She frowned at him, perplexed. "Why not?"

"It seems that Margaret has been able to piece together that Jeanne is her mother." He nodded at Douglas. "She believes that you betrayed her. While you," he said, glancing at Jeanne, "lied to her. I don' t think she's altogether displeased that you're her mother," he added. "She's just a little confused."

"But she's safe?"

"Safe with Mary at the moment."

The relief that Jeanne felt was suddenly so strong that she thought she might faint from it. She reached out and Douglas enfolded his hand over hers and together they stood, strangely enough almost in the pose of a bride and groom.

For the third time they exchanged a glance and this time they didn't bother to look away. And then, in front of his brother and the gangly footman, Douglas bent and kissed her, so sweetly that Jeanne felt tears slip from her eyes.

The nuns of Sacre-Coeur were wrong. There was no further need to make reparations to save her immortal soul. The tears she'd already shed were payment enough.

Chapter 34.

T he only time Jeanne had been aboard a ship was on the miserable voyage crossing the English Channel. The waves had been choppy and the winds high. Each time the bow of the ship pointed skyward and then tilted down on the next trench of wave, she was sure they were going to be pitched to the bottom of the sea.

She had been exhausted, hungry, and cold. Going from nine years of imprisonment to being responsible for herself in a world not disposed to care much for solitary women had also left her feeling vulnerable and frightened.

The voyage from Leith to Gilmuir, however, was different. Douglas had commandeered one of the MacRae ships waiting at his dock when Hamish announced he was returning to Gilmuir later.

"I make it to Edinburgh so seldom, Mary's given me a list of supplies she wants," he'd said, shaking his head.

This vessel, designed for crossing the oceans of the world, felt as though it were flying across the glassy water. The sea was calm, the winds brisk but gentle, but Jeanne was just as afraid as the time when she'd left France.

"Are you certain she's all right?" she asked Douglas again for the hundreth time.He stood beside her and, at her query, extended his arm around her, pulling her tight. "If Hamish says she 's fine, she is. I've never known him to lie." He smiled slightly, one corner of his lip upturned. "Not evento spare my feelings."She wouldn't feel reassured, however, until she actually saw Margaret, until she could ascertain herself that her daughter was safe and unharmed."What ever made her do such a thing?""I'm afraid we'll have to ask Margaret that," Douglas said, staring off at the far horizon."What am I going to say to her?"He glanced down at her, his smile disappearing. "Tell her the truth."She shook her head. "Maybe one day," she said, "but not now. She's only nine.""Eight," he corrected with a smile. "Her birthday's not for ten days."She shook her head. "Do you remember the night at Robert Hartley's home?"He nodded."That was Margaret's real birthday." Nine years ago on that day she'd given birth to her child.He looked bemused by the knowledge. She curved her arm around his, leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Margaret is such an English name," she said."What did you choose?""Genevieve," she said. She'd never told anyone that. Nor had she spoken that name for nine years. "But Margaret suits her better."

For long moments they stood there, feeling the current of the ocean beneath the ship. The wind stirred her hair loose from its bun, and caressed her face. She felt her heart swell as Douglas pulled her closer, a

sense of joy sweeping through her so powerfully that it felt as if lightning traveled from her head to her toes.

Despite her trepidation, she was happy. Purely and deliciously happy in a way that she couldn't

remember being for so very long. For the first time in what felt like a hundred years, there was no discordance between the girl she had been and the woman she was. True, she was a little more experienced, but she felt completely like herself. Jeanne du Marchand. Lover, friend, mother.

She reached out and took his hand, holding it between hers, studying the shape of it. His hands were so large compared to hers. They were callused and rough in spots, evidence that he worked hard for a living. He had created an empire and she knew it would continue to grow and expand under his leadership. He was a man other men admired and emulated.

He was capable of so many things that she felt as if she had wasted her life in comparison. As if it had been taken from her. But, in that moment, instead of feeling deprived, she knew that she was the most

fortunate woman on earth.

She had been given a new chance. She and her daughter had both been resurrected from the dead, a gift more precious than any she could imagine had been given to her.

"There," he said pointing with his right hand to a sight in front and slightly above them. "That's Gilmuir."

She straightened and stared up at the structure, feeling as if her heart had clenched tight in her chest and then resounded with a beat so fierce that her ribs trembled with it.

"It looks like Vallans," she said and then realized that the resemblance was fleeting. The brick was the

same color as her home, and the shape of the fortress was the same as the chateau. The four turrets were

similar, also. But Gilmuir was so much larger and so much more impressive in comparison.

Vallans had not been used as a fortress for centuries, but she could easily imagine Gilmuir remaining a defensive structure for as long as a MacRae would wish it. Built at the end of a promontory, it seemed to sit on its haunches like a great wild beast.

"No wonder Margaret loves it here," she said. "What a glorious place.""You know that?"She nodded. "Gilmuir is one of her favorite topics of conversation. That, and Cameron, of course.""Who is Cameron?"She glanced at him, noting that he didn't look the least pleased. "I think perhaps it's better if Margaret told you," she said, smiling.Ahead of them, in the firth, was a large building jutting out over the water.When she pointed to it, Douglas explained. "It's part of Alisdair's shipbuilding company. There are a few other buildings sprinkled around the glen where they treat the wood and build parts of the ship. But the final construction is done there, while the hulls are tested in the cove. I'll show it to you one day, as well as the secret staircase."

"A secret staircase?""You sound as excited as Margaret," he teased. "Wait until you see Ionis's Cave.""Who is Ionis?""Hundreds of years ago a man was isolated to this promontory. Below, in a cave we've named after him, are the works of his lifetime, portraits of a woman he adored.""What became of him?""He was made a saint because of his years of penitence," Douglas said. "And the promontory became a place of pilgrimage, at least until the first MacRae claimed it."

She studied him, wondering if that first MacRae was anything like his descendant. Douglas had the temperament and the courage of a man who would found a dynasty and create a place like Gilmuir to protect it.

They slowed their progress into the firth and navigated the last curve. There, sitting on the water like a magnificent swan at rest, was the Ian MacRae, Hamish's ship.

Jeanne felt herself beginning to tremble and held herself tight as they weighed anchor.

"Meggie is there," he said gently.She nodded, hoping that he wouldn't ask her to stay behind. But he said nothing of the sort, and whenthe rope ladder was strung over the side, he turned to her. "I'll go down first and steady the ladder."

As he put one leg over the side, she held out one hand to stay him. He halted, looking at her in

puzzlement.She reached his side in a few steps, leaned over, and tenderly kissed him. "Be careful," she whisperedagainst his cheek. "I don't know what I would do if anything ever happened to you."

"I do," he said. "You would survive. You're the strongest woman I know."He reached out and grabbed her hand and placed a kiss on the center of her palm. "You are as precious to me, Jeanne," he said, his words replicated in his gaze. Regardless of the presence of the sailors around them, she kissed him again.

A minute later, he swung his other leg over the side and disappeared. She leaned over the edge and

watched him. He made the descent look so easy. A feat that wasn't as simple to replicate, shediscovered when she used the rope ladder herself a few minutes later. She couldn't seem to find therungs with her feet, and twice she lost her grip with one hand. Every so often she couldn't help but give alittle squeal when the ladder began to sway from side to side.

She was very grateful to make it halfway down. Douglas reached up, grabbed her around the waist, and helped her down the rest of the way.

"We have to do it again," he said in a muffled voice. "At Hamish's ship."

Only then did she realize he was laughing.

She turned, wound her arms around his neck, and shifted her weight from one leg to another, sending the boat careening from side to side.

He only grabbed her tighter around the waist and smiled down into her face. "Are you trying to send us into the firth, Jeanne?"

"I think you deserve it, for laughing at me."He nodded. "Perhaps I do. Forgive me?" He lowered his head, their foreheads touching. "Forgive me,love?"

They kissed again, and she could feel his smile.

A few moments later they sat and he removed his jacket, tossing it to her. She folded it and put it on her lap, her hands stroking the material as he reached out to take the oars and began to row.

The closer they came to the Ian MacRae, the larger the ship appeared. When she said as much, Douglas

smiled. "It's built for the China trade. It's the largest vessel in the MacRae fleet, and it's a good thing. It'sHamish's and Mary's home."

Douglas ascended the rope ladder first, leaving her to make the journey upward with even less grace than her first attempt. But he didn't say anything as he helped her over the side, and if he thought her amusing, there wasn't a ghost of a smile in evidence.

A woman stood a few feet away, attired in a dark green dress that seemed to accentuate the red highlights in her brown hair. Her dark brown eyes appeared kind, and her smile was equally pleasant. Her hands were clasped together in front of her, giving Jeanne the impression that she had infinite patience.

They approached her, but she spoke first. "I'm Mary MacRae," she said softly. "You must be Miss du Marchand."

Her smile grew brighter as Douglas extended one arm around Jeanne's shoulders.

"Is Margaret here?" Jeanne asked, her voice tremulous.

Reaching out, Mary took Jeanne's hand in hers. "I think it would be better to let Douglas talk to her first, " she advised. "I have some wonderfully relaxing tea in my cabin. Would you care to join me?"

The very last thing she wanted at this moment was tea, but it seemed as if she didn't have a choice. Mary grabbed her hand and led her across the deck. Jeanne sent a last, helpless look at Douglas but he only smiled, turned, and walked in the other direction. Only then did she see the small figure at the bow of the ship staring relentlessly out to sea.

Douglas didn't know what to do first, hug Margaret or scold her. He settled for the first, picking her up bodily and extending his arms around her. She didn't hug him in return but remained stiff and unrelenting.

Meggie, angry, was a formidable sight.

Lowering her to the deck again, he stood and stared down at her.

"Mireille Margaret MacRae," he said sternly, "what have you got to say for yourself?

She looked mutinous, her bottom lip pushed out into a stubborn pout that he'd rarely seen from her.

"I'm a thief, Papa. I took the money from the strongbox, and borrowed a horse to take me to Leith. Henry didn't want to, but I told him that if he didn't bring me to Gilmuir, I would simply find another way. "

"Where is he now?" Douglas asked, thinking that he needed to have a very long talk with his employee. On the one hand, he applauded the man's loyalty to his daughter.

But on the other, he thought that Henry might have found another way to remedy the situation other than bringing her to Gilmuir.

"I sent him back to Edinburgh," she said. "He didn't want to go but I promised him that nothing would happen to him."

"You did, did you?" he asked wryly.

She glanced at him. "I gave him my word, Papa, and you always said that a person's word is his promise."

"What do you think I would have done?"

"Fire him," she said with a small sigh. "But he truly loves his job, Papa. In addition, his wife isn't well, you know."

He concentrated on something other than Henry's fate. "Do you know all the bad things that could happen to you by traveling in the middle of the night, Margaret?"

"That's exactly what Henry said," she said, sighing again. "He was angry with me." She looked up at him, blue eyes wide. "I'm sorry, Papa. I know it was a bad thing to do. But I was so very vexed with you."

"But you aren't now?" he asked, folding his arms and staring down at her. He tapped his foot against the deck and waited to hear this newest revelation.

"I don't think so," she said, evidently considering the matter. "I'm not entirely certain. Aunt Mary told me how much you loved my mother, so I can only think that you lied to me for my best benefit, even though you have often said that a lie benefits no one."

It was a disconcerting experience, having his words thrown back in his face, especially by his own child.

"There was a reason for my lie, Meggie."

She looked doubtful, but she didn't argue with him. Instead, she sighed again and reached out to take his hand. Douglas had the discomfiting feeling that he was being reprimanded without a word spoken.

Chapter 35.