with slender fingers. “John Maxwell has returned from England,” she began.
Jeanne remained silent.
“Before he left, he asked for your hand in marriage. I told him the match had my approval if you agreed. You were very young and five years is a long time.” Flora lowered her lashes over brimming tears and bit her lip. “There was a time when I believed you were not indifferent to his attentions.”
Jeanne could contain herself no longer. “That was before you made your preference quite clear.”
Bewildered, Flora stared at her daughter. “I beg your pardon?”
“I saw you.” Jeanne’s eyes were the dark, stormy gray of the North Sea. “My brother’s body was still warm when John carried you into the bedchamber you shared with Father. Did you believe I was too young to know what went on inside that room, Mother?” She spit out the last word in a scathing blast of contempt.
White with shock, Flora listened to the blasphemous words. “No,” she whispered. “No, you don’t understand. It wasn’t that way at all.” She held out her hand imploringly. “John was your father’s friend, nothing more. John wanted you, Jeannie. He loved you from the beginning when you were children together. I’ve always known that. How could you think either of us would betray your father in such a way?”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why?” The single word was a cry of agony.
“He didn’t come home when Father died,” said Jeanne. “He waited until you were free.”
“Donald died two years ago,” Flora reminded her. “Why would he wait so long to claim me?”
“Any sooner would seem improper to the church and the king.”
Flora’s lip curled. “Since when has Jamie Stewart been concerned with propriety?”
Jeanne frowned. If what her mother said was true, she had much to think about. The wounds she’d nursed for five years wouldn’t heal with a single explanation. Besides, even if John and her mother had not been lovers, his reputation at the English court was enough to make him an unsuitable choice for a husband. “It grows late and Sim waits below with the horses,” she said shortly, turning the door handle. “I shall stay the night with Grania.”
“There are those who believe she is a witch, Jeannie,” Flora warned. “Be ruled by me in this. Do not go to her this night.”
“Do you believe such an absurdity?” Jeanne asked, her expression contemptuous.
Flora shook her head. “Of course not. But it matters not what I believe. There are those with far greater influence than I who swear she deals in magic.”
“I need to think,” Jeanne explained. “Grania’s cottage is good for thinking.”
“And Traquair isn’t?” her mother challenged.
Jeanne stopped, and when she spoke, her voice was very low. “You forget, Mother. This is no longer our home. It belongs to John. We are allowed to remain only because of the affection he bears our family. It would be unwise to become too fond of Traquair House.” With a whisper of velvet skirts against the stone floor, she was gone.
***
Three hours later, a servant ushered John Maxwell into a small, dimly lit sitting room at the back of the house. There, he found the mistress of Traquair lying on a leather settle, one arm thrown across her face in a gesture of despair. Leaning against the door jamb, he crossed his arms. “Is this any way to greet the head of your family, m’lady?” he teased.
Flora dropped her arm and sat up immediately. “John,” she cried and started to rise. He stopped her by striding across the room to sweep her up into a choking embrace. They stood close together for a timeless moment, the dark head bent protectively over the light one. Finally, laughing breathlessly, Flora pulled away. “Stand back and let me look at you,” she ordered.
He moved away allowing her sight-starved eyes to look their fill. “Oh, John.” Her eyes filled. “You’ve grown into a shockingly handsome man.”
His eyes, so like Jeanne’s, twinkled down at her. “I’m glad you approve. I hope your daughter’s taste is the same. Where is the lass?”
Flora wrung her hands and sat down on the settle. “She left three hours ago to pay Grania Douglas a visit.”
John’s eyes widened. “Sweet Jesu,” he marveled. “Is Grania still alive? She was ancient when we were children.”
“I’m afraid so,” replied Flora. “Jeanne visits her often. I’m afraid the woman may be dangerous.”
John sat down beside her and took her hand. “Grania is a harmless old calliach, Flora. How could she possibly harm Jeanne?”
“You’ve been away a long