between Ian and the doctor at the foot of my bed in Traquair House. Shaking my head, I said, “It isn’t important.”
“Are you ill, Miss Murray?”
There was genuine concern in his eyes. Miserably, I shook my head.
He crossed his arms and leaned against the sink. “In Scotland as well as in the United States, doctors are required to honor patient confidences. I take my profession very seriously. Nothing that happens here will ever leave this room.”
Had he guessed? I looked directly at him. There was nothing but compassion in the thin face that looked back at me. What difference did it make? If it were true, everyone would know soon enough.
“I came for a pregnancy test,” I confessed.
“Shall I take a look and tell you for sure?” That was all. No look of surprise, no judgmental flaring of the nostrils or pursing of the lips. No look of censure. Just a simple question and a friendly smile.
I smiled back and walked over to the examining table.
Twenty minutes later I was dressed and on my way back to Traquair. Somehow, my mind registered road signs and traffic lights. Otherwise I would never have made it home safely. The impossible had happened. I, Christina Murray, a thirty-seven-year-old divorcée, was going to be a mother for the first time. All those miserable years of thermometers and mechanical sex, the bitter arguments and cold silences, the harsh accusations and bruised egos, had resulted in nothing more than the dissolution of a fifteen-year marriage. And now, in less than a month, the few magical, frantic couplings of unprotected intercourse between Ian and myself had accomplished this miracle.
Ian! I’d forgotten all about him. There were no other cars in sight. I swerved to the left, made a U-turn, and accelerated considerably over the speed limit back to Peebles. He was gone, of course. I thought that he would be, but I had to be sure. He would understand my absentmindedness once he heard the news.
There was no question that Ian would insist on marriage. He was born into a culture and tradition that assumed gentlemanly behavior long after the age of chivalry had been reduced to a brief salute consigned to the pages of ancient history books. But I had already been through one bad marriage, and although I was sure there would never be anyone else like Ian Douglas for me, I also knew that my judgment where men were concerned wasn’t always the best. This time I had choices. I didn’t have to be married although I desperately wanted to be. But more than that, I wanted Ian to ask me to be his wife without pressure or ulterior motive. But if he didn’t, I’d waited half my life to have a baby. Nothing was going to spoil it for me.
On a more practical note, I needed Ian. It was more important than ever to solve the mystery of the stone. Any last, lingering doubts about coincidence and the possibility that my fertile imagination had taken control of my mind disappeared at the confirmation of my condition. Everything was finally in place for the fulfillment of the legacy. But now I wasn’t alone. I knew without a doubt that besides Ian and myself three women who had transcended the portals of time, shared their lives, their hopes, their innermost secrets, were also with me.
Before today, I had been anxious to see justice done, to reveal that Mairi of Shiels was not a traitor to her country. The threat of danger to me, Christina Murray, a twentieth-century woman, seemed too incredible to believe. Now it was different, more personal. Now everything was possible. This Murray of Traquair was determined to watch her child grow up.
“Miss Murray,” Kate called after me as I started up the stairs to my room, “Mr. Douglas called. When I told him you had just arrived, he said to tell you he was on his way over. Shall I serve tea in the sitting room?”
I looked at my watch. It was after five. “I suppose so,” I replied. The sooner I told him, the better it would be for all of us. “Kate,” I said, stopping her as she started to walk away, “are my parents still resting?”
“I believe so,” she answered. “I’ve seen no sign of either one since shortly after their arrival.”
I muttered a grateful “Thank goodness” under my breath. The last thing I needed was an audience. “Did Ian say when he would be arriving?”