by Laura Landon
The preparations were almost complete. All that was left was to eat the cold meal she had left out for tonight and go to bed early so they could start out fresh and well rested. Màiri stepped away from the low table where she’d wrapped her last bundle and rubbed her neck and shoulders. By the saints she was tired. Maybe tonight she would be so exhausted she would fall asleep without thinking of how the Scot had held her in his arms and kissed her.
Perhaps tonight she would be able to close her eyes without seeing his face in her dreams.
She lifted her gaze to watch Kenneth check the horses a final time. The MacAlister Scot stood in the pen beside him, rubbing a soft cloth down the flanks of the two mammoth steeds Kenneth had found the day after the MacAlister had been attacked. He gave the same attention to her small mare and Kenneth’s speckled roan.
For the second time since she’d been watching, the MacAlister leaned his forehead against Kenneth’s horse and clung to the mane as if he needed help to stay on his feet. She’d already made up her mind to avoid him, or she would have gone to his side and made him sit down until he felt better, although she doubted her presence would be appreciated. Since the night they’d shared their kiss, his attitude toward her had been just as distant. He would no doubt choose to suffer in silence rather than ask her for anything. She would have to remember to make him a potion laced with the feverfew and take the rest of the powder with them when they left in the morning.
“Have you finished with the food, lass?” Kenneth hollered across the courtyard. His gaze showed a hint of concern as he looked from her to the Scot who had stopped to lean against the top board of the pen.
“Aye, Kenneth. All is packed except the last bundle. I will wait and put anything we have left after we break our fast in the morning.”
“You had best come here and see if there’s enough room left for what we will take from the cottage.”
Màiri walked over to where Kenneth and the Scot stood, knowing full well Kenneth did not want her there to check anything except the Scot. When she reached where he stood, Iain lowered his head between his arms braced against the board and swayed slightly.
Màiri grabbed for him, feeling him move unsteadily in her arms. “Are you all right, milord?”
“The earth has moved beneath my feet more than once today.”
“Perhaps you had best rest for a while.”
“There is much to be done yet. Kenneth needs help.”
“Then I will help him. Put your arm around my shoulder and come with me. I will make you a potion and when you wake you will feel better.”
She lifted his arm around her shoulder and walked him to the cottage. “Have you felt this way before today?” she asked, trying hard to ignore the heat that raged through her body wherever he touched her. She swore he would never do this to her again.
“Aye. Yesterday for just a little while, but it went away before we ate our evening meal.”
Màiri led him to the bed and placed her hand on his forehead before she went to the hearth to warm the ale. “You do na feel fevered. Perhaps you only need to rest.” She mixed the feverfew in the ale and took it back to him.
“Have you slept any better than I, Agatha?”
Màiri ignored his meaning and placed the cup in his hand. “Here, drink this then lay down until we come in to eat. Mayhaps you will feel better by then.”
“I heard you up during the night more than once.”
“I am only concerned about all we have to do before we can leave.”
“You are not a very convincing liar.”
Màiri pulled the covers from the bed and stood away from him. “Finish your potion, milord, and lay down.”
When he finished, she took the cup from him and covered him with the woolen blanket. She wanted to wait at his side until he fell asleep but it was not safe. His presence was too disturbing. His understanding too keen. Instead, she backed out of the cottage and worked with Kenneth until the sun sank in the sky.
When she and Kenneth came in for their evening repast, the Scot was still asleep. They gathered some cold meat and bread and cheese and sat out under the stars, leaving the Scot to rest. It would be hard enough for him to sit a horse if he was healthy. Impossible for him if the earth still moved beneath him.
. . .
Màiri rose well before either Kenneth or the MacAlister Scot were awake. She walked out into the pre-dawn morning and looked up into the sky. Would that every day could be as clean and wonderful. But it could not. That was why she had no choice but to live with the sisters in a convent. And she was more than ready.
Once they left here, there would be no turning back. She would never have to see the look of fear on another person’s face. She would never have to fear being labeled a witch or sorceress. She would never have to live with the rejection her mother had lived with her entire life.
She looked up into the sky, glad to leave this life behind her. If only she had never kissed her Scot. If only she had never tasted his lips that once.
Màiri blinked back the tears that wanted to form in her eyes then turned to go back to the cottage. Before she could take her first step, Iain’s blood-curdling cry stopped her heart from beating in her breast.
“Agatha! Agatha!”
Màiri ran across the courtyard, fearing to find her Scot dying if not already dead. She reached the front of the cottage just as he stepped out from behind the door. The wide-eyed look on his face radiated an elation she could not put into words. He grabbed her in his arms and twirled her around in the air. When he lowered her feet to the ground he cupped her face in the palms of his hands and kissed her hard.
“Ah, Agatha,” he said, touching her face as if putting it to memory. “You are the most beautiful sight in the world. I could drown in your eyes. They are the most incredible shade of green I have ever seen.”
Màiri stepped back from him, realizing it was already too late to run. “You can see?”
“Aye. I can see! I am na longer blind.”
Màiri cast a glance to Kenneth standing at the side of the cottage. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the other on the dagger at his waist. Blind, Iain MacAlister had been a threat only to Màiri’s heart. Now he was a much more dangerous adversary.
If he discovered her identity, she would have saved his life only so Kenneth could take it.
Chapter 4
Iain led their tiny procession through the Scottish countryside, following a bubbling stream that would eventually take them to the convent. No matter how often he turned around to look at her, she did not look any more rested than before. Her expression seemed more drawn, her complexion more sallow, and the circles beneath her eyes a little darker. The worry etched on her face did not go away, but seemed more defined with each rise they topped.
Kenneth stayed at her side, his hand resting on the hilt of the dagger at his waist while his gaze constantly scanned the surrounding groves of trees as if searching for unsuspecting hiding places. The shared looks that passed between them seemed strangely reminiscent of a silent reassurance, claiming each safely covered step a milestone accomplished. It seemed as if they both worried more about a danger they would recognize than the faceless brigands who had left four of his fellow MacAlisters dead. Iain watched the perimeters with as much caution as Kenneth. He would not be taken unawares again.
They’d traveled since early this morning, stopping only once for their midday meal, but that had been hours ago. He’d noticed then that she’d eaten very little, picking at their fare of cold meat and bread and cheese with little enthusiasm. Now, the sun sank low as it began its descent and he looked behind him as Agatha rolled her shoulders then swayed atop her horse. The little sleep she’d gotten last night had obviously not prepared her for the long hours of traveling today.
“Are you all right, Agatha?” he asked, slowing his mount until he rode next to her. Kenneth kept his hand on the hilt of his dagger while he checked the surrounding open space, but did not move away
from them. Since Iain he had regained his sight, Kenneth had stayed at her side as if he thought she might need as much protection from him as from any unseen forces.
“Aye, I am fine.”
“You look weary. Perhaps we should stop for the night?”
“Nay. We can go a little while yet. There’s much daylight left.”
He felt his temper rising. “You are too tired.”
“We must reach the convent by tomorrow.”
“You are that anxious to start your life with the sisters?”
She turned her face from him. “Aye. I am that anxious.”
He followed her gaze as she watched a small squirrel scamper across the meadow then run up one of the huge, old trees on the edge of the dense wooded area to their right. He felt that, given the chance, she would not hesitate, but leap from her horse and follow the animal to hide in the forest.
“Aren’t you just as anxious to get home?” she asked, turning back to him.
“Aye. Only I wish I were na leaving behind me the graves of the four loyal friends who had traveled wi’ me.”
The look in her eyes bespoke a regret he could not explain. “You should na have come here.”
“I had na choice.”
“It was that important to do the MacBride’s bidding?”
“Peace was that important to me. It still is.”
“And the MacBride offered you peace if you would rid him of his daughter?”
Her words held a coldness that sent a shiver down his spine. “Why do you say the laird wanted to be rid of his daughter? You were her maidservant. Was she that disagreeable, this Màiri MacBride?”
“To her father she was. He would have given half of everything he owned to be rid of her.”
Iain raked his fingers through his hair. Then why had the MacBrides attacked him? “If they were so desperate to have her gone, then why did they try to kill me?”
“Are you sure it was the MacBrides who attacked you?” she asked, studying his face. “Were the men wearing MacBride colors?”
“Nay, but who else could it have been? The MacBrides and MacAlisters have feuded for years. Mayhaps the MacBride laird is more of a traitorous coward than I thought.”
“I do na think you can lay your friends’ deaths at the MacBride’s doorstep,” she said, looking at him through knowing eyes, the pain etched on her pale face evident. “Ewan MacBride has many reprehensible qualities but cowardice is na one of them. He is cunning and ruthless and a threat to anyone trying to take what is his, but bravery is na something he lacks. He would have worn his colors proudly so you would have na doubt as to who took your life.”
“You sound as if you know the MacBride laird very well.”
Màiri studied her hold on the reins, a slight color creeping to her cheeks. “As I said, I spent my whole life in the MacBride’s keep.”
“Were you happy there?”
Her breath caught as her cheeks paled even more. “Nay. I was na happy.”
“I owe you, Agatha. Let me give you a home at MacAlister Castle to repay you for all you have done for me.”
Màiri shot him a stunned look of disbelief. “Nay.”
“Why?”
“I do na want to live my life among strangers.”
“You would na be a stranger for long.”
“I will always be a stranger na matter where I go.”
Kenneth pulled on his reins to slow his mount. “There is a spot ahead,” he said, pointing to a clearing near the stream. “We will stop there for the night.”
The only one who objected was the girl. Even though her face was as pale as the shirt he wore and her hands shook from exhaustion, she still urged them on. “There is still a little daylight. We can go a little ways further.”
Iain shook his head. “You are about to fall from your horse. We will still make the convent by early afternoon tomorrow even if we stop now.”
Iain was glad Kenneth turned his mount toward the clearing, leaving the girl no choice but to follow. Once they dismounted, he helped Kenneth build a fire for warmth, then laid out their food and they ate in silence. With the cup of ale still gripped in her hand, the lass fell asleep leaning against the trunk of a tree, the food in her lap barely touched.
Iain picked her up in his arms and placed her on the plaid Kenneth spread out by the fire then covered her with his own plaid. He was not sure he could leave her tomorrow.
“She does na belong in the convent, Kenneth. Why is she so intent on being there?”
Kenneth moved by the fire and added another log for warmth. “I am sure she sees it as her only choice.”
Iain started to ask another question, but Kenneth gripped his broadsword in his hand and turned his back to him. Iain noticed, though, that Kenneth did not let the lass Agatha out of his sight, even when he slept.
. . .
She stood on her tiptoes to reach the latch the servant had forgotten to push down when they’d brought them their meals, and stepped out into the dark, stone corridor. Except for the rare times her mother was allowed to take her on the battlements to play in the sunshine, the four chambers in the far tower of the castle made up her entire world. In her six years, this was the first time she’d ever ventured from their rooms by herself.
Shadows lined the stone passageways as she made her way past narrow arrow slits then down the wide stairway. She thought herself very brave to leave by herself. If she did not stay away long, her mother would never find out.
Sounds of laughter and music echoed in the silence and she skipped with excitement as she came closer. There was another world outside their tower and she could not wait to see it. She could not wait to glimpse the merriment. It was inconceivable that people lived where it was common to openly laugh and sing and sound so jovial. All she knew of life was the quiet loneliness she and her mother endured every day in their tower.
She made her way down the stairs, then down another long hallway, then along the wide balustrade that overlooked the great hall below, making sure she always stayed in the shadows. She could not let him see her. She remembered the last time her mother had angered him. She did not want his anger directed at her without her mother there to protect her.
She searched the great hall first to find him. Her gaze stopped when she spied his huge figure sitting on an elaborately carved chair on the dais at the front of the room near the fire. He had not changed from how she remembered him. He was still as broad shouldered and commanding as he’d been before. His lordly presence dominated the room. She looked around to compare him with the other warriors. None of them seemed nearly as powerful. She stared at him in awe. No wonder he was the laird.
A pretty dark-haired lass sat on his lap feeding him a piece of fruit. He licked the juice dripping from her fingers in a way Màiri found disgusting, then pressed his mouth against hers and held it there. Màiri couldn’t imagine letting a man touch you like that but the lass must have liked it because she whispered something in his ear and kissed him back.
Whatever she’d said to him was humorous because the laird dropped his head back on his shoulders and laughed with a deep rumble that echoed through the hall. With robust enthusiasm, he kissed her again while his hand roamed her body.
Màiri turned away. She would never let a man touch her like that. Even if he was the laird and as handsome as her father.
She shifted her attention to the rows and rows of trestle tables lining the great hall, filled with platters of roasted meats, steaming loaves of warm bread, and bowls of candied fruits that crowded every inch of space. She had never seen such a feast. Her mouth watered when she thought of the thin broth she and her mother had eaten hours before. She breathed in the delicious aromas, wishing she could sneak down and steal some of the food from the tables. She was sure such a treat would bring a smile to her mother’s face.
Scores of warriors filled the room, making jokes, then slapping each other jovially on the backs. Some pulled serving wenches to their laps, kissing them th
e way her father had kissed the dark-haired lass, then lifted tankards of ale and toasted each other in reckless abandon. Their empty cups were refilled by lasses with broad smiles and friendly greetings. Everyone seemed happy. Could this be the normal way of life in her father’s keep? Could laughter and gaiety be a part of life outside the somber chambers she shared with her mother?
The happy sounds of a gay tune drew her attention. She listened as a red-headed Scottish warrior held a small stringed instrument in his hands and sang a lively tune. Although she could not understand some of the words, the ribald laughter they inspired made her laugh along with the warriors. She sank to her knees and stared through the bars, engrossed in watching some of the lasses dance to the music while the warriors clapped their hands in rhythm.
Something deep inside her exploded with a lightness she’d never experienced before. Even though she did not know why, she soon found herself bouncing to the music and clapping and laughing with the rest. Never before had she felt so free. So happy. So—
Her gift warned her of the danger at the same moment his large hand clamped around her arm, jerking her away from the railing. She tried to run but he threw her into the air as if she weighed nothing, her arm nearly pulled from her shoulder. With a loud growl, he dragged her behind him, his fingers pinching into her tender flesh as he stormed down the long hallway. His strides were so long she could barely keep up with him, her feet stumbling on the uneven steps, her knees scraping against the rough stones.
Once she managed a look at the ferocious scowl on his face. Her stomach lurched from fear. When they reached the far tower where she and her mother lived, he kicked open the door with his foot and dragged her through the opening. Her mother stood in the middle of the room, waiting. Her gift had obviously warned her of the danger too.
“I told you to keep the brat up here and not let her out,” he roared with a bellow that hurt her ears.
