Secrets of the Heart

by Suzan Tisdale

  Shaking his head in disbelief, he let out a sigh, replaced the dirk and smiled. “Come now,” he said, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “Tell me why ye have changed yer mind.”

  The cold from the floor began to seep into her woolens. With a shiver, she said, “It matters no’ if I be a good wife to ye and give ye many children,” she said with a sniffle. “Some day ye will see the folly of yer choice and leave me.”

  At seeing her shiver, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to sit next to him. He grabbed the fur and wrapped it around her shoulders. “That will never happen,” he told her.

  “But ’twill!” she argued tearily.

  “What has brought this about?” he asked, holding her close.

  “I, I had a dream,” she admitted as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  Connor chuckled warmly. “A dream?”

  She nodded. “’Twas a nightmare, Connor. We had many children and seemed verra happy. But I did somethin’ to anger ye and ye left me. Ye took all our children away. Even Nola.”

  With a gentle hand, he touched her cheek and turned her to look at him. “Lass, I swear to ye, I will never take Nola or any of our future children away from ye. I will never leave ye.”

  She could only pray he would keep that promise.

  Chapter 11

  On a dark, gloomy day, ten days before Connor and Onnleigh were to marry, a messenger from the Randall clan appeared at their borders. The young man was brought immediately to Connor.

  The rather nervous young lad now stood, albeit a bit shakily, in the gathering room of the MacCallen keep. The snow that crusted his fur cloak and boots began to melt, leaving puddles of water on the stone floor.

  He was surrounded by a wall of some two-dozen MacCallen warriors. Connor was quite proud of his men, for each and every one assembled here were the best trained and most ruthless of his clan. Their presence was meant to intimidate and it was working quite well. The poor lad looked ready to shite himself.

  Connor reckoned the lad could not be more than eight and ten years. As skinny as a sapling tree, with blond hair and intense blue eyes, the boy was doing his best to not look too afraid. But who would not be afraid, surrounded by the likes of the MacCallen warriors?

  “What are ye called?” Connor asked.

  The boy swallowed hard. “Elgin,” he said. “Elgin Randall.”

  “Well, Elgin Randall, what message does yer laird send ye with?” Connor finally asked, looking directly at the lad.

  Without thinking, the young man reached for something inside his cloak. Immediately, every sword in the room was drawn and pointed directly at him. He paused, swallowed hard again, his eyes as wide as trenchers. “’Tis naught but my laird’s missive.”

  Silence stilled the air, not one man ready to sheath his sword on the word of a Randall.

  “Slowly,” Conner warned him with a nod.

  Carefully, he pulled his cloak open, the scroll clearly visible, tucked into his sword belt. Connor took the offered missive and stood by the roaring fire to read it. Moments ticked by as the warriors waited with an eerie calmness. Elgin shifted his weight from one foot to the other, undoubtedly wishing he was anywhere but here.

  When Connor finished reading the missive a second time, he rolled the parchment and clenched it in his hand. “Tell yer laird I agree to his terms.”

  Connor’s warriors waited until Elgin was escorted from the keep before plying their laird with questions. Connor raised a hand for quiet. “The Randall, it seems, wants to meet with me.”

  Curious glances were shared amongst his men, but they remained quiet. Ronald and Braigh stepped forward, standing on either side of their brother. ’Twas a show of support for Connor.

  “And ye agreed?” one of the older warriors finally put to voice what everyone else was thinking.

  “Aye, I have agreed to the meetin’.”

  More uncertain looks and glances between his men. Connor pulled his shoulders back and let out a slow breath. “’Tis a meetin’ to discuss peace betwixt our clans,” Connor told them. “But I shall nae agree to anythin’ until I have discussed it with all of ye. I will take yer opinions into consideration.”

  Someone at the back of the room scoffed. ’Twas Darrin MacCallen, the nephew of their stable master. A young man of two and twenty who had excelled in training—one Connor believed had a good head on his shoulders. “Darrin?” Connor said, stepping toward him.

  Concern and a bit of embarrassment were visible in the young man’s eyes.

  “Ye have an issue?”

  Darrin glanced at those around him as if he were looking for support. None would offer it until they heard what he had to say.

  “Do ye nae believe I will listen to my most trusted men?” Connor asked.

  Darrin was growing tense under Connor’s scrutinization, his eyes darting from one person to the next. A light sheen of perspiration broke out on his forehead. He cleared his throat before answering. “Ye did nae ask our opinion when ye chose Onnleigh,” he finally blurted out.

  A hush fell over the room as Connor stared the young man down. He had wondered who, if any, amongst his men, might disagree with his choice of bride. “Ye do nae agree with my decision?” Connor asked, raising one brow. “Ye object to Onnleigh?”

  “That is nae what I said or meant,” Darrin replied.

  “Then, pray tell, enlighten me,” Connor told him.

  He stammered to get the words out. “I meant only that ’twas a verra important decision. One ye did nae come to us with. Who ye marry does affect the entire clan.”

  “How will my marriage to Onnleigh affect the clan?” Connor asked. “She be one of us. She be a MacCallen. Was there someone else ye thought I should marry?”

  Darrin shook his head slowly. “Nae, no one else,” he replied sheepishly.

  “Have ye objections to Onnleigh?” Connor asked, his voice calm, his tone even.

  Darrin’s silence said more than words could have. Connor turned to face every man in the room. “Do any of ye have objections? If ye do, I would hear them now.”

  Fergus MacCallen stepped forward. He was one of the older warriors, in his forties, with long dark hair and piercing blue eyes. “There has been talk, m’laird. Some believe ye could have chosen better.”

  “Better?” Connor asked with a raised brow.

  Fergus nodded once. “Aye, better. Ye do remember who her father was, aye?”

  “Of course I remember,” Connor replied. “But Onnleigh, I can assure ye, be nothin’ like the man who sired her.”

  Fergus smiled wryly. “On that, I would have to agree.”

  Confused, Connor’s brow drew into a hard line.

  “I am only tellin’ ye what some of our clanspeople be sayin’. I, however, do nae agree with them.”

  Connor smiled ever so slightly and nodded, a signal for Fergus to continue.

  “If she had been anythin’ like her da, we would have heard of it,” Fergus said, looking directly at Darrin. “But never once, in all these many years, has anyone even uttered the lass’s name. ’Twas her da who did the stealin’. ’Twas he who was a drunkard and layabout. But can any of ye here say the same of his daughter?”

  Several shook their heads.

  “I think the only thing Onnleigh ever stole was our laird’s heart,” Fergus said with a wry grin. “And I do believe that was a stealin’ our laird does nae object to, if the smile on his face be any indication.”

  Most of the men chuckled and smiled.

  “If anyone in this clan objects to our laird’s decision, ’tis only because they are weak-minded fools who would rather believe rumors than truth,” someone added over the din.

  “But can she be trusted?”

  Connor could not see who asked that particular question.

  Braigh stepped forward and looked out at the crowd. “Do ye truly believe Connor be stupid enough to fall for a lass who could nae be trusted?”

  More murmurs from the men as they openl
y discussed the matter. Connor felt it would be better to listen, at least for a short while. The men needed to have this discussion here, now, and in the open. Better that than to let those who objected stew and become frustrated or angry.

  In the end, those who might have been uncertain about Connor’s upcoming marriage decided to accept it.

  Onnleigh tried to look happy when Connor told her about the Randall. They sat in her chamber in front of the roaring fire. Nola was on Connor’s lap chewing on his fingers whilst he gave Onnleigh the good news.

  “This could be the beginning of peace,” Connor told her. His eyes were filled with so much hope.

  Onnleigh knew that above all else, he wanted peace for their clan. It was the one thing he’d been working toward for a good long while. “Can it nae wait until after we are wed?” she asked, her heart cracking with the mere thought of him leaving her here alone before they were good and properly wed.

  “I have given that some thought,” he told her. “But I fear that if we do nae meet now, the Randall’s could align themselves with the McCrearys.”

  Even Onnleigh was smart enough to know that would not bode well for Connor or his people. Reluctantly, she acquiesced. “I ken how important it be to ye,” she said. “I truly hope ye finally get the peace ye have desired for so long.”

  He smiled warmly as he gently bounced Nola on his knee. “Aye, I have desired peace for too many years to count. But ye, Onnleigh, are more important to me than anything else in this world.”

  There was no doubt in her mind that he meant what he said. ’Twas difficult for her not to fling herself into his arms. If he hadn’t been holding Nola, she would have done just that.

  There was a twinkle in his eyes that bespoke a promise. A promise that he would always keep her safe, no matter the cost. In all her years, she had dreamed of having someone special who would look at her with adoration instead of disdain. Tears threatened, her skin tingling and warm.

  “I fear I be missin’ ye already,” she admitted.

  “Ye do?” he asked playfully with a glint of pride in his bright eyes.

  “Of course I do,” she told him as she fought hard not to cry. She would wait to shed her tears after he left. “Connor, promise me ye will come back to me.”

  With an affectionate smile, he stood and kissed her most passionately, stealing her breath away. Oh, how his kisses made her feel! Alive, excited, and eager for more. “I love ye, Connor MacCallen,” she whispered after he broke the kiss.

  “And I love ye, Onnleigh,” he replied, with a rather pleased grin. He knew how his kisses affected her and took great pride in it. “And I promise I will return to ye.”

  Onnleigh understood how important this meeting was. Not only for Connor, but for the entire clan. Weeks ago, she had even suggested Connor reach out to the Randalls to gain an alliance. This could be the pathway to the peace Connor had always sought.

  Understanding the importance, however, did not make her feel any better about being left behind. “Are ye certain we cannae go with ye?” she asked once again.

  “Nay, lass,” he replied. “’Twill be far too dangerous.”

  More dangerous than bein’ here alone? she wondered nervously.

  “Ye will be safe here, Onnleigh. I will be leaving most of our men behind to guard ye and the keep.”

  ’Twas probably foolish to fret over it, but she could not help herself. Soon, she would be his wife. There would undoubtedly be times in the future when he would have to leave her behind. Ye might as well get used to it now, she told herself. ’Twas the thought of being completely alone that worried her most. He’d not be here to protect her.

  Sensing her worry, he placed Nola in her cradle before pulling Onnleigh onto his lap. Holding her close, he did his best to soothe her worries. “Braigh and Lorna will be here, as well as Bridgett, to keep ye company. I will only be gone for three days.”

  Lest he think her weak, she decided then and there to convey an air of strength and calm. She’d not send him off worrying about her. “Ye’d best return to me, Connor MacCallen,” she sighed against his neck.

  “I promise, lass,” he said as he kissed her forehead. “I promise.”

  Just hours before they were to leave for the Randall keep, Braigh and Lorna received most devastating news. Lorna’s last living relative, her older sister Myrna, had given birth. She was not due until the end of February. The babe had been stillborn and Myrna was not expected to live through the end of the day.

  With a heavy heart, Braigh went at once to his brother to explain the situation to him. Connor was in the gathering room, giving last minute orders to those men he would leave behind to guard the keep.

  Connor took one look at his crestfallen brother and knew at once that something was seriously wrong. Braigh explained to him about the missive he’d just received.

  “Ye need to take yer wife to say goodbye to her sister,” Connor told him.

  “But what of the Randall?” Braigh asked, still genuinely concerned that the Randall meeting was naught more than a trap.

  “I will take Ronald with me,” Connor said as looked at the map he had spread out on the table. “I want ye to take at least ten men with ye to the Mackintosh keep.”

  “Nay,” Braigh replied. “I do nae want to jeopardize the safety of the keep whilst we are both away.”

  Connor would brook no argument. “I will nae argue it with ye. If ye wish to take yer wife to say her goodbyes to her sister, then ye will take ten men with ye. I will reduce the number goin’ with me to thirty. The rest can stay behind and guard Onnleigh, Nola, and our home.”

  “And what if I am right?” Braigh asked, his brow drawn into a deep line of concern and worry. “Then ye will be the last MacCallen standin’ and ’twill be up to ye to avenge our deaths.”

  Whilst said in jest, Braigh found no humor in it.

  The Randall keep was a day’s ride from the MacCallens. A good eight hours in fair weather. Lord only knew how long it would take them now, for the snow was as deep as a horse’s knees. Thick, cold, and crusty. The only thing to be glad for was the fact the wind had died down and the sun was shining brightly.

  Onnleigh stood on the steps of the keep, looking beautiful, if not despondent, in her regal emerald green gown. ’Twas another addition to her growing wardrobe—yet one more gift from Connor.

  Bridgett was above stairs, watching over Nola, whilst Onnleigh bid him goodbye.

  “I shall return in three days time,” Connor reminded her. His smile was warm, lighting his eyes. He was doing his best to reassure her that she need not worry.

  “Ye promise?” she asked as she rested her head against his chest.

  “I do so promise, lass.” He hugged her gently, patting her back as he told her once again how much he loved her. “Ye mean more to me than ye could ever imagine, Onnleigh.”

  She’d rather be gutted than to cry in front of him now, or in front of the other clanspeople. Putting on a most brave front, she pulled away. “Ye best come back to me, Connor MacCallen. We have a weddin’ to attend in less than a week.”

  “I would nae miss it for the world,” he told her.

  Chapter 12

  A well-laid plan was useless if it was not executed with precision.

  And that was what Helen needed this day: her cohorts and companions to execute each of their roles without any mistakes. She couldn’t afford even the tiniest of errors.

  Since the day Connor had made his eloquent speech and announcement, she had done nothing but think on the best way to get Onnleigh out of the chief’s life, and for good. For days, she had tried to find something with which to blackmail Onnleigh into leaving of her own accord. But try as she might, she could find nothing. Not even the tiniest crumb of information could be found on the young woman. Staying away from the clan and keep for all those years worked to Onnleigh’s advantage, not Helen’s.

  The rumors about witchcraft would have worked had Connor not interfered and stopped them before
they could take their full affect. The bloody fool.

  Helen was growing desperate, fully prepared to sneak into the keep and slice Onnleigh’s throat whilst she slept. But as the fates would have it —she refused to call it luck or fortune because she believed in neither — word came that Connor was leaving for three days to meet with the Randalls.

  And so it began, the first steps of her plan fell into place nicely. Just a few milk cows here and there, that had mysteriously stopped giving milk. She owed that bit of ingenuity to her knowledge of herbs.

  Next, a few chickens disappearing, only to be found scattered with their heads missing. Small, little details like those made for the best of plans.

  And just an hour before Connor left, a goat was found hanging from a tree just outside the walls of the keep. Its heart was missing, but naught else. Just one dead goat hanging from a tree. She owed that deed to her daughter, Margaret. Aye, even Margaret had secrets. Deep, dark secrets that may or may not have had some truth to them.

  Connor wasn’t even aware of the goat’s death when he left, which also played to her favor.

  ’Twasn’t fate that intervened next by calling Braigh away. Nay, Helen arranged all that herself. By the time anyone realized ’twas naught more than tactic to get Braigh away from the keep, well, Onnleigh and the bastard child would be dead.

  The next step in Helen’s devious plan to do away with Onnleigh ingen Grueber and the bastard child Connor was so fond of was, by far, the most important.

  It would involve duplicity of the highest sort. Timing was everything at this juncture.

  Of course, the clan was in an uproar by noon the following day, thanks to her good work and the fast-moving lips of Eleana and Trudee. Did ye hear? Margery’s milk cow quit givin’ milk! And so did auld Fergus and Annie’s! Did ye also hear about the chickens? And just this morn, the goat? Heads cut off all the chickens, ye ken. And the goat was missin’ it’s heart! I tell ye, it be witchcraft, pure and simple.