Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] by My Heavenly Heart

the dog Henry.
    He was sure she did it to annoy him at first. She’d look down that freckle-dusted short nose of hers and sigh as the animal lay sleeping, its legs sticking straight in the air. “Doesn’t Henry look adorable? I’ve never seen a dog sleep quite like that before.”
    To which Logan would grunt something unintelligible. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of a discussion.
    “I once had a dog, you know.”
    It was three days after the Adawehis’s visit and Logan had just returned from his morning bath in the creek. The last thing he wanted to discuss as he stood by the fire drying off, was dogs. His own had opted to stay sitting by her chair rather than bound outside with him. But his lack of comment seemed to make no difference. She continued as if he’d shown a keen interest in her statement.
    “I was much younger. And my father didn’t know of it, of course.”
    She paused and something in her tone made Logan stop as he pulled the shirt down over his head. “Why would you say ‘of course’?”
    “What?” She glanced up as if only now realizing he stood before her. “Oh, dogs reminded him of my mother. She apparently had several that she kept with her nearly all the time, or so the cook’s helper told me once.”
    “Your mother died, then, when you were young?”
    “No.” Her eyes met his. “She left. It was all quite scandalous. She ran away with a younger son of my father’s friend, Lord Bathoon. No one knows what became of them. Some say they committed suicide by leaping into the sea, their hands joined. Others, that there was an accident as they rode in their carriage along the cliff road. Or, perhaps they’re still alive, living together in some hovel in the south of Wales.”
    When she ended her speech her voice was unusually bright as were her eyes. And Logan stood still, the sound of the cracking fire and the dog’s snoring all that broke the silence.
    “Gracious.” She wiped her palms down across her silvery blue skirt. “I can’t imagine why I started telling you of my past like that.”
    “How old were you?”
    “When she left, you mean? Hardly more than a babe. I remember very little about her.” She took a breath, placing her hands on the chair arms and stood. “I don’t wish to discuss this further.”
    With a mere mention of the name, “Henry,” the traitorous dog bounded to his feet and followed close by her skirts as she headed for the door. “I believe I shall take a stroll while you prepare our morning repast.”
    And to think he’d had a moment of sympathy for her... even liking. He who knew what it was like to live with memories he’d as soon forget. Well, he’d be damned before he turned into her personal lackey. If she was strong enough to “stroll about” she was strong enough to “prepare her own repast.” His too, for that matter.
    ~ ~ ~
    It really was lovely here. There was none of the controlled beauty of the parks around Queen’s House, but Rachel loved the mist-shrouded mountains and the scarlet and gold valley. Each morning the vapors drifted up, dancing through the fir and spruce. Sha-cona-ga Lone Dove had called it... blue like smoke.
    Rachel stood on the edge of the precipice looking out over it all. Henry lay by her feet, already asleep. She wished she hadn’t thought about her mother... wished she hadn’t told Logan. She was here for one reason and one reason only. And it had nothing to do with dredging up unpleasantness from her past. From the moment her father died, leaving her orphaned, and she’d gone to live with her closest living relative, Queen Charlotte, Rachel decided to put thoughts of her mother behind her.
    She’d only shown the slightest interest when Liz showed her a portrait of Lady Anne in the gallery at St. James Castle. Of course she’d wondered what her mother looked like... all paintings of her mother at her home in Devonshire had been destroyed when she left.
    And to be sure, she’d been