smiled into her neck before moving to the slope of her breast. She sighed and closed her eyes, welcoming the weight of him against her body. Stretching seductively she clasped her arms around his neck.
Once again, John was filled with need. But it wasn’t the raging tide of the previous night. This time he could wait. His eyes lingered on her parted lips. Bending his head, he kissed her, his tongue tracing the polished teeth, the line of her mouth, and the sweet flesh within. When her hands twisted themselves in his hair and her tongue followed his, he pulled away well satisfied. Better to wait and leave her with the memory of pleasure. Perhaps in a day or two, she would reconsider her opinion of lovemaking. He smiled wryly to himself. This business of marriage was more than he’d bargained for.
TRAQUAIR HOUSE
1993
My father called at nine in the morning. He and my mother had flown all night and sounded exhausted on the telephone.
Kate had spent the last few days preparing for their arrival. A huge bedroom, which I learned was traditionally the laird’s suite, had been cleaned from top to bottom, the mattresses turned, rugs pounded, and sheets hung outside to absorb the scent of pine and clean wind. Bouquets of heather were set on the mantel and both end tables, and thick, freshly laundered towels hung in the modern master bath.
I was grateful that the road was deserted. The car I’d rented the day before was a Sierra, a model I’d never seen in the States but close enough to an American car to feel and look familiar. The steering wheel, however, was on the right and the roundabouts with their spoke-like directionals came too quickly to make driving completely comfortable. Thankful that I didn’t have to worry about those until I reached the city, I looked around at the scenery and thought about Jeanne Maxwell.
According to Professor MacCleod’s research, she had confided in her husband, telling him of the nightmares that came to her with such terrifying clarity. But, unlike Katrine, she had not experienced them during her pregnancy. Jeanne’s visions of Mairi’s death had not come until three years after her marriage, well after her son was born. Everything else fit perfectly. Her diabetes, the combination of Murray and Maxwell blood in her gene pool, the incredible similarity of features. Something was missing. What was it? What could have occurred in her life to give her that look of wariness I’d seen in her portrait? Had her marriage turned out to be unhappy?
I thought back to her wedding night. It hadn’t lived up to her expectations, but it wasn’t an unusual experience for a woman who knew next to nothing about sex. From the beginning of time, women had suffered through much worse and gone on to have satisfying relationships. John Maxwell didn’t strike me as a man who couldn’t arouse his wife, or any other woman for that matter. No, I decided. The problem couldn’t have anything to do with their marriage.
The turnoff to the airport came sooner than I’d expected. Signs for arriving flights were posted on the side of the road. I took the next exit and maneuvered my car into the parking lot near the British Airways terminal.
I saw them before they recognized me. Relaxing on a bench in the airport lobby, my mother looked smaller and older than I remembered. It had been almost six months since I’d last seen her. A wave of guilt surged through me. Boston was only three thousand miles from California, five hours by plane, hardly an insurmountable distance. I should have visited more than I had.
Thank goodness for my father. I couldn’t help smiling when I saw him. He never changed. The cowlick that wouldn’t lie flat stuck straight up on top of his head, and he’d buttoned his sweater unevenly. Retirement certainly suited his personality. Dad never cared much for appearances. My smile died. Mother, always the perfectionist, didn’t seem to care either. She looked dazed, as if the airport activity was too much for her.
Slowly, I approached them and rested one hand on each of their shoulders. “Hi, you two,” I said, folding my mother into my arms. “How was the flight?”
“Just fine,” said Dad heartily, relief in his voice. “We didn’t expect you so soon. Traquair must be closer than it looks on the map.”
“There isn’t any traffic here,” I reminded him. Slipping my mother’s bag over my shoulder, I linked my