A Highlander's Woman (Highland Heartbeats Book 12)

by Aileen Adams

  “If ye have only told who might come for ye and what they were about, I would have prepared. I would have kept ye safe, lass. Ye didna give me the chance.”

  “You would not have wished to keep me safe if I told you.”

  “Do not speak for me.”

  “You do not know. You have no understanding of what I’ve done, who I was.”

  He sighed, patting the bed. “Perhaps ye ought to tell me, then.”

  A lump lodged itself in her throat, making it impossible to speak and difficult to breathe. She managed somehow. “I’ve been afraid of this ever since I arrived. That I would have to explain myself, truthfully. That ye will hate me.”

  “Margaret. Ye will have to trust me.” His voice was low, soft, but firm. “I had to trust ye when ye refused to tell me anything about yourself. Now, it is your turn to trust.”

  Could she?

  In none of her training did she learn how to trust. She might very well have been a child, lost and afraid, shivering in the dark for lack of light or a reassuring presence to remind her she was not alone.

  Trust was weakness.

  Yet she wanted nothing more than to trust him, to finally unburden herself. To stop lying. She was so very tired of lying, of keeping straight the many stories she’d spun.

  “Margaret, will ye trust me?”

  When she looked at him, he was waiting as he had been, with one hand on the blanket where he wished for her to sit. His dear, beloved face bore an expression of sincerity.

  She had the strange sense of standing on a ledge, looking down. Should she jump and trust that whatever waited below would catch her? In the end, there was no choice but to jump, as continued lies would certainly mean the end of Padraig’s patience.

  “Promise me that you shall allow me to finish what I have to say before deciding what’s to be done with me?”

  “Of course, lass. Please. Sit.” He patted the blanket again.

  She took a deep breath and jumped.

  By the time she finished, the sky outside Padraig’s window had lightened quite a bit. The sun had yet to rise, but it could only be a matter of minutes. Her throat was dry, her voice little more than a cracked whisper. But she’d told him everything—having no memory of her parents or where she’d come from, told him about her training, her assignments. The teachings which had formed the entire world around her.

  This was most difficult of all, even more so than admitting the number of people she’d killed. For now that she’d been away from the Order for so long, she saw how meaningless it all was. Her greatest shame stemmed from having believed Mother Cressida and the others, for having taken their words as truth.

  For placing her sisters above all else, including the lives of strangers.

  He remained silent for nearly all of it, only offering sounds of surprise or dismay. Anger as well. When she remembered the difficulties of training, how she’d frozen and sweated and starved, how she’d learned to push all of her body’s needs aside in service of the Order.

  His eyes when she spoke of this had blazed, his nostrils had flared. But he’d spoken not a word.

  When she fell silent, having shared all of it, there was little to do but wait to find what he would do to her. She felt soiled, disgusted with herself, but still somehow better than she had before. There was no longer any distance between them. She’d never known this sort of intimacy.

  It was a frightening thing. She felt weak, vulnerable. Exposed.

  How did others live this way? How did Moira or Caitlin or any of them continue breathing when it felt for all the world as though there was a hand squeezing their heart? How did they bear it without screaming?

  Perhaps because they knew their men loved them. They knew their trust was not in vain.

  She knew no such thing.

  “Can you please say something?” she croaked, rubbing a hand over her throat as though it would aid her in speaking clearly.

  “There is water,” he murmured, waving a hand toward the bedside table opposite where she sat.

  She did not need water. She needed him. Needed to know he did not hate her—though if he did, it would still be easier to bear than this silence. At least she would know.

  “It was Gabriella who killed Arabella,” he said. It was not a question.

  “Yes. She killed her that I might survive.” Margaret looked down into the cup she had just drained. “She would have killed herself, as well. I stopped her. She does not deserve death after saving us both.”

  “I agree.”

  “Yet she sits in the pens, underground.”

  “I did not order her placed there. In fact, I asked Rodric to release her after ye had been brought to me.”

  “You did?” She ought to have known. He was not a cruel man. Even so… “How did you know she deserved to be freed? I only told you now who she is, what she has done.”

  “I knew it was Arabella who struck me and intended to kill us both. I doubted Gabriella was a threat.”

  Her eyes bulged. “You might have told me! I was unaware of what you knew, what Rodric told you, any of it.”

  “I wanted to hear it from ye. All of it. Can ye understand why?”

  She released a heavy, reluctant sigh. “Yes. I do. Though I do not overmuch enjoy knowing you were putting me to a test.”

  “Ye did nothing but lie to me from the start. Why would I blindly trust ye now?”

  His words sent a dagger to her heart and left it bleeding. She turned her face to the window that she might not be forced to look upon him while he delivered the words that would break her further. “So you do not believe me, then? After everything I told you, there is no trust between us?”

  “I never said I dinna trust ye. I do.”

  “Why, then?” She whirled on him, certain she would go mad.

  He shrugged. “Ye know there is more than just myself at stake, lass. I shall have to tell my men, my family, that ye were honest and true. I dinna wish to lie to them for your sake, no matter what ye mean to me. I am still responsible for them.”

  “No matter what I mean to you?” Her wounded heart held onto these words to the point of nearly forgetting the rest of what he’d said.

  “Aye, lass. What did ye think?”

  She sat again for fear that the weakness in her knees would knock her to the floor.

  When she did not speak for a length of time, he snickered. “Why did ye think I was so against ye leaving me?”

  “Because I stole your horse, or so you accused me of doing. I did not.”

  “I know ye didna—and I have a stable full of them, all the best quality. If I truly didna care for ye, I would not have chased ye into the woods in the middle of the night and all but begged ye to return with me.”

  “You did not beg. You ordered.”

  “I wanted nothing more than for ye to stay.”

  “And now?” She managed to hold his gaze. “What now?”

  “Now? I believe that depends upon what ye wish.”

  “What I wish?”

  “It does not sound to me as though ye ever had a choice in what to do. Ye went where they ordered ye to go. Ye did what they told ye to do. Ye never knew any life other than that. There was no one to tell ye it didna have to be that way.”

  “That is true,” she whispered over the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

  “Now, ye have a choice.” He lifted her hand from her lap and held it between his own. “I will not order ye to stay. I will never order ye to do anything, ever again. If ye stay, I want ye to do so because it is your desire. If ye go…” He sighed, looking down at their joined hands. “I suppose I will live with that. I will not force ye. I believe it’s time for ye to start fresh.”

  “How can I ever start fresh?” she asked, searching his face for some sign of what he truly wanted. Did he want her? “After what I’ve done…”

  “Do ye wish to put it in the past?” He looked up at her again, eyes narrowed. “Or do ye wish to continue the life ye led
before?”

  “I would never return to that.”

  He nodded. “Fine, then. Put it in the past. ‘Tis over, lass. Finished. It might very well have not been ye who did it. Someone else did. Someone who was not loved as ye are. Who had no friends, no family. Now, ye have both of those things if ye want them.”

  “Am I loved, Padraig?”

  He squeezed her hand between his. “Lass, ye are so deeply loved, there are times I canna breathe when I look upon ye.”

  Laughter burst from her, cutting through her tears. “Truly?”

  “With all my heart, yes.”

  “Still? Knowing everything?”

  “Margaret. I already told ye. As far as I am concerned, what ye described to me was done by another woman. And I will do everything in my power to help ye forget it.”

  “I don’t know that I ever will. I wish I could.” When his face fell, she added, “I want more than anything to, and I would do my best to forget as long as it brought you happiness. But I do wish to tell the truth now, always. I have lied more than enough. You ought to know that it might not be easy for me to forget what I did.”

  “I would never force ye to—I only wish it for your sake, lass.” He reached for her then, stroking back the strands of hair which had escaped her braid. “I want so much better for ye than you’ve had before now. I wish to give ye everything, for ye deserve nothing less.”

  She wanted more than she’d ever wanted anything to believe him. That she deserved him, deserved good things.

  Perhaps it was merely a matter of allowing him to believe it for both of them until she was better ready to forgive herself.

  A new life. A new start.

  All of it, thanks to him.

  “I told you something in the woods, before we brought you to the house,” she whispered, tilting her head to the side that she might lean into his caress. It brought to mind water falling upon parched soil, bringing it to life. He was bringing life to her, new and clean and full of promise.

  “What was it?” he smiled.

  “That I love you. I did not think I would ever see you again, and I wished more than anything to tell you.”

  “I canna say I recall this,” he chuckled. “But I do like to hear you say it.”

  “I love you,” she repeated, leaning closer. Anything to be near him. “I love you, Padraig.”

  “And I plan to spend the rest of my life loving ye,” he murmured, drawing her near.

  Her tears dampened his cheeks when their lips met, tears which flowed faster when Margaret realized his were the only lips she would ever kiss again. And he loved her in spite of everything.

  He loved her. As simple as that.

  She rested one hand against his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded through his tunic. Her heart was the same, racing out of control, the world spinning about her. She was dizzy, breathless, giddy.

  He loved her.

  She was someone worth loving, someone who could be loved. How had she ever imagined herself above it, outside of it? This was all of life, the only true thing. Her love for him. His for her.

  Nothing else existed.

  25

  “What do you think of the house? The clan?”

  Gabriella looked over at her from the mare on which she rode. The pair of them were out for the morning, with Margaret showing her friend the land belonging to Clan Anderson.

  Her clan. How strange, still. It had been less than a week since the fight in the wood, since Padraig learned the truth about her. She supposed it would become easier with time to think of this as her clan. Her lands.

  Hers, truly. Nothing had ever belonged to her before. She’d never even been certain of her given name, that which her parents had bestowed upon her. Certainly, there had not been a family name to speak of.

  She had been one of many. Part of the whole.

  “I think it is… different,” Gabriella confessed. “Different, but in a nice way. So it seems.”

  “It does seem that way. It truly is that way. I promise.”

  “How did you manage it on your own?” she whispered, eyes wide. “If I did not have you to confide in, I thought I would burst.”

  Margaret laughed. “It was not easy. I had never known anything like this—as you are well aware. Such warmth, such giving, such openness. I knew not how to conduct myself around them. When they tried to be kind to me, I pretended—as we know well how to do.”

  “Oh, yes.” Gabriella nodded sagely. “As I had to pretend I wished to kill you.”

  “You never did? Truly?”

  “Never.” Her eyes widened, her lips in a grimace. “How can you ask such a question?”

  “But… the Order…”

  “I would not have warned you against what was coming from Mother Cressida if I’d believed you ought to die. I merely volunteered to accompany Arabella to ensure she would not kill you. I do not believe you thought I was here to help her.”

  “I knew not what to believe.”

  Margaret sighed as she looked out across the wide stretch of grassland, spruce and pine trees in the distance before the purple peaks of the Grampians crowned the horizon. She no longer felt a sense of longing when she admired the beauty of the Highlands.

  “Now?” Gabriella asked. “What do you believe now?”

  “Many things I was certain were impossible before coming here,” she admitted. “I believe there are those who truly have no ill-intention, that they simply wish to be warm and giving for the sake of making others feel wanted and safe. Have you noticed this?”

  “I have. And as you say, there are times when I know not how to manage my distrust.”

  “You will learn to trust. I promise. You have all the time you need now.”

  “What of the rest of it? Feeling… a part of things?” Gabriella fretted. It was unusual, seeing her so out-of-sorts. At the abbey, there had never been anything but the utmost confidence in herself and her sisters. Margaret understood this.

  “I wanted to be part of it. Truly a part. Not simply a being on the outside, feigning kinship. I had never known that before. Is that how you feel at all?”

  “Very much. I never saw this for myself. Never imagined it.”

  “I know. You can be happy here, too. You must simply allow it. I am here with you.”

  They rode in companionable silence for some time, with Margaret wondering how long it would be before one of the men of the clan caught Gabriella’s eye. She had caught more than a few eyes already, and with no effort. This was unsurprising, as she was so beautiful and graceful. She stood out among the others as a rose among thistle.

  Margaret did truly hope her friend—her sister—would find the same measure of joy she’d discovered for herself.

  As they returned to the house, riding across the fields outside the woods, she took note of a horse approaching from the direction of Rodric’s home. He lifted his hand in greeting, and she returned the gesture.

  It would take a bit of time to entirely forgive him for their treatment in the hours after Padraig was wounded, even if she fully understood the fear he’d faced on that terrible night. She had faced fear of her own, after all, and even a man as brave as he was bound to react strongly when his brother and laird was in need.

  “Alone, I see,” she called out when they drew nearer each other.

  “Och, Fiona has a bit of a cough still,” he lamented.

  “Too much running about in bare feet over stone floors in the middle of the night,” she chuckled.

  He nodded in agreement.

  “I would say she’ll learn from this, but I know better. Caitlin asked if ye would visit on the morrow. She is fairly bursting with the desire to have guests at the new house—though dinna tell her ye heard it from me, as she might box my ears.”

  “I will not breathe a word,” Margaret vowed—then, “While we’re speaking of things that ought to be kept between us, what of Padraig’s offer?”

  “To live at the keep once again during winter?�
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  “He does make a good argument.”

  “Aye, I suppose so. But a man wishes to be on his own, under his own roof. Not living off his brother’s kindness.”

  She nodded, as there was no arguing with this. “If I might ever so gently remind you of something?”

  “Gently? If ye must,” he smiled.

  Oh, he was so like Padraig when he smiled. The resemblance was clearest then.

  “You must think of the children. I have never lived through a Highland winter, but I’ve heard tell of how dangerous they can be. I would not wish to take such a risk if they were mine, so remote, unable to fetch help during a storm.”

  He nodded, breathing deep through flared nostrils. He did not take to having others tell him his business any more than his brother did. Another way in which they were alike. “I thank ye for your honesty,” he managed to choke out, and she took this as a victory.

  “I trust you will keep this between us, then?” she ventured.

  “Aye. I would not have my brother knowing there are now two women who think they ought to tell me what to do.”

  The edge of humor in his voice gave her added confidence. “Three. You’re forgetting Sorcha.”

  “How could I forget? I suppose we ought to include Fiona in that, as well.”

  “Once Gavina learns to speak…”

  “I will be hopelessly outnumbered by then,” he concluded. They laughed gently together. “Perhaps this bairn will be a son, and I’ll have an ally.”

  “Another baby?” she gasped.

  “Aye. Another.” He ducked his head slightly, a gesture which touched her heart. He was a proud man, to be sure, but he was a man.

  “I shall leave it to you to tell Padraig. He will be so pleased.”

  They reached the stables, Jamie taking their horses and leading them inside to be groomed. “Where is Gabriella?” he asked, looking over Margaret’s shoulder.

  She bit back a knowing smile. “She decided to ride a bit longer.”

  Rodric, on the other hand, would not be so gentle. “Never worry yourself, lad. You’ll see her soon enough, and ye can moon about over her all ye like.”

  “I do no such thing,” Jamie insisted, though his ears turned as red as a pair of beets. He made a quick escape to avoid further teasing.