For so long Rory hadn’t ever thought that would be possible. But now it seemed not only possible but certain. “For someone who had to be persuaded to marry me, you seem quite content.” He raised himself on one elbow and gazed down at her. “Are you happy?”
“I couldn’t be happier,” she said. “I don’t know what I was so afraid of. I thought—” She waved whatever she was about to say away.
“Tell me,” he said, catching her hand and kissing her palm.
“I thought if I married you, I’d be under your thumb, like another member of your household. I’m thirty, not eighteen, and I’m used to my independence. I liked being able to move from one position to another if I didn’t like the one I was in.”
“And how do you like your position now?” he asked, pushing her hair away from her face.
She smiled. “I don’t know what I was worried about.” She put a hand on the back of his neck to pull him down for a kiss, but then she shook her head. “Actually, I do know what I was afraid of.”
“What’s that?”
“Losing you,” she said. “I didn’t want to come to care for you and then lose you. I don’t know what will happen at the school tomorrow or at the end of this quest, but I’m still afraid of losing you. I may not believe in this curse, but I know you do. I almost lost you once because of it.”
“I didn’t want you to be hurt because of my mistakes.”
She cupped his face. “The only way I’ll be hurt is if you shut me out again or turn away from me.”
“Never,” he vowed, making a promise to himself as well as to her.
*
“Does it looksmaller to you, or am I just imagining things?” Henry asked the next afternoon as the three men and their wives stood before the old school building.
“It definitely looks smaller,” King agreed. “I could have sworn it was five or six floors in my mind, but it’s only two.”
“In my memory, it was miles long,” Rory said, looking from left to right. “But it’s not much larger than your country house Henry—er, former country house,” he added, remembering Henry lost Carlisle Hall in a game of chance.
“Things always seem larger in our memories,” Henry’s wife said.
“That and you were probably smaller the last time you looked at the place,” Genevieve added. “The building isn’t much to look at, but I imagine the view at the top of that rise is lovely.”
“It is,” Henry said. “It overlooks the village.”
“Shall we leave the men to their reminiscing and walk that way?” the Duchess of Carlisle asked.
“We shall.” Genevieve linked arms with the other two, and the ladies strolled toward the rise they’d always called St. Andrew’s Hill.
“That was nicely done,” King said. “What happens now? We’re here. We’re at the start. Shouldn’t something be happening?”
“Maybe we need to say a spell?” Henry said.
“I don’t know any spells,” Rory said. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t start chanting one. Let’s have a look around.”
Rory led the three of them through the broken gate to the school and onto the grounds. He was often the leader of the three, always pretending to be brave, even when he didn’t feel particularly so. He wasn’t afraid now. Too many memories assailed him for him to remember to feel fear. He recalled standing at that front window, watching as his parents climbed into their coach and drove away. He could picture himself staring out the window of the classroom on the ground floor, wishing he were outside instead of conjugating Latin verbs. As they circled the school, the men gravitated toward the windows that had been Cameron’s office. As if by tacit agreement, they approached and peered inside. The draperies had been pulled over one window, but they hung down on another, giving Rory a view inside.
The furnishings had been removed, but he could still picture the desk and the single chair before it. He’d occupied that chair many times. When all three boys were called in together, they’d argued who would stand and who would take the chairbefore being ushered inside. More than the chair, though, he remembered the rug. How many times had he lain bruised and battered on that rug and wished he were somewhere—anywhere—else? Rory didn’t know where that rug was now, but he imagined the spatters of his blood were woven into the fabric.
“There’s the dining hall,” Rory said, beckoning them forward and pointing to several rectangular windows. “That’s where we discussed the idea of stealing the whiskey from the…the old woman.”
“Should we break a window and go inside?” Henry asked. “Maybe that’s what it means—return to the start.”
“I don’t want to go in there,” Rory said.
“Neither do I,” King admitted, “but nothing is happening outside.” He walked away and returned a moment later with a large rock, which he hurled at the window, breaking one of the thick glass panes. Rory had the urge to look over his shoulder to see if they’d been caught vandalizing the property.
“Feels like old times,” Henry said, smiling at him. “I’m half afraid an adult will emerge and start yelling at us any second.”
