth moved faintly. “Aye, then he’s a man of questionable taste.”
“He is.” She wrapped both arms around herself against the cold. “He once tried to make pancakes on a metal plate placed on the dashboard of his van, said the sun would cook them.”
Rory blinked.
“It didn’t work,” she added.
A laugh escaped her, small and cracked, and the tears she hadn’t let fall for as long as she could remember, came right behind it.
“Lass.”
Rory reached for her, but she took a step back, needing to get it out before she lost her nerve.
“He’s sick,” she said. “I told you that much before, but I don’t think I told you what it means. Not really.”
Rory’s expression grew still.
