Tavish’s face showed his surprise at Gabriela’s name and he mused, “Surely, you are not the missing widow…”
“Yes, I’m Gabriel Leibowitz’s widow. Why? Is there a problem?” Her eyes narrowed at him. She waited for the next dig, not entirely comprehending Tavish’s behavior.
“Leonard told me you like to read, Sophia,” Lachlann interrupted, looking at Tavish with censure in his eyes. He relaxed when she whirled around to him, smiling.
“Oh, yes. I do. I love books.” Sophia looked around her, noticing the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books. She did her best to avoid Tavish’s sharp gaze. “You have a beautiful library.”
“I am delighted to give you a tour. We have a few interesting originals here. Come and see.” Lachlann gripped her hand and towed her to one of the three locked cases in the middle of the room, opening the glass lid, “Originals by Shakespeare. My favorite is the prompt book of The Tragedy of Macbeth.”
Tavish interrupted, “I don’t know why you like it so much, Father. The story of King Macbeth as told by Shakespeare bears no relation to real events in Scottish history. The historical Macbeth was an admired monarch.”
Lachlann shrugged, sighed softly, and pointed at other books. “The first quarto edition of Midsummer Night’s Dream, published in 1600; the first quarto of The Tragedy of Othello, from 1622, and Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, the enlarged version of 1605; and, of course,” he turned to Sophia and smiled, “a Scottish original, Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson, published in1886.”
Lachlann moved to another case and showed it to her. “These are my absolute favorites, all first editions: Valerius Terminus by Sir Francis Bacon.” And he motioned to the last five books, “Leviathan by Thomas Hobbes, A Letter Concerning Toleration by John Locke - the second and the third letters - and The Theory of Moral Sentiments by Sir Adam Smith.”
She gaped at him. “Oh, my,” she murmured, lowering her gaze to the books in the case. “All first editions? The originals?”
“Is there any other meaning to original?” Tavish asked from behind.
“Indeed, my lord, there is.” She bent her head backwards to stare at his green eyes. “I have read numerous works in their original, in several languages, meaning that I’ve read them in their original written language,” she boasted and then turned to look at the ancient book, still astonished. “But never such time-honored first editions. May I see the John Locke?” she asked Lachlann, who took the book reverentially from the velvet-lined case and put it in her hands. “I’ve always been interested in his ideas about peace and religious toleration in a civil society.”
“Locke was a demagogue,” Tavish continued, “he defended that all men were created equal but gave absolute power to the slave masters.”
“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.”