But still, I felt a little flat inside and had to force a smile to show him when we reached my front door and I turned to thank him.
Graham took the coat that he’d been holding overhead and put it on again. ‘We’ll try the tour another time,’ he said.
‘All right.’
‘See you tomorrow, then. At lunch.’
‘OK.’
He stood a moment longer, as though wanting to say something else, but in the end he only flipped his hood up, smiled, and started off again along the path while I turned round to fit my key into the cottage door.
My hands were cold and wet and couldn’t work the lock, and then I dropped the key and heard it ping on stone, so that I had to crouch and search for it, and by the time I’d found it I was well and truly soaked.
I straightened, to find Graham standing once again beside me. Thinking he’d come back to help, I told him, ‘It’s all right, I found it.’ And I raised the key to show him.
But when I began to try the lock again, his hand came up to catch my face, to stop me. I could feel the warmth of his strong fingers on my jawline, as his thumb traced very gently up my cheekbone.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I didn’t tell my dad, because I didn’t want to share you. Not just yet.’
I was convinced, at first, I hadn’t heard him properly. And even if I had, I couldn’t think of what to say. If I’d been writing this, I thought, I would have had no problem. It was easy writing dialogue for characters in books, but in real life, the words just never came to me the way I wanted them.
He took my pause for something else. ‘I’m sure that sounds insane to you, but—’
‘I don’t want to share you either.’ Which, considering the way that tumbled out, was not exactly the sophisticated answer I’d been aiming for, but seconds later I had ceased to care.
The kiss was brief, but left no room for me to misread his intentions. For that swirling moment, all I felt was him—his warmth, his touch, his strength, and when he raised his head I rocked a little on my feet, off balance.
He stood looking down at me as though he’d felt the power of that contact, too. And then his teeth flashed white against the darkness of his beard. The grey eyes crinkled. ‘Put that in your book,’ he dared me.
Then he turned and, shoving both hands deep into his pockets, walked off whistling down the wet path while I stood behind and watched him, standing speechless in the rain.
VI
YE’VE LOST YOUR MIND,’ said Kirsty. ‘He’s a handsome man. If I were of the proper birth, I’d smile for him myself.’
Sophia’s own mouth curved. ‘I doubt that would please Rory. And besides, you said you want a man who’ll settle down, and give you bairns. I do not think that Mr Moray leads a settled life.’
‘I’d take his bairns,’ said Kirsty. ‘Or the making of them, anyway.’ She tossed her hair and smiled widely. ‘But now I’ll be shocking ye, to talk so like a wanton. And ’tis true, your Mr Moray is nae farmer.’
They were outside in the little kitchen garden, where Sophia had found Kirsty searching for mint leaves to season the dish Mrs Grant was preparing. The morning was fine, with a warm sun above and a gentle breeze blowing instead of the fierce wind that had for the past three days rattled the windows and rolled the sea into great waves that had looked, to Sophia, as high as a man. Wicked weather for May, she had thought it. She greatly preferred days like this one, that let her come out of the house and away from the whirling confusion of feelings that pressed her when she was confined to close company with Mr Moray.
Kirsty asked her, ‘Did ye ken he was a colonel in his own right? A lieutenant-colonel, in the French king’s service. Rory telt me.’
‘No, I did not know that.’ But she did know his first name, because the Earl of Erroll called him by it: John. She thought it suited him. A simple name, but strong: John Moray.
Now she added ‘Colonel’ to it, tried it in her mind, while Kirsty shot her one more disbelieving look and asked, ‘Why did ye say ye would not ride with him?’
‘I did not say I would not. I but told him I was occupied with other things this morning.’
Kirsty’s eyes danced. ‘Aye, ’tis fair important watching me pick mint.’
‘I have my needlework.’
‘And heaven kens the tides might stop their flow were ye to leave that for an hour.’ She paused, and waited for the next excuse, and when none came she said, ‘Now tell me why ye telt him that ye would not ride with him. The truth.’