Trust (37 page)

“Oh, please,” Sophia rolled her eyes heavenward, “Locke was a man of his time and slavery a common practice during his life.”

“It is said the he invested heavily in the Royal African Company.”

“Now,” Sophia retorted, aggravated. “Locke was the father of classical liberalism and had many important ideas. They influenced the writing of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States. And you’re focusing on the one thing that is wrong nowadays?” She turned away and said to Lachlann, “I’m partial to his ideas about self and identity. I really think that we are born a tabula rasa.”

“We also have
An Essay Concerning Human Understanding
, from 1689.”

“Oh, really?” Sophia’s eyes sparkled and she beamed at Lachlann, “Could I read it over the weekend?”

“It’s the first original,” Tavish smirked before Lachlann could say anything. “It’s in Latin.”

“So?” She looked at him, with raised brows.

“Don’t tell me you read Latin,” he snubbed.

“Well, my lord,” she smiled smugly at him, “I can’t say I’m fluent in it, but, yes, I can read some Latin.” She turned to Lachlann. “May I?”

“Of course, my dear,” Lachlann took out the mentioned book from the third case and handed it to her.

Sophia put it under the first one Lachlann had given her and opened the protective cover to stare at the title page of
A Letter Concerning Toleration
. “This is… wondrous,” she mumbled and strolled to sit in an armchair, with her head thrust in the book, completely absorbed by it. “Fabulous. Toleration is the key word. It’s a pity few people understand this.”

Lachlann smirked at Tavish.

“This means nothing,” Tavish hissed, his turbulent eyes following Sophia’s movements. “I’ve seen what too much
toleration
has done to Alistair Connor. I wonder what she means by it,” he sneered.

“Father!” Alistair’s deep and low voice echoed in the room. “I don’t believe you’ve already corrupted Sophia. She won’t get out of the library the whole weekend.”

“I thought
corruption
was more a habit of yours, Brother,” Tavish retorted.

Alistair halted in front of Tavish and their gazes clashed.

Sophia lifted her eyes from the book to study them. They looked very much alike. Tavish, at least an inch taller and more muscular than his broader and leaner brother, had the same windblown ink-black hair. Tavish wore his hair shorter than his brother did, but their chiseled faces shared the same devilish-black eyebrows and long, dark lashes framing spectacular green eyes. Tavish’s lighter eyes, softer and fuller mouth differentiated him from Alistair’s look. A clenched jaw and a bent nose that seemed as if it had been broken once set off Tavish’s stern appearance.

Their emotions played out in contrasts: Alistair’s smirk and a poker-face with inscrutable eyes versus Tavish’s dour smile and severe face with turbulent eyes.

Tavish was impressive. Sophia had never seen such a rugged and tortured face. She sucked in a breath, involuntarily.

Unhurriedly, Tavish turned his head to examine her, a menacing look on his face. The pain, sorrow, and rage etched on his features shocked Sophia. His scorching gaze sustained hers, unwavering as she was caught by his whirlwind of emotions.

“Tavish Uilleam, she’s not what you think,” Alistair murmured so low that Sophia didn’t make out what he said.
Fuck. Why am I explaining this? Why does everyone walk on eggshells around Tavish? He’s became a despot
. “Still judging others based on your warped opinions?” he hissed. “Didn’t Iraq and Afghanistan teach you anything?”

“Oh, they did, Alistair Connor, they did,” Tavish’s voice was sharp. “More than you can imagine.” He unlocked his gaze from Sophia’s and turned his head slowly to stare deeply into Alistair’s eyes. “You think
my
opinions are warped? I disagree.” He shook his head and said spitefully, “Let’s see if Nathalie’s and Mother’s deaths have taught
you
anything.”

Alistair’s spine went ramrod straight and his hands clenched into fists.

“Boys!” Lachlann walked over to them and put his hands on their shoulders. “I’m glad to have the whole family over for the weekend, so let’s enjoy it, okay?”

Sophia had walked quietly to the men’s side. “Lachlann.” She gave him back the books, but glaring at Tavish, “Here.
Toleration,
” she stressed the word and turned to his father with a smile, “thank you. I’d like to take a rain check on our tour.” She put her left hand over Alistair’s fisted hand. “I’m going to look for Gabriela. I haven’t seen her since I came down.”

“I did,” Alistair said. “She’s with Ariadne in the game room. There’s no need-”

She raised her hand. “I’d rather go to her. It’s past her bedtime.” She blinked innocently at Tavish, a sudden twist on her lips betraying her. “My lord, if you would so kindly grant me my leave.”

And she turned without waiting for their answers, strolling to the door.

“Wait for m-”

“Alone, Alistair Connor.” Her firm voice resounded in the library.

“Sophia-” Alistair murmured, surprised at her cold rebuff. She raised a hand without looking back.

Before she exited the library, she heard Alistair’s voice ringing with indignation in the room.

“My lord? What the fuck are you doing, Tavish Uilleam? Who do you think she is? Who do you think you-”

Sophia closed the door quietly behind her, an unbearable angst blocking her throat.
What the hell was that?

Alice found Sophia in the anteroom of the Queen Mary Suite, sitting in one of the armchairs, chin in hand, gazing through the window at the garden lawn lit by strategically placed lights. A distant look graced her face.

“Sophia,” she spoke in a low voice.

Sophia jumped in her seat and put a hand on her throat. “Alice! Oh,” she breathed. “I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

Alice bent and kissed Sophia on the cheeks and, gesturing to the armchair next to hers, asked, “May I sit down for a minute?”

“Yes, of course. How was your trip?”

Alice plastered a smile on her tense face. “Next time I’m going to send Ariadne with you and Gabriela. She pestered me the whole day that she wanted to come in Alistair’s plane and that it took too long to arrive.”

“But it’s so quick.”

“With Alistair Connor. It’s two hours to Inverness on a regular flight and then from Inverness it’s about an hour and a half here.”

“Really?” She raised her brows, surprised. “Next time, she’ll come with us. It will be a pleasure.”

Alice twisted a lock of her beautiful and shiny red hair around her fingers. “Sophia… could you possibly… Oh, Jesus.” She released her hair and wrung her hands together.

“What is it, Alice?” Alice’s anxious face made Sophia feel apprehensive. “What happened?”

“Could you forgive my brother?”

Oh, God! What did Alistair do?
She schooled her features and crossed her legs nonchalantly. “What did Alistair do?”

“No, not Alistair Connor. Tavish Uilleam.”

Ah!
“Tavish.”
Lieutenant-Colonel-Doctor-Lord-Arrogance. Who thinks he’s better than I am. But then, what else is he thinking? I’m just one more out of hundreds of women Alistair collects
.

“And, please, don’t tell Alistair Connor I had this conversation with you. They’ve been estranged ever since our mother died. Tavish Uilleam has only recently forgiven him.”

“Forgiven him? What was there to forgive?”

“He blames Alistair for our mother’s death. Tavish Uilleam wasn’t here and her letters had him conclude this.”

“Wait. Wait.” She raised her hand. “I’m not following you. I thought your mother died of cancer. Good God, why does he think Alistair guilty?”

Alice exhaled a pained breath, “She was very ill, yes. But she became very depressed after Nathalie’s death and never recovered from it. She died three months after Nathalie.”

“My God,” Sophia breathed.

“Neither death was Alistair’s fault, of course. But Tavish Uilleam thinks differently.”

“Really? It’s quite presumptuous of him to judge his own brother like this.”

“Sophia, Alistair’s life was a-”

Sophia raised a hand interrupting her. “Alice, I’d rather hear this from Alistair himself.” She thinned her lips in concentration, entwining her fingers, and resting them on the arm of the settee. “And where was your mighty brother, Lieutenant-Colonel Doctor Lord Tavish Uilleam, when Nathalie and your mother died?”

Alice shifted on her seat, arranged the pleats of her long skirt, and watched her warily. “Please, Sophia, this stays between us, okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.”
What could be so bad that Alice hesitates telling me?

“He lived in London,” Alice fidgeted in the armchair and looked down at her hands, “in a psychiatric clinic recovering from being a prisoner of war.”

Sophia paled and the air disappeared from her lungs.

“Captured in July 2008 and freed before Christmas, Tavish had to stay in Afghanistan for a month to recover from a gunshot wound that almost killed him. Nathalie died in-” Her voice broke as tears fell from her eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me more,” Sophia whispered and put her hand over Alice’s. “I forgive him.”

Relieved, Alice slumped in the armchair. “Thank you, Sophia. You don’t know what it means to my father. He was looking forward to this week-” She looked up and sucked in a breath. “Oh, Sophia, don’t cry. Please. It’s over. He’s over it.”

“I doubt it, Alice,” she murmured. “This is not something you get over in a year or two. Believe me, I know it.”

They were so absorbed by the sorrow that they didn’t hear the approaching footsteps.

“Christ, Sophia. Why are you crying?” With three powerful strides, Alistair arrived beside her armchair. He hauled Sophia to his chest. “What happened, Alice?” He looked at his sister, frantic. “Was it Tavish?” His face darkened and his arms wrapped tightly around Sophia. “What did he say to you?”

Alice’s eyes turned huge with panic.

Sophia wiped her face with the back of her hands. “It’s only me being silly. I was telling Alice about my wedding day. That’s all.” She smiled at him, her spiked wet lashes beautifully framing her eyes. “You know I cry easily.”

“And why were you reminded of your wedding day?”
You are lying, Beauty. Why? What happened in the library?
He withdrew a white handkerchief from his jacket breast pocket and dried her face, tenderly.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged and looked away. “Why do memories assault you?” She sighed and looked at an ashen faced Alice, who had remained in the armchair.

Sophia cleared her throat, breaking the uneasy silence between them, “What brings you here?”

“Tavish Uilleam asked me to bring you back.”

She raised a brow and scoffed, “Oh, Lieutenant-Colonel Doctor Lord Tavish Uilleam?”

He didn’t miss the irony.

“Is that how he introduced himself?” Alistair asked, stunned.

“There’s no need to call him that, Sophia.” Alice rose from the armchair and strolled to her side, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“To each, his own. He’s entitled to his ways and I perfectly understand. Let’s leave it at that.”

A good host, Lachlann guaranteed that the conversation flowed with ease. During the whole evening, Tavish scrutinized every glass of wine Sophia drank and every morsel she ate. Acutely aware of his hard stare, she couldn’t relax. The conversation with Alice hadn’t left her mind.

God! Six months in the hands of the enemy!
She couldn’t begin to imagine the deep scars he had on his soul. Couldn’t even start to comprehend the pain and despair he must have endured.

“How was your lamb, my dear?” Lachlann’s strong hand rested over hers for a second, calling her attention to him.

“Delicious, thank you. The whole dinner was. With your permission, I’d like to meet your chef.”

“Sophia cooks. Or at least she says she does.” Alistair stabbed a piece of his fish and fed her, “and she adores desserts.”

“It’s a wonder you’re so lean,” remarked Elena, seated opposite her, between Alexander and Leonard.

“Sophia has always been thin,” Alexander noted.

“But it’s no miracle. I don’t really eat much. It’s not because I love food that I eat heaps of it. And I work out to burn the calories. There’s no free lunch, is there?”

“I can just imagine the exercises you do,” Tavish muttered from the head of the table.

“That’s enough, Tavish Uilleam,” Alice rebuked, putting a hand on his arm and squeezing it hard. “Instead of dwelling in your dirty imagination, pay attention to the woman, to the human being in front of you. You’re being too creative.”

He unlocked his stare from Alistair and Sophia and glanced at Alice, “How are you so sure?”

“Do you think I’d put another Heather next to Ariadne and Michael? You weren’t the only one who didn’t like her. Although I’m the youngest, I’m no fool,” she spoke so low that not even Alistair, who sat beside her, heard the comment.

Sophia felt a prickling on the back of her neck and stiffened as she noticed Tavish’s measuring stare.

As if sensing her discomfort, Alistair gripped her hand and squeezed it. “Everything okay?” he whispered in her ear.

She didn’t look his way or answer his question, incapable of handling the uncomfortable situation anymore. How could she explain a situation she didn’t fully understand herself?

“If you make love to your dessert tonight, I’m going to throw you over my shoulder and carry you, caveman style, to my room,” he murmured in her ear.

She lifted a raven eyebrow in an elegant dare.

“And don’t moan over the chocolates you brought my father when he offers them.” His green eyes flashed. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”

With those threats, he put her in a light mood. A devious smile spread slowly on her face and something mischievous gleamed in her clear eyes.

When the soufflé with raspberry sorbet arrived, Alistair was already hard from the expectation of what she would do.
Fuck. I’m in for good
.

Sophia smiled wickedly at him and slowly, ever so slowly picked up her spoon and dipped it in the sorbet. She lifted the spoon and opened her mouth. Putting it between her lips, she closed her mouth around it with such a passion, in a motion so carnal he felt as if her lips had closed around his erection. Her eyes turned light gold and he sucked in a breath. She was making love, not to her dessert, but to him.