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, his eyes almost the exact colour of the waters below. She loved him so much. A sigh escaped her, and he turned that beloved face towards her.
‘You guessed?’ he asked.
She stared at him blankly, her mind still trying to come to terms with what her heart had been trying to tell her for days now. Weeks? How long had she loved him?
‘I suppose it was obvious,’ Innes said. ‘My being so dead-set against marriage—I always wondered what you made of that.’
‘I thought...’ What? What! She gazed at him, such longing in her heart, letting it flood her for just a moment. Just a moment. She loved him so much.
‘Ainsley? You thought...’ Innes prompted.
He must not guess she loved him, that was what she thought. Because if he guessed, he would send her away immediately, and she needed a few more weeks. Just a few more. ‘I thought there must have been,’ she said. ‘A woman. I thought that’s what it must have been.’
‘Well, you were right.’
She waited, trying not to show what she was feeling. Was she looking at him differently? Innes was staring out to sea again, his throat working. Whatever was coming next, he was struggling with it. She didn’t want to hear him talking about another woman, but he obviously needed to tell her. Ainsley ruthlessly thrust her own storm of feelings to one side. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘There was a woman. And of course she was lovely.’
‘She was. She was very lovely.’
She hadn’t meant him to agree with her. Now, perversely, she wanted to twist the knife, as if knowing how very different she was from his one true love would stop her loving him. ‘No doubt she was graced with a fortune, too,’ Ainsley said.
‘She was rich. An orphan and an only child, she was brought to live at Glen Vadie when she was just a bairn.’
‘Glen Vadie. That is the Caldwell estate?’
Innes nodded. ‘Aye, she was a distant relative of my mother’s. We grew up together.’
It was beginning to sound horribly like a fairy story, though without the happy ending, Ainsley thought. She already hated this rich, charming, well-born, beautiful woman.
Innes heaved a sigh. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not being very articulate. The truth is, I can hardly bear to think of it, for even after all this time I’m ashamed, and I don’t know what you’ll think of me.’
‘Innes,
