Lucan limped over to collapse to a seat at her side once more. She hadn’t seen him since after she and Padraig had escaped the fire, when they’d all exchanged information about what had happened during that horrific night.
“How are you feeling now?” he asked.
“Heartbroken,” she answered at once, without thinking that he was likely referring to her physical health. She turned her head to look at her brother. “I loved her, Lucan. I defended her. Nearly forsook Padraig for her. And all that time, she intended to kill me.” Her throat constricted again and the tears wanted to come, but her body had nothing more to give.
“Caris Hargrave was mad,” Lucan said in his matter-of-fact manner. “Being married to Vaughn Hargrave for so many years perhaps contributed to her insanity, but nothing you did or didn’t do could have changed what she truly was. You had no idea what she was capable of.”
“I don’t know that her choices were because of Lord Hargrave,” she mused. “We’ll never know, now. But I do think they found the perfect match in each other.”
“Well-paired, certainly,” Lucan mused darkly. “But far from perfect. Now, you and Padraig Boyd…”
She turned her head to look at him. “Lucan, I love that man.”
Lucan grinned. “Pleased at last that you’re no longer bothering trying to deny it. I feel rather indebted to him myself. I only wonder what will happen with”—he waved his hand in his decidedly Lucan fashion about the lawn—“all this once the king receives word.”
“He’ll have to give it over to Padraig, won’t he?” she asked with a frown. “Hargrave is dead. There is no one else entitled to it.”
Lucan shrugged. “I don’t dare speculate. If he finds Thomas Annesley guilty, he could confiscate the entire barony for the Crown. Send our good Master Boyd back to Caedmaray empty-handed.”
Iris remained silent.
Lucan gave her a moment to sit with the idea. “Would that change your feelings for him? If he were to be nothing more than a simple fisherman for the rest of his life?”
She looked sharply at him. “What do you mean?”
Lucan raised his brows and looked away enigmatically as he staggered to his feet again, wincing as his injured foot touched the ground.
“I only mean that you might possibly be pressed into expressing your opinion on that very matter…ah, quite soon.” He gave her a grin and turned to limp away.
And Iris noticed Padraig standing nearby.
“Good morning, Iris,” he said with a bow.
She smiled. “Good morning, Master Boyd.”
“May I join you?”
“How could I refuse such a gentlemanly request?”
Padraig sat down with a groan and a sigh, tossing his crutch to the side. “Ah, well, I had the finest tutor.” He was quiet for a moment. “Would it matter to you? If I doona gain Darlyrede? If I leave Northumberland with nothing?”
He had been listening.
“Do you know,” she said, looking back to the smoking rubble of the keep, “this is the second time in my life that I have watched a manor burn. Where people I held dear to me have perished, leaving me with no home. No possessions. No thoughts of a certain future. It’s only stones, Padraig. Why would stones matter to me, of all people?”
She met his eyes then, and if she had been standing, she thought her legs would have been unable to support her, his gaze smoldered so.
“Because all I can offer you with any certainty is more stones—a stone cottage on a poor fishing island. A hard life for a woman, even one who is not used to fine things. I watched my mother live it.”
Iris forced herself to swallow. “Do you admire your father?” she asked.
A slight frown creased his forehead. “Aye. Tommy Boyd—Thomas Annesley, whatever you wish to call him—he is the most honest, strongest man I have ever known. He loved my mother, he loved me. He taught me well. If none of this”—he waved his hand about the lawn—“had ever happened, I know that he would have lived out his days on Caedmaray as a good husband. A good father. A good man, if nae a noble one.”
“I cannot think of any finer thing a woman could ask for than a noble man—noble in character, if not in title.”
He stared into her eyes for a long moment. “Even if I win Darlyrede, it is a ruin now. It will be years before it will be rebuilt.”
“If there is anything else we are in certain possession of, it’s time,” Iris suggested, a smile beginning to creep along her face.
“I love you, Iris,” he said. She opened her mouth to respond, but Padraig placed a finger against her lips. “Shh. Before you say anything, I will love you here at Darlyrede House, or on Caedmaray, or at Thurso, or in London. It is my thought that I might petition the king to enlist in his army. And then, regardless of his judgment, I can make a life for us. Whatever I must do from this point on, and nae matter where I must go to see it done, I will do that for you. For us. So doona vow it if you’re nae prepared to go with me.”
“Anywhere,” she whispered. “I’ll love you anywhere, everywhere. Always.”
Padraig kissed her gently then, and Iris felt the swell of happy tears behind her eyes.
But then he pulled away, causing Iris to rock forward and catch herself with one outstretched arm. He raised a hand toward the milling people and a sooty and weary-looking Father Kettering came forward, lugging a golden trunk on his thigh.
“A yes it is, then?” he called.
“Aye,” Padraig replied, using his crutch heavily as he helped Iris to her feet. “Let’s get the thing done before she changes her mind.”
“Padraig?” Iris queried.
He
