Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye

continue.’

      Yet for a blissful few moments, that was exactly what she allowed herself to do. She was in love, and for those few moments, that was all that mattered. For those few moments, she allowed herself to believe that love would conquer all the barriers she had so painstakingly examined and deemed immovable. She was so overwhelmed with love, surely anything was possible. She loved Innes so much, he could not fail to love her back. They could not fail to have a future together, because the idea of a future without him was incomprehensible.

      The knock on the door made her jump. Innes looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. ‘We need to talk,’ he said, and not even her newly discovered love could persuade Ainsley that the words were anything other than ominous.

      Fleetingly, she considered pretending that nothing momentous had happened, but looking at the expression on Innes’s face, she just as quickly dismissed the notion. Feeling quite as sick now as he looked, Ainsley got to her feet and followed him out of the door.

      To her surprise, he led them outside, along the path towards the castle. At the terrace they paused automatically to drink in the view. ‘I went through to Edinburgh when I was away,’ Innes told her. ‘There were matters to tie up with the lawyers. I was going to call on Miss Blair. I know you’d have wanted me to let her know that you were well, but—you’ll never believe this.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Eoin,’ Innes said, shaking his head. ‘I wondered why he insisted on coming through to Edinburgh with me when the man never wants to leave Strone Bridge. It turns out that he and your Miss Blair have been corresponding, if you please. He went off to take tea with her and made it very clear I was not wanted. He was away most of the day, what’s more, and not a word could I get out of him after, save that he was to pass her love on to you. What do you make of that?’

      ‘I don’t know what to make of it at all. I had no idea—she certainly has not mentioned this correspondence to me.’

      ‘Do you think they’ll make a match of it?’

      ‘Oh, no.’ Ainsley shook her head adamantly. ‘That will never happen.’

      ‘You seem very sure. I thought you’d be pleased. You would have been neighbours.’

      ‘Innes, I will not be...’

      ‘No, don’t say it,’ he said hurriedly.

      ‘You don’t know what I was about to say.’

      ‘I do. I do, Ainsley.’ His smile was tinged with sadness. ‘Poor Eoin. But I didn’t bring you here to talk about Eoin. I can see you’re bursting to talk, but let me speak first. Then perhaps I will have spared you the need.’

       Chapter Eleven

      Ainsley had assumed they were going to the chapel, but when they got there Innes left the well-trodden path to push through a gap in the high rhododendron bushes in the nook forming the elbow of the graveyard, which she had not noticed before. The grass here was high, the path narrow, forcing them to walk single file. It led through the tunnel of the overgrown shrubs, emerging on a remote part of the cliff top looking not over the bay where the pier was being constructed, but over the far end of the Kyles, and the northern tip of the Isle of Bute.

      ‘That’s Loch Riddon you can see,’ Innes said, putting his arm around her shoulder, ‘and over there in the distance is Loch Striven.’

      ‘It’s lovely.’

      ‘It was Malcolm’s favourite view.’ Innes took her hand, leading her to the farthest edge of the path. Here, the grass was fresh mown around a small mound, on top of which was a cross. A Celtic cross, a miniature of the Drummond one. And on it, one name. ‘My brother,’ Innes said.

      Ainsley stared at the birthdate recorded on the stone in consternation. ‘He was your twin! Oh, Innes, I had no idea.’

      He was frowning deeply. She could see his throat working, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he stared down at the stone. She was not sure if he was going to punch the stone or break down in front of it. She was afraid to touch him, and aching to. ‘It’s a very beautiful spot,’ Ainsley said rather desperately.

      ‘Aye. And it was his favourite view, but all the same he would not have chosen to spend eternity here. Malcolm...’ Innes swallowed compulsively. ‘I’ve said before, Malcolm— It wasn’t just that he was raised to be the heir, Ainsley, he lived and breathed this place. The traditions meant as much to him as they did to my father. He would have wanted to be buried with the rest of them. Except they would not let that happen. No matter how much I tried to persuade them, they would not allow it.’

      ‘Why not?’ Ainsley asked, though she had a horrible premonition as to the answer.

      ‘Consecrated ground,’ Innes said. ‘My brother killed himself.’

      Shock kept her silent for long moments. Then came a wrenching pain as she tried to imagine the agonies Innes must have suffered. Must still be suffering. ‘No wonder you left,’ she said, the first coherent thought she had. Tears came then, though she tried to stop them, feeling she had no right, but his face, so pale, so stiff, the tension in the muscles of his throat, working and working for control were too much for her. ‘Oh, Innes, I am so, so sorry.’

      Seeking only to comfort, wordless, distraught, she wrapped her arms around his waist. He stood rigid for a moment, then his arms enfolded her. ‘I’m sorry,’ Ainsley said, over and over, rocking her body against him, and he held her, saying nothing, but holding on to her, his chest heaving, his hands clasping tighter and tighter around her waist, as if he was trying to hold himself together.

      Gradually, his breathing calmed. Her tears dried. His hand relaxed its hold on her shoulder. ‘I had no idea,’ Ainsley said, scrubbing at her tear-stained cheeks.

      ‘Why should you?’ Innes replied gruffly. ‘I made sure not to tell you anything. While I was away from here, I could pretend it had not happened.’

      ‘That’s why you never came back?’

      ‘One of the reasons.’ He heaved a deep sigh, tracing the inscription on the cross, before turning away. ‘Come, there’s a rock over there that makes a fairly comfortable seat. It’s time you knew the whole of it.’ He touched her cheek, then dipped his head to kiss her. A fleeting kiss, tinged with sadness. ‘After this morning, we both know we can’t carry on as we have been.’

      She knew, but only when he said it did she realise that she still had not accepted it. She’d hoped. Despite all, she had hoped. Sitting down beside him on the huge chair-shaped boulder, her heart sank. Whatever Innes was about to tell her would destroy that hope for ever.

      * * *

      Innes was staring out at the sea, where the turning tide was making ripples on the summer blue of the surface. ‘You know how things were with me here, when I was growing up,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to leave, but to leave without my father’s permission would undoubtedly have caused a breach between myself and my twin. It would be an exile for me, unless I returned under the whip, and one that Malcolm would feel obliged to uphold. You must remember, in those days, my father was not so old. An enforced separation from my twin for years, maybe even decades, was not something I wanted to have to deal with.’

      ‘And yet you left,’ Ainsley said.

      ‘I had planned to wait until after I came into an inheritance from my mother. I had persuaded myself that it would make a difference, my having independent means, that my father would not see it as a flaunting of his authority. As it turned out, I didn’t have to put it to the test. Events—events took over.’

      Ainsley’s hand sought his. She braced herself.

      ‘There was a woman,’ Innes said.

      He was still staring out to sea,