It Happened in the Highlands(19)

Wynne heard what sounded like a chuckle from the man sitting beside him and realized McDonnell was engaged in the reading.

"When the Water was level with the top of a man's head, the Water said  to the Sun . . ." Cuffe paused as another patient took a seat. "Do you  want more of my family to come?"

McDonnell shook his head in response for the Sun.

"Yes," Cuffe replied emphatically. "For the Sun did not know any better.  So the Water flowed in, until the Sun and the Moon, his wife, had to  perch themselves on the top of the roof."

Several more patients joined them, and Wynne saw another had left the  window and was standing close enough to hear. Someone made a noise  behind him and was hushed as Cuffe continued.

"The Water very soon overflowed the top of the roof, and the Sun and  Moon were forced to go up into the sky, where they have remained ever  since."

Immediate words of praise and "Hear, hear!" echoed from the gathered  patients. Cuffe looked up, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  Wynne nodded his approval, and he saw the boy beam at someone standing  behind him. He looked up and saw Jo. He immediately rose to his feet.

"Cuffe's reading was wonderful," she whispered. "You must be proud."

"Thank you," he said, meeting her shining brown eyes. "I'm grateful to you for-"

"He's starting again," she interrupted. "May I join you?"

"Of course." Only two seats remained at the table, and as he held the  chair for her, he saw Dermot approaching. Wynne looked around him at  every occupied chair and sent the doctor a feigned look of sympathy  before sitting beside her in the last chair.

"‘Clever Jackal Gets Left Out,'" Cuffe said, announcing the title of the next story.





Chapter 11


When Jo received Dr. McKendry's invitation to travel to the Highlands,  she never imagined her sojourn to the Abbey would result in friendship  with the doctor. They conversed easily, sharing opinions and ideas, but  their relationship ended there. Although he pretended to pursue her when  they were in the presence of others, no spark of attraction existed.  They were friends and only friends. But she was beginning to feel that  others were not seeing their rapport in the same light.

Sitting at dinner on Tuesday night, Jo squirmed at the discussion  between the Squire and Mrs. McKendry regarding the virtues of matrimony.  Their opinions were seconded by the vicar, who went on to extol the  doctor's fine qualities. As they talked, the three of them continually  sent Jo knowing and meaning-laden glances. Clearly, the only matter left  to be concluded was the decision on a date and the reading of the  banns.

She would have tossed the topic off as being in keeping with the jocular  nature of the family, but Wynne's fierce demeanor across the table told  her that he too had bought into the misconception.

It shouldn't have mattered. She could have ignored it and allowed the  conversation to follow its delusional path until it ran its course and  dissipated into nothingness. However, having her name ensnared or even  bandied about in rumor never sat well with her. Jo held the doctor in  high esteem, but she wanted it known to those around the table that no  understanding existed between the two of them.

"Doctor," she said during a momentary lull, "I hope I'm here long enough  to meet this exceptional young woman your family is so exceedingly  enthused about."

McKendry was about to speak, but she cut him off.

"I can just imagine her virtues." She paused for only a moment, feeling  the company's eyes upon her. "Aside from her beauty, I envision her as a  young lady in the spring bloom of life. A man of your age and position  would certainly want a partner who shares his desire for a houseful of  children." As opposed to a spinster getting to an age beyond  childbearing years, she thought. This was a fact of life she'd accepted.  "I'm also thinking she must be a local lass from a good family, for I'm  certain the isolation of the Highland winters could prove wearing on  one not as hearty as the McKendrys."                       
       
           



       

Jo raised her glass of wine. "If I may be so bold . . . To the McKendrys. Slàinte mhath . . . Slàinte mhòr."

Surprised laughter and comments immediately followed her tribute to the  family and to their Jacobite ties. She'd hoped her words would lay the  subject of matrimony to rest and redirect the conversation, but the  doctor raised his glass in her direction.

"The lady I have my eye on is beautiful indeed. Regarding age, whether  she be in the spring or autumn of life or anywhere between, it makes no  difference to me. I seek no heirs, Lady Josephine. I'm committed to this  hospital. My time is consumed by patients who need my care and  attention."

"Hear, hear," the vicar began. "A man's work is-"

Dermot interrupted his uncle and continued. "My future wife's qualities  of intelligence and empathy for others are unparalleled. In all my  travels, I've never met another lady quite like her."

Rather than feeling flattered by the compliments directed at her, Jo was  embarrassed and disconcerted. Dermot's family, however, having received  all the encouragement they needed, only ramped up their matchmaking  efforts.

Dinner's conclusion could not have come soon enough.

Later, while the women waited for the men to join them in the drawing  room, Jo stood by the windows staring out at the gardens. She couldn't  bear to join Mrs. McKendry and her guests for fear of becoming the  victim of foolish questions regarding her phantom engagement.

Ridiculous, she thought, gazing at the shrubs and hedges in the dying  light. But there was no point in scolding Dr. McKendry about any of it.  Everything he said was innocuous; it was only in the perceptions of the  listeners that his words gained specific meaning. Besides, she'd be gone  by the end of the week.

Jo had already been here six days. Sending another letter south to  Baronsford and one north to Torrishbrae, she'd promised her family that  she'd continue on her journey in a few days. It pained her that there'd  been no improvement in Mr. Barton since the first day. He stared at her.  He drew. He held her hand. Still, deep in her heart, she felt a  connection between them. Or she imagined it.

Jo's trip to the village and her talk with the vicar had produced no  information. No record of the Barton family history existed at the kirk  in Rayneford. Tilmory Castle was four miles away, but the estate had a  small village and a church of its own where births and deaths and  marriages were registered. As much as she wanted to, though, she had no  right to go there and inquire into the family's private affairs.

The men entered the drawing room just as Jo espied the distinctive figure of Captain Melfort outside in the gardens.

Her desire to speak with him edged out any concern about courtesy toward  the others. Not wanting to make a grand exit, she whispered a hastily  made-up excuse to Mrs. McKendry and escaped.

Hurrying out to the gardens, Jo saw him down a long alley of tall privet. She half ran, half walked to catch up to him.

He must have heard her, for as she turned a corner, she ran straight into his broad chest. His hands caught her, steadying her.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I needed to speak with you."

His face was concerned but calm, and she was struck by the similarity of  this situation to another long ago. Jo suddenly became aware of his  touch on her arms. In spite of the long sleeves of her dress, she  tingled where he held her. Heat from his hands traveled through the  velvet as if it were gauze, caressing the skin beneath.

They were too close. With little effort, he could draw her to him in the fading light, press her against his chest.

Suddenly, she wanted it to happen. She wanted to raise her lips to his  and discover if the taste and texture of his mouth was as she  remembered. She wanted to feel his body move against hers. She wanted to  hear the rumble of desire in his throat.

Her face grew hot and flushed as she realized, regardless of what she  said or how she acted, she was still under this man's spell. And she  wanted him.

"What do you need to speak to me about?"

Perhaps it was her imagination, but his fingers traced a slow intimate  path down the length of her arms before his hands dropped to his side.                       
       
           



       

She moved back a step and was relieved to find a stone bench near them.  She sat down, distrustful of her knees. She held her palms to her cheek  to cool the burning.

"Are you unwell?" he asked moving closer. "Should I call for help? Should I get Dermot?"

"For heaven's sake! Not you too?" she scolded. "I don't need to see Dr.  McKendry. I am perfectly well. I'm only trying to catch my breath from  running after you."