Legacy of the Dead - Charles Todd [124]
“You have a wonderful imagination,” she said, smiling in spite of herself. “Or have you convinced yourself that the mother of Eleanor Gray is trying to prevent Ian from ruining her family’s reputation?”
“Imagination has often been the best and quickest way through a thicket of lies.” He made a swift decision and shifted direction. “Whose wedding ring do you wear on a chain around your neck?”
Her face flamed. “Who told you such a thing?”
“Dorothea MacIntyre. She didn’t mean to betray you. In the course of describing how well you’d cared for her when she was ill, she spoke of it. She believed it was truly yours.”
“It was my grandmother’s ring. If I was a married woman, I ought to have a ring. But it was loose, it didn’t fit my finger. So I wore it around my neck, telling my aunt that I was afraid it might fall off and be lost. You’ll find it at the inn. Unless someone has taken that as well! I put it away when I could no longer call myself Mrs. MacLeod.” She looked away. The memory hurt her.
Earnestly, he said, “Won’t you tell me which one of my guesses is closest to the truth? Because once I know, I can protect you, I can protect that child.”
“But you can’t give him back to me when it’s over!” It was a cry of anguish. “You’ve already told me that no matter how this ends, I shall never have him back again.”
He looked at her, trying to read her face. “Is that the bargain you’re making with me? If I can guarantee that you shall have your child again, you will finally tell me the truth?”
She bit her lip, torn between duty and love and hope.
He had finally found the key to Fiona MacDonald’s silence. Something she wanted more than life—even her own life. That child.
Then, to his utter astonishment, she replied, “Will you kill someone for me? Because if you can’t, promises will be useless.”
She read his answer in his face.
“No. I didn’t think you could.” There was infinite sorrow in her voice.
He waited, but she said nothing more. No explanation, no self-defense for even asking such a thing of him.
Into the silence he asked, “Do you trust Constable McKinstry?”
Surprised, she said, “Yes. I think I do. Why shouldn’t I? He wanted to marry me.”
Hamish said, “If he wed her, he’d have custody of the child. Is that what began this business, her refusal?”
“Why didn’t you marry him?” Rutledge asked. “Ian would have had a proper father.”
“I didn’t want to marry. I didn’t want to wake up in the morning and find his face on the pillow next to mine. Or anyone else’s. I don’t love him. I gave my heart away once. I never want to do it again. It hurts too much!”
He thought of Jean. Yes, it hurt far more than it should, to love.
Fiona smoothed her hands together. “Have you ever made a house of playing cards? I used to do it for the Davison children sometimes. It always falls in upon itself. That’s my dilemma, Ian Rutledge. How to keep the cards from falling in on themselves. And try as I will, I don’t see the way to prevent it. It will be better for my son to grow up hating me or not even remembering my name and face than for the cards to fall in.”
“Someone tried to kill me yesterday.” The admission was forced out of him. He hadn’t intended to say anything. “Someone shot at me and it wasn’t by accident. It was a clear line of fire and he missed by very little. A warning perhaps. And I can’t fight back because I don’t know how! How many lives will you put at risk for your son?”
She winced, then recovered with an effort. “You’re a grown man. You can fight back, even against shadows. A small boy