I can't even bring his body home to them. The tides have already taken it out to
sea. I still feel guilty about him, you know. I was his friend. I should have
realized something was wrong. If I had, maybe I could have found a way to help
him, before he got mixed up with the wrong people…"
"Stop that," said Brennan firmly. "If David had wanted you to know, he would
have told you. He had enough opportunities. But his pride wouldn't let him. Or
perhaps he just didn't want to drag his friends down with him. Whatever happened
is his responsibility, no one else's. You're the MacNeil now, Jamie. You must
learn not to worry about things that can't be changed."
Jamie nodded slowly, but still looked unconvinced. Hawk decided this might be a
good time to change the subject, and cleared his throat loudly. "What about you,
Robbie? What are you going to do with yourself, now that Duncan's left you such
a sizeable windfall?"
Robbie grinned. "Damned if I know, to be honest. But I might just do a little
traveling. It's a long time since I was out in the world. There's bound to have
been a lot of changes, and I think I'd like to see some of them while I still
can. Not that I haven't been happy here, Jamie, but it's not the same with
Duncan gone. I'll look back from time to time, see how you're getting on; sing
you any new songs I've picked up."
"Yes, of course," said Jamie. "That would be nice."
Brennan laughed. "You're not fooling anyone, Jamie. You never did appreciate my
singing."
"It's an acquired taste," said Jamie solemnly. "And I've only been listening to
you for about twenty years."
They all smiled genuinely, and Hawk put out his hand to Jamie. The MacNeil shook
it firmly. There was a quick burst of handshaking all round, and Hawk led Fisher
away, before the goodbyes could become awkward again. They set off down the
trail that led to the city, and didn't look back.
"Well," said Hawk finally, "how did you like being one of the Quality, Isobel?"
Fisher snorted. "The food was good and the wines were splendid, but the company
sucked and I hate their idea of fashion. The corset pinches me every time I
breathe, having my hair piled up like this makes my head ache, and these shoes
are killing me."
Hawk smiled. "Just be grateful we didn't have to mix with a dozen or more
Families in High Society."
"I am grateful," said Fisher. "Believe me."
"I don't think we did too badly. We didn't hit anyone." Fisher shook her head.
"You don't have the right attitude for High Society, Hawk."
"Hark who's talking."
They laughed quietly together, and made their way back down towards Haven.
Alistair stood alone in the drawing room, looking up at the portrait of the
sound the soft crackling of the fire. He knew he didn't have much time before
the others would come looking for him, but still he hesitated, torn with
indecision. It was such a long time since he'd last walked the corridors of the
Tower. He hadn't realized he'd miss it so much.
He looked round the drawing room, deliberately not hurrying himself, taking in
all the details. They'd made a lot of changes since his day. He didn't care for
most of them, but then, fashions change. He walked slowly round the room,
smelling the flowers and admiring the paintings and tapestries, and letting his
fingers drift over the polished surfaces of the furniture. He couldn't stay. It
was his home, but he couldn't stay. He didn't belong here anymore. The young
girl Holly had begged for him to come, and so he had, but he wasn't needed
anymore. The freak was dead at last, finally at peace.
He turned back to face the portrait again. It was time to go, before the others
realized he wasn't really Alistair MacNeil after all. He wanted so much to stay,
to walk in the real world, to see the sun rise and fall and feel the wind on his
face… but he still had his penance to fulfill. The penance he'd taken on so many
years ago, for the terrible things he'd done to his son, the freak.
The MacNeil Family Guardian held his head high and disappeared back into the
portrait hanging over the fireplace, waiting to be called again, in time of
need.
Whenever they might need him.
FB2 document info
Document ID: 672626c1-ef50-43b0-ad2f-20e1a854e8ba
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 21.5.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.51, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Simon R. Green
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