by Laura Landon
Roderick made his way across the rushes to stand before Iain. Màiri focused her gaze on him. He portrayed a striking figure, proud and determined, his superiority and confidence spewing forth in abundance. He emitted the same powerful loftiness she found in Iain, but in her husband, it showed itself as noble strength and unerring courage. In Roderick, the effect lacked compassion.
“Welcome home, brother,” Iain said, sitting forward in his chair. “What did you learn?”
Roderick shook his head. “Nothing I fear you will want to hear.”
She knew whatever news Roderick had to share with his brother, it would not be welcome. The muscles on Iain’s forearms bunched as he tightened his grasp on the arms of his chair and waited for Roderick to relate his findings.
“Two cottages were burned and a field of oats in retaliation of the Cochran’s attack against us,” Roderick said.
Iain held his silence for a long time. “Did any of the Cochrans lose their lives in the fire?” he asked finally.
“Nay. All escaped unharmed.”
Iain rose from his chair and stood beside the long window in the hall that looked out over the practice area where many MacAlister warriors still trained. “Is there more?” he asked.
Màiri held her breath. She’d gone all this time without letting her gift intrude even once, but the moment Roderick interrupted, the warnings came to the forefront with blaring clarity.
“The Cochrans whose cottages burned swear they were attacked by MacAlisters.”
Iain closed his eyes as if to block out the possibility. “Could they have been?”
Roderick’s stunned expression seemed sincere. “God’s teeth, Iain. The MacAlisters who follow you are as intent on having peace as you.”
Iain spun around, the look in his eyes lethal. “If a MacAlister was na responsible for what happened, then who was?”
Roderick stepped forward and braced his hands against the top of the trestle table that separated the two of them. “Perhaps the Cochrans themselves.”
A lie.
Iain stared at his brother in disbelief. “For what reason? What purpose would be served by burning their own homes and crops?”
“To blame us. Canna you see, Iain? Perhaps the Cochrans do na want peace. Perhaps you are the only one who does.”
A lie.
“Nay! Angus Cochran wants peace, too. Scotland is changing, Roderick. Our king is leading the way toward peace, not only between the clans in Scotland, but with England as well.”
Roderick threw back his head and laughed. The sound of his laughter rang false to her ears.
“All that concerns our James is continuing his father’s love for art and music and poetry. He is mistakenly devoted to everything but the ways to strengthen and protect Scotland from the English.”
“He has done much to make a place for Scotland,” Iain argued.
“How? By ignoring the attacks of the English at our borders? By letting Henry and his army thwart him at every turn?”
“James wants peace, Roderick. He is na hungry for war like some of the Highlanders. Our king has joined the rest of us who are tired of the killing.”
“I want peace as badly as you, Iain,” Roderick bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls in the hall. “But mayhaps the Highland lairds are right. Mayhaps embracing peace so wholeheartedly will weaken us. Will make us so soft with the notions of living in harmony that we choose to ignore the dangers that are encroaching from all sides.”
“And you think I have become so soft?” Iain asked.
Couldn’t Iain hear the contradiction in his brother’s words?
A cold void of strained silence followed the heat in their exchange. She waited, but for an interminable length of time neither spoke. Roderick was the first to bridge the chasm that separated them.
“I am your brother, Iain. I have sworn fealty to you and to our clan. There are na bounds to what I would do to protect you or our people. Even if it means speaking words you do na want to hear. I am only pointing out the dangers that are there. I would not serve you well if I did not.”
Iain released a harsh sigh as if a heavier weight had been placed on his shoulders than before. The look on his face reflected his apprehension.
Could he not hear the falseness in Roderick’s words?
“I do na like fighting any more than you, Iain, but if we want to hold on to what is ours, we will have to fight the Cochrans eventually. It is our land they are after. James has taken advantage of the long years of internal strife in England to expand Scottish trade. Our land, combined with what the Cochran’s control, include all the major trade routes south into England.”
Iain shook his head. When he spoke, his voice lacked the rancor it had earlier. “I see only the opportunity this affords to elevate Scotland to an indomitable position in commerce and trade. I see a wealth of possibilities open to the MacAlisters to be leaders in making Scotland a better, more prosperous land.”
“And you think the Cochrans are willing to share this opportunity on equal footing with us?”
Iain raked his fingers through his hair. “Aye. I have na reason to believe otherwise.”
Roderick stood staunchly in front of Iain, his interminable silence an unreadable affront. “Let us pray you are right,” he said finally.
“But you do na think I am?”
“I think you are so desperate for peace you do na see all the dangers.”
“Mayhaps it is because I am sick to death of burying our young MacAlister warriors cut down in their prime for na real reason. I’m tired of facing the mothers and fathers and wives and children of those who have died, and promising I will na rest until their loved ones’ murders are avenged, like I did to the families of the four lads who went with me onto MacBride land.”
Roderick walked over to the hearth where a lively fire blazed to take the chill from the hall. He lifted a long stick from the stones beside the fire and shoved at the glowing logs, causing a barrage of sparks to explode in the grate. The blazing embers died as quickly as they hit the ground and all that was left after his attack was the peaceful crackling of the confined fire. When Roderick turned around, Màiri noticed a strange softness to his features that did not match the look in his eyes.
“I want peace as badly as you, Iain…”
Lies.
“…and I will do everything in my power to strengthen the MacAlisters so we will be equal to the challenge of leading Scotland. If peace is your goal, then peace we shall achieve. I will na rest until I find out who was responsible for the attacks on the Cochrans. I will na let the MacAlisters be blamed for something they did na do.”
Iain clasped Roderick on the shoulder. The show of friendship and loyalty was unmistakable.
Màiri pushed the truth her gift told her to the back of her mind. She did not want to face what it told her. How could she ever convince anyone to believe her if she spoke its warnings out loud?
“Peace will be best for the MacAlisters,” Iain said with confidence. “And for Scotland.”
Roderick nodded. “You know you can rely on me to help you gain the peace you are after. Perhaps this trouble with the Cochrans is nothing more than some minor unrest on our borders.”
“I pray you are right,” Iain answered.
“Let me rest a while and I will go out again to try to heal the rift these attacks have caused.”
“We must also find out who is responsible for them,” Iain said. “Whoever it is, their intent in is on causing a war between the Cochrans and the MacAlisters. I fear it will na be long before the damage is more serious than cottages that can be repaired.”
Roderick nodded his agreement. As if he suddenly realized she was still there, he focused his gaze on her.
“I hope you did na find what we said too distressing?” Roderick said. “I am sure there is nothing to fear.”
Lies. Another lie.
Màiri thought she would be ill. The deceit she heard sickened her. The danger she sensed int
ensified with every breath she took. How could she ever find the courage to tell Iain his brother meant him harm?
She lifted her chin and kept her gaze focused on Roderick. “Unrest is always distressing. Especially when peace is so important, not only to your laird, but to all of us.”
Roderick nodded in acquiescence. “I will do my utmost, then, to see that your laird’s fondest ambitions are achieved.” He graced her with a blazing smile, then looked at Iain before he turned toward the door. “I will leave again in a few days. Mayhaps I have been looking in the wrong direction. Is it possible that the MacBrides are responsible? Perhaps they are even the ones responsible for trying to kill you?”
Every muscle in her body stiffened. She fisted her hands in her lap and willed herself to remain silent. The turmoil roiling through her body harbored a deeper warning than before. Roderick would shift the blame in another innocent direction. Oh, would that she could be as ignorant of the dark side of Roderick’s nature as Iain.
“It is unlikely that the MacBrides would have tried to kill me when they supported the marriage,” Iain defended. “Ewen MacBride wanted the land I offered too much. He would never have jeopardized getting it before our marriage took place.” Iain raked his fingers through his hair, the look on his face desperately seeking some peaceful solution. “Hopefully, Charles and Dunslaf will find proof of my attackers, for there is too much at stake.
Roderick smiled at her, the soft look of compassion and concern back in place.
“See what you have done, Iain?” he said. “Look at the concern on your wife’s face. Your last skirmish with death has left your lovely bride fearful she may lose you yet. You should alleviate her fears as quickly as possible. It is na good to worry your young wife so.”
Iain cast her a look of concern, then walked over to stand beside her. The warmth of his body through the loose linen shirt he wore blanketed her beneath a cover of safety she hadn’t felt since Roderick had walked into the room.
“Màiri knows there is nothing over which to worry,” he said, placing his arm around her shoulder and gently rubbing the soft flesh of her arm. She could not stop the shiver that coursed through her body.
Roderick smiled. “Then I will leave, so you can resume the discussion I so rudely interrupted.”
With a broad grin, he strode from the room, taking with him the threat of danger, and leaving behind only the intense premonition that something worse was about to happen.
. . .
The noise from Hector’s wedding celebration was deafening. Iain waited until Màiri was occupied talking to Agnes and Magda and Janet and some of the other women, then quietly left, hoping no one noticed his absence. He had to escape to where it was quiet.
He made his way to the keep, having to halt until the earth stopped shifting beneath him twice before he could continue. The keep was uninhabited, as everyone had gone to join in the festivities to wish the happy bride and groom well, and Iain was glad. He needed time to himself, time to hide until the worst was over.
With one hand clenched against his forehead, he staggered against the cold stones on his way up the stairs then leaned against the thick oak door before he was steady enough to make it into his chambers.
He sank down on the bed and pressed his fists against his head, praying the intense pain would ease soon. It already felt like someone had embedded a broadaxe in his skull.
He reached for a cup of ale on the table but there was none there. With an agonizing moan, he staggered across the room and reached behind his dressing screen. This was his private area where he washed each day as, since he rose before Màiri, he did not want to dirty the water where she washed. Since he had returned, there had been a fresh goblet of ale on the wash stand nearly each evening, probably a thoughtful gesture his wife had begun.
He lifted the cup to his mouth and downed it, wishing there were more. He needed something to dull the excruciating pain. Something to keep the earth from spinning beneath his feet.
Twice in the month since his return, he’d felt like this: a blinding pain in his head, the earth moving beneath him, a hazy cast to everything, unclear vision. This time, though, was worse. Even the brightness of the sun seemed to dim.
By the saints. He thought he had healed from the attack. What if his blindness returned? Iain tried to keep the panic at bay.
“Iain? Are you here?”
He looked up to find Màiri rushing toward him. There was worry on her face, and for her sake, he tried to smile. “I am here.”
“What is wrong? I could na find you and one of the lads said he saw you walking toward the keep. Are you all right?”
“Ah, Màiri, my Màiri,” he sighed, letting her help him to the bed. “My head is being rent in two.”
“Here, sit down.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and lowered his head to his hands and stayed very still. What if he lost his sight like before? “I thought I was healed from the attack, but. . .”
“Shh. Just lay down. I will put a cool cloth on your forehead and fix you a mixture of feverfew. It will ease the pain.”
He looked into her face when she placed the cloth on his forehead. How could he be a husband his wife would be proud to have if he had to be led around like an animal on a leash? How could he achieve peace for his people if his weakness made the MacAlisters a target for every greedy band of Scots who wanted more land?
A weight as heavy as lead sat in the middle of his chest. How could he be laird if he could not see?
He lay on the bed until the sun sank beneath the last Scottish hilltop and the pain in his head lessened to a dull throbbing. This attack was more severe than the one before and had lasted a little longer, but it was still tolerable. Iain was afraid the day would come when the pain would be more than he could stand.
He opened his eyes and saw her still sitting quietly beside his bed. “Come, lass. We will go back to the celebration.”
“Do you feel well enough?”
“Aye.”
He stood and walked across the room to go back to the celebration. He would hide his illness until he had no other choice, then he would decide.
If only Roderick shared his passion for peace. If only…
Chapter 13
Màiri stood in the solitude of her chambers, watching little Roby play in the bailey below with a group of other youngsters the same age. Each swung a wooden sword in their hands, practicing with the same fervor as the adult warriors they idolized. She’d hoped watching them would create a diversion from the fear and turmoil eating at her, but it did not.
Iain was ill, and Roderick was a bigger threat than Iain could fight if he were not well. Every time Roderick was near, her gift warned her of the jealousy and hatred he harbored for Iain. Every time he spoke, her gift screamed that his words were lies. Every time he assured Iain that he wanted only to do what was best for clan MacAlister, and that he would fight at Iain’s side to achieve the peace that was so important to Iain, her gift made it obvious that he wanted the opposite. That he wanted Iain dead.
The threats her gift warned her about grew more intense. It was only a matter of time until Roderick put his plan in motion, and then it would be too late. Because step one of any scheme Roderick was capable of planning would include Iain’s death.
For the last three days she hadn’t been able to eat or sleep or even rest because of the lies that continued to spill from Roderick’s mouth. Lies rolled off his tongue as easily as the truth, and deceit was as much a part of him as the smooth smile on his face. She’d give anything if her gift had not shown her Roderick’s evil side, but it had. How could she ever convince Iain of the threat he presented? She’d give the world not to have to. But she could not ignore her gift if it threatened her husband.
She lifted her shoulders and filled her lungs with air. How could she live with herself if she said nothing? How could she go with Iain to comfort another grieving family, knowing she could have prevented their loved one’s death? How coul
d she chance that the next one to lose his life might be Iain?
She could not deny her gift. She could not ignore the warnings.
The door opened and Iain crossed the room. “Ah, lass,” he said, coming up behind her, “here you are.” His voice was soft and comforting, filled with concern. “Is something wrong? You have na been yourself for three days. Are you ill?”
Màiri breathed a deep sigh. She had no choice. She had to at least plant the seed. Had to at least warn him about his brother.
“I have been watching your warriors train, Iain. I have watched them every day from the time I came here as your wife. From early morning to when the sun sets, there is never a moment when you or Roderick or Donald are na out there training them to become fiercer warriors. Are you sure peace is really that important to you?”
“My warriors train so they will always have the strength to live in peace. The moment I allow them to become weak, that is when they become vulnerable to outside forces that want to dominate them. Their might ensures they will be able to enjoy the peace I wish for them.”
“Are you sure the Cochrans want peace as much as you?”
“Aye. Angus Cochran came to me first in good faith to express his desire for peace between our two clans. He wants peace even more than I, because he knows the MacAlisters are the stronger and in a war would be the victors.”
She turned around and looked him in the eyes. “If not the Cochrans, who else would benefit from strife between the Cochrans and the MacAlisters?”
He stared at her with a confused look on his face. “I don’t understand what you are saying. Instead of trying to accept what I am trying to do, you sound as filled with doubt as Roderick.”
The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened. “Please, Iain. Answer my question. Who else would benefit from strife between you and the Cochrans?”
“Only the MacBrides. But I canna believe it is them. The trouble began long before we were wed, and your father had nothing to gain by causing war until he had possession of the land I offered for your hand.”
