The Striker

by Monica McCarty

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I know you think it wasn’t anything, but I won’t take a chance—”

  “It was Marjory.” It was his turn to be shocked. He drew back to gape at her. “I was coming to tell you, but your father said you were in a meeting and could not be disturbed.” Now she knew why. More secrets.

  “How do you know?”

  “Eachann saw her going into the room with a ‘gift.’ He asked her about it today when Marjory came to spend the afternoon with your mother working on the new tapestry.”

  He swore.

  “Your mother had much the same reaction, although not so plainly put. I’ve never seen her so angry. I took Eachann from the room, but Marjory left a short while later in tears. I’m sure the incident will not be repeated.”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie.” He shook his head, furious. “Damn it, my own sister!”

  “You have nothing for which to apologize. Marjory is not your responsibility.”

  “I’ll speak with Fin, when I get back.”

  “Don’t. It will only make it worse. Besides, I suspect your sister’s marriage doesn’t need any more challenges.”

  Perhaps the same could be said of hers. She wanted desperately for Eoin to trust her, but maybe she was asking too much. Maybe forgiveness was all she could expect?

  Would that be enough?

  In her heart she knew it wouldn’t. She did not need to know all the details, but he could not cut her out of half his life as he had before. Not when she knew the difference now. There was something he was hiding. Something important. But she could not force him to trust her.

  She turned away. “I will see you when you return.”

  He grabbed her elbow to turn her back. “Don’t be like this, Maggie. I want to tell you, but I can’t.”

  She dipped her face so he wouldn’t see her disappointment and hurt. “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t,” he said, turning her face back to his. “Nor should you. It’s just . . . damn it, it’s complicated.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She didn’t know whether she’d start sobbing or start hurling demands and accusations at him. But neither would do either of them any good. It would only make it worse.

  Patience, she reminded herself. But how long would it take?

  Eoin made it as far as the dock before he turned around. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave her like this.

  It felt too much like last time—except maybe this time it was worse. He didn’t have accusations and demands to fuel his anger, distracting him and helping him convince himself he was doing the right thing.

  He wasn’t doing the right thing. All he could think about was the hurt and disappointment in her eyes when he’d told her. A stony lump had formed in his chest, and it had only grown heavier as he’d left her standing in the barmkin beside his parents, clutching Eachann’s hand like a lifeline. Seeing her so vulnerable ate at him. Margaret was strong, confident, irrepressible. He was breaking her heart, damn it. Just like he’d done six years ago.

  “It can’t work . . .”

  She was right, if they were going to have a chance, he needed to trust her. “I have to go back,” he said.

  Campbell had already jumped in the birlinn and was readying the ship for voyage. Oddly enough, he didn’t look all that surprised by Eoin’s pronouncement. “Forget something?”

  “Aye, to tell my wife where I’m going.” The blunt admission elicited only a quirked brow from Campbell. “Do you have an objection to that?”

  The other man shrugged. “Not if you don’t.”

  In other words, Campbell trusted his judgment. Eoin knew that—they’d all had their lives in each other’s hands at some point over the last seven and a half years—but somehow this felt different. He acknowledged the show of faith with a nod.

  Campbell’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Marrying the enemy’s daughter isn’t easy, is it?”

  Eoin smiled back at him, appreciating the understanding that could only come from someone in the same position. “You can sure as hell say that again. Give me a few minutes.”

  He took the stairs two at a time, hoping to catch her in the yard, but the small group that’d bid him farewell on what was allegedly a short trip to Dunstaffnage had already dispersed.

  He nearly ran into his father as he started up the stairs to the tower house. “Did you forget something, son?”

  Eoin shook his head. “Have you seen Margaret?”

  “She went to the stables. I think she said she was going to go on a ride.”

  His chest stabbed with a hard prick of guilt. Damn it, he really must have hurt her. He remembered riding away had been her first impulse when she’d been hurt by Comyn’s sister all those years ago.

  He found her in Dubh’s stall with one of the stable lads, securing the saddle around the horse.

  She jumped when she heard him come up behind her. “Eoin! I thought you were . . . you startled me.” He thought he glimpsed a twinge of fear in her expression before it turned to concern. “Is something wrong?”

  “Aye.” He told the lad to fetch the horse a carrot and give them a few minutes of privacy. As soon as the boy was gone, he startled her again by drawing her into his arms. “I forgot to tell you something.”

  She blinked up at him, obviously confused by his odd behavior. The light through the open window cast soft shadows across her delicate features. Her skin was so smooth and pale it almost looked translucent. “Yes?”

  “You didn’t ask where I was going.”

  Her gaze held his for a long heartbeat. “I thought it was a secret.”

  “It is. But I trust you.”

  Her eyes widened. “You do?”

  He was ashamed of how much surprise there was in her voice. “Aye. I want it to be different this time.” He wanted to make her a part of his life—all of his life.

  “So do I,” she said, the surprise turning soft with happiness.

  He took a deep breath; it wasn’t easy sharing things he was used to keeping to himself. “John of Lorn is making trouble again. There are rumors that his men are in the area, trying to scavenge up some coin. We have reason to think they’ll target his former lands in Appin next. We’re going to set a trap for them and see if we can learn what they have planned.”

  She didn’t need to know the details, the gist was enough. More than enough. Though he was not technically breaking his promise to Bruce—he hadn’t told her about the Highland Guard—he knew his cousin wouldn’t approve of him telling her anything about his activities.

  But Eoin intended to have a serious talk with Bruce the next time he saw him. Either he let him out of his promise or Eoin was going to leave the Highland Guard. The secret of his role in Bruce’s army was too big to keep from her. She might not need to know all the operational details, but she needed to know what he was involved in.

  Margaret had been right: he owed her a duty as much as he owed his cousin. Eoin hadn’t made his wife a priority before, but that was going to change.

  He made sure to impart the seriousness of what he was telling her. “No one not involved in the mission knows this but you, Margaret.” He hadn’t even told his father as much as he’d told her. “That’s the way we like to keep it.” The less people who knew, the less chance there was for something to go wrong.

  She bit her lip, concern clouding her features. “Will it be very dangerous?”

  “It’s nothing I haven’t done a hundred times before. I won’t lie to you, there is always an element of danger, but it’s greatly reduced by having the element of surprise.” He smiled. “It’s better to be the pirate, remember?”

  The jest earned him a smile. “I thought you called it Vikings and Highlanders. Which one is the pirate?”

  He grinned back at her. “Both.”

  She laughed, and he pressed a soft kiss on her lips. A soft kiss that nearly turned into something more, when her hands wrapped around his neck and her breas
ts melted into his chest. He went hard at the contact, his cock instinctively seeking the sweet juncture between her legs. He cupped her bottom, lifting her against him, as his tongue stroked deeper and deeper into the warm cavern of her mouth. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to feel her legs wrapped around his waist as he drove in and out.

  He was a few grinds of her hips away from tossing her down on the pile of hay behind her. But Campbell was waiting for him.

  He drew back—with some effort. “I have to go.”

  She nodded a bit dazedly, her features still bearing the stamp of arousal. Her eyes were heavy, her pupils dark, her lips cherry red and swollen, her breath uneven . . . Christ, she was going to kill him.

  He started to go, but she called him back. “Eoin.”

  He looked back over his shoulder.

  “Thank you.”

  Their eyes held, and the smile that spread across her face was one that he would never forget. It was as brilliant as a rare diamond but a thousand times more precious to him.

  “I love you,” she said softly.

  A powerful warmth spread through his chest, filling him with a sense of contentment he’d never experienced before. He’d done the right thing.

  “And I love you, a leanbh.”

  A few moments later he was gone, leaving the shadows of the stable—and its opened window—behind.

  27

  MARGARET’S EMOTIONS had swung from despair and heartbreak to elation and happiness in the matter of a few minutes. Were it not for the danger and the worry that accompanied the revelation, her happiness would have been complete.

  For the first time since the early days of their marriage, she had hope for the future. The closeness beyond the bedchamber that she craved seemed possible. She and Eoin had turned an important corner. Her patience had been rewarded, and he had confided in her. Maybe not everything—she knew there was something bigger and more significant that he was not telling her—but it was an important first step.

  He trusted her, and she vowed to be worthy of that trust.

  Of course, she didn’t expect to have that vow put to the test less than twenty-four hours later.

  She’d spent the morning with Lady Rignach and the steward, while Eachann worked with his new tutor. Margaret had been surprised to be included in the meeting, and even more surprised when Lady Rignach asked her opinion on a few purchases. Apparently, she’d learned how Margaret had repaid the nuns at the convent for teaching her to read and write.

  Margaret didn’t think the proud lady would relinquish her role as chatelaine anytime soon, but the fact that she was willing to include Margaret at all showed a clear intention on her part to make Margaret feel more a part of the household. And maybe even some day, part of the family.

  The person most resistant to that asked to see her after the midday meal. While Lady Rignach took Eachann to the stable to see a new foal, Marjory sat with Margaret in the garden to apologize.

  Though Marjory was only a year older than Margaret’s five and twenty, the past years had taken their toll. Few vestiges of girlish prettiness remained behind the lines of disappointment and heartbreak. Whether it was her marriage or her inability to have a child thus far that was responsible, Margaret didn’t know. Perhaps it was both. But the proud, spoiled young beauty was a forlorn shadow.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Marjory said, her hands twisting in her lap. “I just wanted . . .” Her eyes filled with tears. “You to go away like before.”

  “Was it so perfect for you when I was gone?”

  Margaret spoke quietly, but Marjory’s eyes widened as if the words were an explosion. She stared at her almost in shock. The first tear slid down her cheek and her lower lip quivered when she shook her head. “Nay. It wasn’t perfect at all. Fin never loved me. I think he married me only to be closer to Eoin. When you left, he blamed me.”

  Margaret pursed her mouth. “That’s ridiculous. You know why I left.”

  It was a challenge, not a question.

  Marjory nodded, the tears rolling full force now. “Aye, I saw everything—except that I didn’t want to believe it. I thought he loved me. I convinced myself that you had to have done something to make him kiss you. But in my heart I knew.”

  Margaret sighed deeply, almost feeling sorry for her. “Then why did you marry him?”

  The other woman shrugged, her chest heaving from her sobs, and wiped away some of the tears with the back of her hand. “I thought once you were gone, I could make him love me. I thought that when I gave him a son . . .” Her voice fell off. “Fin says I’m barren, but I know this baby was a sign and next time . . .”

  Margaret’s heart went out to the other woman, but she feared Marjory was pinning all her hopes on the wrong thing. A baby wouldn’t make her husband love her. She wasn’t even sure Fin was capable of that kind of emotion. She wasn’t surprised that he’d put the blame for their lack of a child on his wife either.

  Marjory looked up at her. “But then you came back, and he wants you again.”

  Margaret shook her head. “He may have once, but that was a long time ago. I think he despises me more than anything else. He doesn’t look at me like that now.”

  Now he looked at her as if he couldn’t wait to see her gone. There was something cold in his eyes . . . She gave an involuntary shudder, but she had no intention of letting him scare her away this time.

  Marjory’s tear-streaked face stared back at her. “What if he’s just better at hiding it?”

  Margaret shook her head. “I don’t think so.” But whether it was true or in Marjory’s imagination didn’t matter. It never had. “I love your brother, Marjory. I have always loved your brother. There was never anyone else for me from the first moment I saw him.”

  The other woman looked into her eyes, perhaps seeing the truth for the first time: Margaret wasn’t a threat. If she wanted someone to blame for her unhappy marriage, she would have to look somewhere else.

  Feeling as if she’d turned an important corner with her sister-in-law, Margaret left the garden with an even greater sense of optimism for the future.

  But just when it looked like she was finally finding a way to fit into her new life, her old one came back threatening to destroy all the inroads she’d made.

  She was on her way to the stables in the late afternoon when she noticed a monk walking toward her across the yard from the sea gate. He wore the brown robe of a friar, and though the skies were clear, a hood covered his head, hiding his face from view. But that wasn’t what drew her attention. It was the way he walked. Erect. Proud. Like a warrior, not a poor, humble churchman.

  Curious, but also slightly uneasy, she looked around to make sure they weren’t alone. The yard wasn’t crowded, but a half dozen of the laird’s guardsmen were practicing a shout’s distance nearby.

  Reassured by their presence, she started to greet the newcomer, who was now only a few feet away. “Welcome, Father, might I help . . .” Her voice trailed off as the face beneath the hood came into view.

  Her breath jammed in her chest.

  “Brother,” her brother Duncan corrected under his breath, taking her hands in his as if in blessing. “Not Father.”

  Margaret was too stunned to react. She’d frozen in place.

  “Christ, Maggie Beag. Do you want me thrown in the pit? Pretend like you are giving me directions to the kirk.”

  He released her hands, and she recovered enough to realize he’d pressed a note into her palm. Slipping it into her skirts with one hand, she pointed out the gate with the other. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  But he was already heading toward the gate. “Rescuing you,” he said in parting. “Be ready.”

  Margaret’s heart was still fluttering wildly as she carefully unfolded the parchment in her chamber a few minutes later. The hastily scratched letters in black ink jumbled in her head. She had to read it a few times to realize that her brother and his men would be at the
anchorage on the other side of the island tomorrow just after dusk to “rescue” her and Eachann and take them to the Isle of Man, where they could be reunited with their family.

  Apparently, her brothers had surrendered Buittle Castle to Bruce as well and joined her father in exile. Duncan was obviously under the impression that she and Eachann had been coerced into going with Eoin.

  Margaret cursed her father, knowing he was responsible for that. She wondered if Dugald MacDowell realized what danger he’d put his son in by giving him that impression—and by the problems he’d created for her. Though Margaret was moved by the risk her brother had taken to come to her aid, his showing up like this was going to make things difficult

  Now, Eoin wasn’t the only one with secrets.

  A few hours before dawn Eoin made his way up the sea-gate stairs. His knee screamed in agony with every step, but he didn’t mind. He was damned lucky to be alive, and he knew it.

  Still, he was furious. He’d barely exchanged one word with Campbell the entire way back. But he could sense the other man’s question—a question Eoin didn’t want to hear.

  It wasn’t her, damn it!

  But how had it gone so wrong? Not only had Eoin’s perfect plan to trap Lorn’s men been foiled, they’d been the ones nearly caught in a net.

  Eoin and Campbell, along with a team of Campbell’s best warriors—about fifteen men in total—had been in position on the western ridge of the Glen Stockdale overlooking Loch Linnhe and the fort of Stalker by dusk after leaving Gylen. From there they could see Lorn’s men land on the Appin shore and then be ready for a surprise attack when the MacDougalls made their way inland to their tenants at Glenamuckrach.

  Eoin and the team of warriors had lain in wait the first night to no avail. Taking advantage of some nearby caves to rest during the day, they’d emerged at nightfall to take position for the second night.

  The MacDougalls were waiting for them. A hail of arrows had rained down on them from behind. The men on watch had been looking to the west, but the MacDougalls had taken a circuitous route from the east, approaching Appin overland rather than by sea. Almost as if they knew someone was waiting for them.