Home…and where is home? Her eyes glazed and her hand touched her head, feeling the bandages.
Alistair and Tavish saw her smile get tighter, harder for her to hold.
She took in a deep breath, and it scratched slightly as it went in, like there was something heavy in her chest. And how is Ethan?
“Sophia?” Tavish was scanning her face and the monitoring machines with a worried gaze as her heart rate speeded and her pressure lowered. “How are you feeling?”
It hurt even to move her jaw. Her body and soul were in a fiery pain. Feeling panicked, as if she were going to get stuck in the nightmare she couldn’t awaken from again, she whispered hoarsely, “I’m fine.”
Tavish knew she was not fine, that she couldn’t possibly be fine, but he wouldn’t contradict her. The best place to heal was at home. He fixed her with his stare, trying to gauge her reactions.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, as if to convince herself, looking away from the sea-green eyes that seemed to see too much. She searched for Alistair’s hand and gripped it. “I—I don’t want to go back to Atwood House.”
“Sweetheart, I wasn’t going to take you there. We’re going to Craigdale.” He lifted his eyebrows at her, surprised she would even consider this. In a tentative tone, he said, “Sophia, detective Isabel Martins who lead your case needs to ask a few questions and—”
“Not yet, please,” she whispered. “Tomorrow or the day after, maybe. I don’t remember much.”
I see. Alistair ran his hand through his hair, understanding how fragile those criminals had turned his wife.
For a moment, all Alistair could see was his summer sun wedging behind the heavy snow clouds; thunderstorms were ready to explode in his sky. He wished he could grab hold of the very air and twist it around each and every one of the criminals and suffocate them. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Has everyone been arrested?” Uó and his gang?
“They’re almost all dead. The leader, Uó, and the ones that survived are in prison awaiting trial.” Alberto Leibowitz is still at large, but we’ll get him. Alistair didn’t want to tell Sophia about Alberto. Or Emma. He didn’t want to make her more anxious. And I’ll make them pay. I swear to you, Sophia, I will. He turned to Tavish and commanded, “You take care of her. I’ll be right back.”
“Aye, sir,” Tavish smiled at Alistair’s back as he left the room to call Isabel.
“Tavish Uilleam.” Sophia’s whisper broke the comfortable silence that had descended on the room as Tavish took off the IV from her arm and unplugged her from the beeping machines.
Slowly, Tavish turned his head from the monitors to look at her, impressed by the grave tone of her voice. “Aye?”
“Thank you.” She slightly raised her hand when he opened his mouth. “There are no words to thank you enough. What you did…if I could ever reciprocate…”
He grinned at the offer, but he knew she was serious. “I’ll let you know. Maybe one day I’ll ask you for the magic healing potion you gave Alistair Connor.”
She gave him a little smile. “There is nothing magical in what I did. It was just love.”
“Ah. Really?” Tavish raised an eyebrow at her, knowing she hadn’t listened to her own words. He knew it would take time for her to believe in her own magic again. Not pressing the subject, he asked, “Are you hungry? Do you want me to order lunch?”
“No. Just thirsty. Could I have some orange juice?” she replied. She looked at her bruised wrists for a moment and, almost afraid of the answer, asked, “He—He—Is he okay?”
Tavish knew what she was asking. He probably had more in common with her than any person he knew. They had survived unspeakable brutality. Her time in a dungeon similar to his time held captive in Afghanistan caves. Their experiences made him feel they were siblings of a sort.
His turbulent sea-green eyes were ageless, filled with desolate bleakness when he looked at her.
Sophia read the answer even before he shook his head slowly and sat on the chair beside her again, taking her hand in his.
“Sophia.” He couldn’t lie to her after everything they had been through. “He died quickly.”
Oh, Ethan. Sophia’s grief was a physical sensation, gripping her like a clamp.
“It’s my fault,” she said. Closing her eyes, the tears ran slowly down her cheeks. Ethan’s face floated in her mind, the bullets sounding in her ears again. She felt like her heart was shattering into a million small shards of glass, and those shards were trying to poke out through her chest. “It’s my fault.”
“It is no’ your fault,” Tavish said firmly.
Stifling a sob, she asked, “Has he been buried yet?”
“Nae,” he shook his head sadly. “His parents are contesting his will and his funeral plan is in it. So, everything is on hold until the court decides.”
“Those creepy bastards! That’s awful. Poor, poor Ethan—” Her gravelly voice caught as the hurt emanated from her in waves. “Why can’t they just leave him alone?”
Tavish eyed her strangely for a moment. Then he realized she had no idea what Ethan had done. “Sophia, it’s no’ him they are after. Ashford disowned them. Apart from Scott, a woman called Barbara Something, and a few employees, he left almost everything to your foundation. Ashford’s parents want what you got.”
2:09 p.m.
In the dimly lit room, John lowered the transducer onto Sophia’s stomach, and the images on the monitor jumped around as he moved it to find the right spot.
Sophia squeezed Alistair’s hand hard and he smiled at her reassuringly.
What if there is something wrong? Alistair had been so eager to see the baby, but despite his smile and what John had said, he was still anxious.
“There you are.” The fuzzy image on the screen cleared, showing the embryo. He pushed a button and a loud and unbelievable quick drumming beat sounded in the room. “Alive and kicking.”
The moment took Alistair’s breath away. What more could I ask? Thank you, God! He leaned over to Sophia with tears running down his face and kissed her. He murmured on her lips, “Our baby.”
“Our baby,” with a trembling smile, she whispered back the same words.
John explained that everything was as it was supposed to be at this stage, confirming Sophia was eight weeks pregnant and the due date was November thirteenth. He finished the exam quickly and gave Sophia some tissue to wipe off the lubricating gel as he turned on the lights. “So, do you two want to know the sex of your baby?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
He smiled a soft smile as if he had expected the answer, pulling an envelope from his lab coat and opening it. “Baby boy.”
Sophia looked at Alistair with a smug grin. “I knew it.”
He took her face in his hands and gently kissed her and murmured against her lips, “Of course you did, mo gràdh.”
John scheduled the next appointment, said goodbye, and left the room thinking that having a child was surely the most beautifully irrational act that two people in love could commit.
4:02 p.m.
Sophia could see for herself that she was bruised from head to toe. She was stiff and sore, and if she moved too quickly, she wanted to scream in pain. She ran the towel slowly over the many black-and-blue spots while avoiding the mirror but it finally caught her eyes.
She stared at her image, incredulously, the reflection no longer one she recognized. The girl she remembered at sixteen, full of life and hope, and the more mature woman that was overflowing with love had both disappeared. The woman that was staring back at her may as well have been dead if only there weren’t a life flickering from somewhere deep inside her, struggling to be reflected in her eyes.
“Sophia? Are you okay? Do you need any help?” Alistair asked from the other side of the bathroom door.
Okay? Help? The world spun around Sophia, tilting off its axis. Everything she’d known and believed in for the last three years had been destroyed in the brutal doubt and
fear that were suddenly at her door again. She opened her mouth to speak but only a moan left her.
Alistair busted through the door and took her in his arms. “Sweetheart, let me help. You don’t need to do it all by yourself. You don’t need to prove anything.”
As he unfolded the baby-blue soft merino dress he brought for her to leave the hospital in, she thought of how appropriate it was. Baby-boy. My little warrior.
She surrendered to Alistair’s care and let him dress her and skillfully tie a blue-and-white scarf around her bandaged head like a turban.
“There. You look beautiful.” He kissed her forehead. A light, warm kiss to melt the ice around her heart.
I can allow this lie. She patted her scarf. “How did you do it?”
“I’m talented.” He shrugged. I saw my mother do this too many times.
Inverness Airport
6:19 p.m.
Edward called, informing Alistair that Calista and George hadn’t wasted any time selling their story to the highest bidder. Now, Ethan’s will, Sophia, and her foundation were making headlines on all major news channels.
Sophia, Alistair, and Tavish managed to sneak out of the hospital in an ambulance. Carolina, disguised as Sophia, and Felipe, surrounded by bodyguards, got off by the front door to distract the reporters and headed to a hotel. They entered, registered, and after a few minutes left in another car by the rear door.
Nevertheless, news that there was an ambulance heading to the airport leaked and spread like wildfire.
A crowd of journalists had assembled at the entrance of the airport with their bright lights, cameras, microphones, and cell phones waiting for her. Not even the security cars, the ambulance or a line of policemen and airport security were able to keep them away.
“Of course they’d want a piece of me.” Sophia gripped Alistair’s hand as though she were afraid of drowning. She shook her head, still not quite ready to talk about the subject in public. “I can’t talk to them yet.”
“So, don’t.” Tavish looked at her completely without judgment.
“You deserve another medal, my lord general,” she whispered tenderly. She checked the turban that covered the bandages on her head. “I’m not ready, I can’t tell about my...that I was…” She couldn’t voice what had happened to her. “They will invent stories about Ethan and me.”
“Aye, they will,” Alistair concurred. “So? Don’t let it get to you, my love. Ashley has already made an announcement. Give yourself some time. You’ve been through a lot.”
From inside the ambulance, she squinted out at the sea of eager faces, people for whom her trauma and Ethan’s death equaled their paycheck. She could almost hear the camera shutters clicking, could see the video cameras trained on the ambulance door waiting for her to step out.
I cannot allow it. Ethan gave much more than money to my Foundation, he gave me his life. “They want the meat, not the bones. They don’t want Ashley. They won’t leave us alone. Hungry, murderer paparazzi. They’ll flock to wherever we are. I don’t want them near us, near Gabriela.” She inhaled, gathering her courage. The ambulance inched forward, opening a path through the throng until it was crawling. Screw them. “Tavish Uilleam, please ask the driver to stop as soon as he crosses the airport gates. I’ll keep it simple.”
“What? You’re not fit—” Alistair started before Sophia cut him off.
“I am. Tavish Uilleam, order the ambulance to stop.”
As if waiting for Alistair to override her request, Tavish looked at his brother and endorsed her opinion, “You know, Sophia is right. A small and sharp announcement and a few photos of her for their front pages will keep them away from Craigdale.”
“Okay, then,” he ceded, knowing his wife and brother were right. “Inform Steven, Zareb, the police, and airport security. I’ll go out first.”
“Lord Ells.” Several voices shouted together, running on a loop as soon as Alistair opened the ambulance back door. “Why was Lady Ells kidnapped? How much did you pay? Why did Mr. Ashford leave everything to her? How did he die?”
Steven and Zareb left their car and approached; the police and airport security surrounded and made a tight barrier between the journalists and Alistair. Only then Tavish helped Sophia out of the ambulance.
The questions got even louder and frantic.
Alistair put an arm over her shoulders, bringing her closer and raised his other hand. His deep, commanding voice resounded over the excited voices as he looked at the journalists from his towering height. “Ladies. Gentlemen. Lady Ells is still in recovery as you can see. She’ll make a quick statement and answer no questions.”
Microphones and phones all jutted forward, but a thin, parched woman shouted, “Lady Ells, can you explain why you were held in Mr. Ashford’s dungeon? Were you having an affair with him?”
Sophia saw red. She wanted to scream at the woman but instead she breathed in deep and kept her voice even and steady, but made no effort to hide her contempt.
“Such low class is the press. Slanderers, exercising free will, independent thought, not for the satisfaction of their readers, but for its own greed. You’re no better than little gossipers and I’m sure you find sadistic pleasure in the unconstrained and untrue news you publish on other people’s private lives. You’re a distasteful and ridiculous band. That’s what the press looks like when it feasts on the death of a good man: tasteless, provocative, and offensive. Nothing more than vultures!”
She felt Alistair squeezing her shoulder as she began to lose her composure. Breathe, Sophia!
“In the unlikely event that anyone does care about the truth, no, I was not having an affair with Mr. Ashford. I had the immense pleasure of being his close friend and working with him to help abused women and children in India and China. About his will, all I can say is that he didn’t leave a single pound to me. He benefitted those who were loyal to him during his life as he saw fit, and what was left is to be reverted to Sophia Leibowitz Foundation for Women and Children. I must say that Ethan Ashford was a great man, who made a big difference in the lives of those he had contact with, including me. Thank you for your bloodthirsty quest and ever disrespect with the humanity of the victims.”
The babel of probing questions, more evil, started up again, but ignoring them, Sophia turned her back and flanked by Alistair and Tavish, Steven and Zareb, she walked to the waiting airplane, as the police and the airport’s security held back the excited journalists.
Over the Highlands, In Alistair MacCraig’s G650
7:01 p.m.
Sophia sat silently beside Alistair on the sofa, her hands spread over her stomach, almost dozing.
Alistair’s thumb stroked the top of her hand gently, as Carolina, Felipe, and Tavish sat talking quietly in the middle set of seats.
She shifted a little, pressing closer to him, and he moved, stretching his long legs out, pulling her delicately onto his lap, his arm supporting her back.
Sophia put her face in the hollow of his neck. She breathed deep, smelling his warmth and familiar scent. Supreme Alistair Connor.
His hand fluttered over her head, as if intending to stroke her hair and moved to frame her face. She shuddered.
“It’s going to be okay, Sophia,” he said in a low voice, and she felt his voice rumble in his chest. “I promise you this.”
She felt so tired she almost could have slept there, just as long as he kept holding her and didn’t let go. But she knew she wouldn’t: her mind was still fuzzy and there were many things she didn’t know yet. Most of all, she wanted to see Gabriela.
“Alistair Connor,” she breathed.
“Hmm?”
She could hear the exhaustion in his voice. She opened her eyes and could just see the black cotton of his long-sleeve shirt, and the way it moved as he breathed. “What are we going to say to Gabriela?”
Chapter 31
Craigdale Castle
8:12 p.m.
Sophia saw her grandmother rushing down the stairs
outside Craigdale with an agility she didn’t know Angelica still possessed.
“Grandma,” she whispered, and released Alistair’s hand to embrace her grandmother tightly.
Angelica was so moved that uncontrollable sobs left her throat.
“It’s okay, Grandma. I’m okay,” Sophia told her, patting her back.
Angelica’s voice was shaking when she whispered, “I thought I would lose you, my dear, my baby.”
“Our Sophia is a tough girl, Angelica,” Lachlann put a comforting, calming hand on Angelica’s shoulder, but Sophia saw his lips trembling, before opening into a moved smile.
“Yes, she is. But I’m not anymore. I wouldn’t stand losing another loved one.” Angelica released a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes with a white lacy handkerchief. A quivering smile crossed her face when Lachlann embraced her granddaughter as tightly and as long as she had done.
“Welcome back, my dear,” he said, more controlled than Angelica. “Come. Gabriela is waiting for you.”
As Sophia walked inside, she could see the twins holding hands with a smiling Gabriela in her Tinker Bell pajamas and slippers.
The three of them shrieked at the same time.
I love these crazy girls. Alistair smiled at his blonde sisters-in-law. They had been a great help, protecting Gabriela and creating all kinds of mischief to distract her.
“Mamãe, Mamãe!” Gabriela screamed, happily.
Gabriela! My angel, my love! Sophia wanted to shout her joy out loud but she just fell on her knees, not caring if the marble floor would make a few more black-and-blue marks on her already injured body. She opened her arms and her daughter threw herself in them, giving Sophia one of her neck crushing hugs. She loved it when her child tried to hug her so hard she could barely breathe. Hugs like that made her day. Don’t cry, Sophia. Don’t cry. In a husky voice, she whispered, “Hello, Angel. I’ve missed you.”