Jacob stood suddenly and pulled her into his arms, hugging her back, fiercely. "Thank you, Isabel. You've brought me such light."

"Rhiannon did that."

"No," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "it was you. You've brought me what no one else could. I think...I always needed to hear what she said up there...." He pulled back to look at her.

"I brought you to Scotland with me because you love me," she said softly. "And I know I haven't told you yet, but I do love you back. With all my heart."

He put his forehead to hers. With a gentle hand, he smoothed her wet, tangled hair from her face. "We should get out of the rain."

"Yes, we should."

"I do love you, you know." He stared into her eyes. And then he led her back, into the shelter of the building that housed Rhiannon's artist studio. The heavy door shut behind them, and they were alone in the silence of the cool stairwell, smelling of damp wood beams on centuries-old stonework.

They both paused, as if not sure what came next. Isabel knew this was the moment. Soon Rhiannon would come down from her studio, or Malcolm and Kristin would wander in looking for them, and then she and Jacob would be headed back to the city again, and their time would be done.

"Jacob? I haven't said this to you because I've been afraid to think about you leaving. But I don't think that holding back is very wise for me anymore. What if I never see you again and I didn't say it to you while I still had the chance?"

Slowly Jacob exhaled, stepping back.

Her gaze dropped. He knew what she was going to ask. She studied a planter of leafy green holly in the corner, and nervously she reached to pluck a sprig, rubbing the sharp edges between her fingers.

When she looked at Jacob again, he was staring past her, rain and mist still on his face. He didn't want her to ask him to stay, she sensed. She was taking such a risk in doing so, and it scared her.

But not telling him the truth scared her more.

She sat on the stair beside the holly bush. "It's Christmas Eve." She gazed up at him. "May I tell you what I most want for Christmas?"

His face was a statue, the emotion unreadable on it. Jacob had fashioned himself into a bodyguard; he had been one for most of his life. But after hearing Rhiannon's story, how could any woman who loved him want him to continue that life?

"What I would most like," she said bravely, "is for you not to take bullets for other people anymore, because I selfishly want you to stay here with me."

His expression didn't change.

Her vision blurred, and she lowered her head.

After a moment, she felt his gentle touch on her chin. "Will you wait for me?" he asked, kneeling before her.

She dared to look at him, and his eyes were compa.s.sionate. She nodded wordlessly.

"I need to go home and share what I've learned," he said quietly.

He wasn't asking her to go with him, she noticed. Neither was he promising to return. But he hadn't turned her down, either.

"Will you stay for Christmas dinner?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "It's better for you if I don't go." He cupped his hand to her cheek. "Make this about you, and what you want. You'll get more from your uncle without me there to complicate it."

She put her arms around his neck, and her forehead to his, not wanting to let him go. But he was right. She had to trust him. And trust herself.

WHEN THEY RETURNED to Edinburgh that evening, Jacob phoned the airlines and reserved himself a seat on a commercial flight to JFK the next morning. Isabel got up early with him, and she watched the taxi pull away and whisk him down the street away from her. Only then did it occur to her that it was Christmas Day, and she had forgotten to wish him a happy Christmas.

Isabel showered and dressed alone, in a red dress with a sprig of holly in her hair. When she was ready, she drove to her uncle's home.

As she knocked on the door, and he let her inside, she felt a small triumph even through her sadness. She took comfort in knowing that she'd been true to herself. She'd done her best, her way, not only for herself, but for the people she loved, too.

Uncle John answered the door himself, and took her coat. She gave him a kiss, and he seemed surprised. "You decided to come alone," he remarked as he hung up her coat.

"I did."

He brought her into a sitting room and poured them each a small gla.s.s of sherry. "Rhiannon called me this morning," he said.

"Yes, Uncle. I know you typically spend Christmases with her and Malcolm's family."

"And I know you typically spend Christmas with your family."

"I do." She smiled at him. "But I'm glad it's just you and me for now. Perhaps you'll join me and visit my mum and brothers later, after dinner. They'll be watching Christmas movies. It's a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Carol. Maybe Elf for Stewart. We'd love to have you."

Her uncle smiled. He held up the gla.s.s in a toast. "Maybe I will."

"Please do."

He took a small sip of sherry. "Rhiannon told me about yesterday's visit."

"I'm glad." She took a sip of her sherry, as well. It was sweet-sweeter than she'd expected.

He nodded, lost in thought, and seemed troubled. "I'll never forgive myself for what happened to her," he said.

Isabel put down her gla.s.s and took both his hands in hers. "I wish you would, Uncle. You know she doesn't blame you. No one in the family does."

He nodded shortly. He seemed to be struggling with emotion. Finally, he met her gaze. "I'm sorry I can't name you CEO, or even president."

She had expected that. She nodded.

"Are you disappointed?"

"When I confronted you in your office yesterday, I knew I had forfeited my chances."

"But you did it anyway."

She nodded, sipping her sherry again. "I did."

"And your father," he said. "I know you made a promise to Dougal."

"In the hospital, the last day I saw him alive, yes." She lowered her gaze to the bright red sherry, their festive drink for Christmas. Her father had so loved the holiday. She found herself smiling. "But I think he's proud of me, after all."

She gazed up at her uncle. She had stood up to him, which her dad had never done. That would make him proud.

Last night, driving back from the castle, it had occurred to Isabel that her dad wouldn't want her to spend her life doing something that made her unhappy, just to please him. The only way she would fail him was if she denied her own heart.

"I think there's a more appropriate role for me at Sage," she said. "One that suits me. One that I think can benefit the company."

"I'm interested in hearing your thoughts," her uncle said.

"I enjoyed working in the Cosmetics Division. I'd like to head up that department. Reporting to you, if I may."

Her uncle nodded. "I'll see to it." He stood. "Well, are you hungry? I arranged for the traditional dinner. Turkey with the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs."

"That will be lovely," she said.

She followed him into the dining room. And at her uncle's Edinburgh mansion, all decorated for Christmas, a table set with a lovely meal for two, Isabel Sage partic.i.p.ated in the first adult conversation she'd ever had with her uncle John that had lasted longer than ten minutes.

Away from the office, she discovered, outside of the pressure of business, he wasn't half-bad.

In any event, it was something to build upon.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

JACOB MADE IT to his family's house in Connecticut by midafternoon on Christmas Day. He'd slept a good part of the flight home, still sh.e.l.l-shocked from meeting Rhiannon, still thoughtful about all that had happened in Scotland.

He needed to tell his mom what Rhiannon had told him. That was the most important thing at the moment.

A light snow had fallen, dusting the porch, as he stamped his feet on the welcome mat. The front door was adorned with a balsam wreath like the ones his mom had made every year when he was a child, even when they'd had little to live on.

But the home was warm inside and smelled like mulled cider. Emily greeted him, skipping over and making a fuss over him. He'd forgotten he still wore a small bandage on his neck. He felt a bit stiff and he'd probably always have a scar there, but that wasn't why he'd come home.

He finished giving Emily a bear hug, and then took off his shoes in the entryway. "Where is everybody?" he asked.

"In the den. Zach is showing us his skills with his new video games." She rolled her eyes.

It was nice to know some things didn't change.

"Did you bring your gun with you?" Emily asked as she walked beside him.

Playfully, he tugged on her messy ponytail. "Absolutely not."

"Good." She led him into the alcove off the family room.

There they were, his family, snuggled on the big sectional couch and looking somewhat sleepy, except for Zach, who was jockeying with a game console.

"Hi, everyone," he said. "Merry Christmas."

"Jacob," Daniel said, rising. "We weren't expecting you."

"I know. I came back early." He glanced around. "Where's Mom?"

"She's in the kitchen, cleaning up," Emily said.

He dropped the bag of presents he'd brought onto the coffee table. "Em, you're in charge of pa.s.sing these out. I'll go give Mom hers in person."

As Zach rifled through the bag, Jacob headed for the kitchen. His mom was listening to the radio. Christmas songs. The faucet in the sink was running, and she was scrubbing a pot vigorously, though it looked pretty clean to him.

He pulled up a stool and sat across from her on the kitchen island. "Hi, Mom."

"Jacob!" She blinked. "I wasn't expecting you. Aren't you in..." She let the question drift off. Anxiously, she peered at his bandage.

"I'm okay," he said quietly. "And yes, I was in Scotland with Isabel." He paused. He'd realized on the plane that he shouldn't have ditched Isabel so abruptly, but he'd needed to do this. He needed to set this straight.

"Mom," he said. "I had to come home to see you."

She smiled slightly. "You've not done that for many years now."

"I know. I'm sorry. I've been busy working so much, away most holidays. When I was in Scotland with Isabel, I realized, well... She took me to talk with the woman who was with Donald when he died."

"You..." His mom seemed to sway on her feet. He got up and helped her into a chair.

"Mom, I just wanted you to know, he thought about us. He may have left us and made things hard, but I think he regretted how he treated us. He was sorry about it. It was the last thing he talked to her about before he died."

She shook her head at him. She seemed bewildered.

"Mom, it's okay."

"Jacob," she said, fl.u.s.tered. "I left him."

"You...did? Why?"

She pressed her hands to her mouth, staring at the bandage on the side of his neck. "You were only a toddler," she said, her face lined with pain. "I turned around for a moment, and when I looked back, there you were, playing with his gun."

Jacob stared at her. "His gun?"

"You were so curious, and he was so careless with it. All the time. I couldn't stay with him after that. I couldn't risk a terrible accident. I was so angry with him. So I took you one day, and I left."

Jacob exhaled. "Why didn't you ever tell me this?"

She shook her head. "I had hoped that he would follow us," she said helplessly. "But he didn't. He just...didn't."

She'd felt guilty for leaving Donald. Jacob saw it clearly. He drew her to him and hugged her. "You know what, Mom," he said. "I'm glad you came here. We've had a good life, haven't we?"

"You don't blame me?" she whispered.

"No, I don't blame you. I'm happy." He gave her a smile. He was happy.