Keeper of my Heart

by Laura Landon

  She leaned over and placed her hand on his arm. “Even though I will miss you terribly, Kenneth, I canna ask you to stay longer. I have na need of you. Your wife does.”

  He looked at her long and hard. “Why are you sending me away now, milady?”

  “I am na sending you away, Kenneth. I am releasing you from your vow so you can spend the rest of your life with your wife and family.” She lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes. “In fact, I am ordering you to leave. I am in na danger. My conscience will na allow me to keep you any longer.”

  Kenneth rose to his feet. “I see,” he said and paced through the thick grass on the bank beside her.

  She waited, knowing he must have time to adjust to her news. When he came to a halt beside her, she knew he’d come to his conclusion.

  “I have decided, milady. I will leave you.”

  She breathed a relieved sigh. “Good.”

  “But only long enough to get my wife and family and come back.”

  She looked up with a start. “Nay, Kenneth. You canna come back.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” She stumbled for an excuse he would believe. “You canna expect your wife to leave her home, her friends and come to a strange place.”

  “You would na leave here if your laird asked you to go with him?”

  “Of course I would, but that is different.”

  He shook his head. “It is the same. My Alice will come with me as you would go with your husband.”

  “I canna let you do this.”

  Kenneth clamped his hands behind his back and stood with his feet braced far apart as if he’d made his stand and refused to move. “I will either bring my wife and family to live with me here, or I will live the rest of my life without them. But I will na leave you, mistress. I took an oath before your grandfather and I will na turn my back on it.”

  Màiri knew she had no choice but to give in to Kenneth’s demands. And pray that whatever troubles arose, they came and left before he returned. She could not abide the thought of anything happening to him. To him or to Iain.

  “I will speak to Iain and let him decide.”

  Kenneth gave her a terse nod. “Speak to your laird, as ye must, but know ye here and now, I have made my decision. My family will either come to live with me here or I will stay without them, but I will na turn my back on the oath I took to protect you.”

  Màiri held out her hand and Kenneth helped her to her feet. “Oh, Kenneth. Whatever would I do with you? I could na ask for a friend more loyal. Tell your wife I look forward to her arrival and not to fear. The MacAlisters will welcome her without question.”

  Kenneth nodded, then followed as she made her way back to the castle. She’d been gone longer than she’d planned and if Iain noticed she’d left, he would come looking for her. He didn’t like it when she went beyond the castle walls, especially now with the trouble they were having.

  A feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. She could tell him there was no danger. Roderick was gone. There would be no threat until he returned. But he would not welcome her news.

  Instead of going back the way they’d come, she cut through the meadow to the left and took a little used path that was a shorter route. Iain had warned her not to come this way because he said it was not as safe, but she knew that was not the reason. This path led her past Yseult’s cottage, and he did not want her going near the woman. Today, Màiri chose to ignore his warning. She was in a hurry, and what harm would it do to walk past her cottage? She had no intention of stopping or talking to her. She would only walk past.

  She continued on, with Kenneth close behind. Soon they were at Yseult’s cottage.

  The old woman was out hoeing her garden, leaning over her well-tended herbs and vegetables to pull out a weed that had dared to intrude. She had her back to them, but when they were almost past, she turned around and stared. There was no surprise on her face. It was as if she was aware of their presence even before she looked.

  Màiri intended to walk by without stopping, but she couldn’t. Something drew her forward, something that connected her to the woman Iain thought was a witch. She opened herself to her gift, waiting to sense the good or evil Yseult carried with her. Her gift returned to her empty. As if the woman could stop her from seeing the secrets she harbored inside her. As if she truly was a witch and had the power to keep her true nature hidden.

  Yseult leaned against her wooden hoe and waited for Màiri to come near. The look on her face said she knew Màiri would not pass by without speaking even before she knew it herself. Step by step, Màiri closed the distance between them, stopping only when she reached the low fence that surrounded the woman’s herbs and vegetables. “Good afternoon, Yseult.”

  She smiled. It was a warm smile. “Good day to you, mistress.”

  “I have been anxious to meet you. I have heard much good of your healing powers.”

  The woman cocked her head to the side and gave her a curious look. “From your husband?”

  “From the many other MacAlisters who value your gift of healing. My husband does na speak of you.”

  “I did na think so. The laird thinks I am a witch.”

  “I know.”

  She smiled even brighter. “That does na frighten you?”

  “It might if I believed in witches.”

  Her loud cackle echoed through the air. “But you do na?”

  “Na more than you.” Màiri didn’t wait for a reaction. Instead, she looked down at the perfectly tended garden. “You have a gift for making things grow.” She studied the different vegetables and herbs and pointed to a small patch of flowered plants in the corner of her garden. “I do na recognize those pretty violet flowers. What are they called?”

  “It is monkshood, milady. It is an excellent poison if you ever have the need for one. Quite deadly. There is na cure.”

  Màiri lifted her gaze and stared at the old woman. She opened her gift and this time was allowed to see deep inside. Yseult hid nothing from her. Màiri breathed a sigh of relief. The woman presented no threat.

  “I have na need for anything so drastic, and I daresay, neither do you. Why does it grow in your garden?”

  Yseult lifted the corners of her mouth into a slight grin. “You are right. I only grow a very little to take care of the rodents the castle cats canna keep from eating the grain before Finlay grinds it into flour.”

  Yseult leaned down to pick another weed. Màiri was surprised when she heard her crackled voice ask a question.

  “Has your laird told you why he thinks I am a witch?”

  “Nay.”

  “You must be sure to ask,” she said, without ceasing her hoeing.

  “Wouldn’t you prefer to tell me yourself?”

  “It would be best if you heard the account from our laird. Adele’s tale can be told best by the ones closest to her.”

  “Roderick’s wife?”

  “Aye. The beautiful, green-eyed Adele.”

  “How did she die?”

  Yseult straightened, bracing her hands atop her hoe. “Your husband thinks I killed her.”

  Màiri stared at her without blinking. “Why?”

  “That is a question you will have to ask our laird, mistress.”

  Màiri felt a strange coldness seep through her.

  “You have made a comfortable place in the MacAlister’s keep,” Yseult said, interrupting her thoughts. “This is good. Your match is good for our laird.”

  “The MacAlisters have made me feel welcome. I am grateful to them.”

  “Even though you know not all is as it seems?”

  Màiri’s heart skipped a beat. She studied Yseult’s face, recognizing the aged wisdom in her eyes. “What do you know of the troubles?”

  “Troubles? How can I know of troubles? I am but an old woman, living by myself far away from the castle walls.”

  “But you know there will be trouble.”

  “The world has always seen troubles, mila
dy. Since the beginning of time. Look what happened between Cain and Abel.”

  A cold shiver raced up and down her spine. The old woman knew. She knew. “What are you saying, old woman? What trouble are you warning me about?”

  She went back to her hoeing. “I’ve na given you a warning, mistress. Only an observation that conflicts abound everywhere. Some strife eases with a kind word and a gentle hand. Some strife tests even the strongest love.”

  “And what ending do you see for us here?”

  “That is yet to be seen, milady. Your feelings grow stronger for our laird each day. In time. . .” She shrugged her shoulders. “Who knows?”

  “And does love survive?”

  “How would I know? Only a witch would know such things.”

  “Màiri!”

  Iain’s voice echoed from behind her. She turned. His face was livid with anger. “I must go.”

  The old woman only smiled. “The laird will be most displeased.”

  Màiri took a step away then stopped. “You would warn your laird if you knew he was in danger, would you not?”

  “How can I know he is in danger? I am not a witch.”

  “Nay, but some people have a gift.”

  The old woman silently pinned her with a knowing glare and smiled.

  Màiri waited for her to say she would warn her laird but the old woman said nothing.

  “Màiri! Now!”

  When Màiri turned to leave, Yseult wrapped her gnarled fingers around her wrist and held her. “How long do you think it will be before our laird discovers your gift?” she whispered.

  Màiri froze, then pulled her arm from her grasp.

  “Tell him, mistress. Before it is used against you.”

  Màiri clutched her hands to fists and walked away, Yseult’s words echoing in her ears.

  She knew. The old woman knew of her gift and what trouble was coming that she could do nothing to stop.

  . . .

  Màiri stood high atop the battlement and watched as Kenneth rode north to get his family. He’d promised to return in all haste, but Màiri knew even if he made the best time, he would be lucky to return before winter. If it took longer, she would not see him until spring. At least Kenneth would be spared what was coming.

  It would not be long before Roderick returned. The threat that followed him was not far away. She sensed it, but it was not her gift that told her so. Instead, an unexplainable nervousness gnawed away at her insides, turning her ease into discomfort. She could not let a war start between the MacAlisters and the Cochrans to satisfy Roderick’s hunger for power. She could not let him destroy Iain to become laird.

  Màiri lifted her face to the sun and let the warmth blanket her, yet she could not erase the cold fear niggling at her.

  “I thought I would find you here,” Iain said from behind her. “Has Kenneth gone?”

  Màiri took a deep breath. “Aye. He has just left.” She pointed to the small figure in the distance, then turned around to look at her husband. By the saints, but he was a sight to behold. He was tall and broad-shouldered with a noble bearing that made him far and away the most formidable warrior among the MacAlisters. The high cut of his cheekbones and strong set of his jaw only added to his rugged perfection.

  She turned back to watch Kenneth ride away, trying to concentrate on something besides how much she wanted to be held in Iain’s arms. She never felt so safe as she did when he held her.

  “What is that place over there?” she asked, pointing to a small copse of shrubs surrounded by a short, wooden railing.

  “That is where Roderick buried Adele.”

  A soft pressure tightened in her chest as she looked at the pretty little spot, filled with blooming flowers and thick, verdant bushes. It was well cared for, as if the person resting there had been very special indeed.

  “Why are you convinced Yseult killed her, Iain?”

  “I just know she did. There was nothing wrong with Adele only moments before. She had just come back from collecting the little green stones she could find only in a certain place deep in the woods. She fashioned them into designs and hung them on a leather tong around her wrist. It was something she did all the time. She loved wearing anything green because it matched her eyes.”

  Iain’s voice was intent, the look in his eyes focused, as if he remembered the day just as it had happened. “There was nothing wrong with her until she went to visit the witch, Yseult.”

  “That doesn’t mean Yseult killed her.”

  “I saw her when she left Yseult’s cottage. I talked to her. She had a vile in her hands, something Yseult had given her. It killed her. I know it.”

  Màiri studied the tortured look on Iain’s face and wanted to take the hurt away.

  “I should have asked what she had. I should have taken it away.”

  She shook her head. “You could na have known. Adele’s death is not your fault.”

  “Maybe not, but I should have done something. The witch should have had to answer for what she did.”

  Màiri remembered the black look on Iain’s face when he saw her with Yseult the day before. “I did na mean to make you angry,” she said, seeing the disappointment still written on his face. He’d barely spoken to her since they’d returned to the keep yesterday. She wished he’d yelled at her. Anything except the quiet anger.

  “It is na anger so much anymore as it was when I first saw you with the witch. She is evil, Màiri. I do na want you anywhere near her. She will bring us naught but trouble.”

  “I canna believe the woman means harm, Iain. She is only gifted. ’Tis all.”

  “That’s not all.” Iain looked at her as if he were about to say more, then the muscles at his jaw tightened and he looked out over the battlement. “I do na want to talk about Yseult right now. I only want to hold you close and forget all that has come between us.”

  “It will na go away, Iain. There are things that—”

  He pressed his finger against her lips. “Nay, à leannan mine. Do na say them. Just stand here with me high above the rest of the world where we can pretend the troubles canna find us.”

  Màiri fought the tightening in her chest, then walked into his outstretched arms and let him hold her. “The troubles will na go away, na matter how either of us wish it.”

  “Shh.”

  She pressed her cheek against his chest and breathed in the smell of leather and outdoor and male. She would never tire of him holding her like this.

  “Kenneth’s request to bring his family surprised me,” Iain said. “Although I do na mind, I canna understand his reasons.” They both watched as Kenneth rode out of sight. “Why does he na just go back to live with them?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath. “Because he canna. He gave his word he would protect me.”

  A frown covered Iain’s face. “He still does na think I can protect you? Even after all this time?”

  “He doesn’t doubt your ability to protect me, laird,” she said with a smile on her face, “or he wouldn’t have left me even long enough to go to get his wife. Kenneth gave his word, and he will honor his vow. In many ways he is much like you.”

  “Thank you for the compliment,” he whispered, stroking her cheeks with the backs of his fingers.

  He traced her lips with his thumb then lifted her chin and covered her mouth. His firm, warm lips reverently touched hers, then he pressed harder as he demanded more. She would give to him whatever he asked. But she could never deny her gift.

  “I do na mind having you for my wife,” he said when he lifted his mouth from hers. “Even though you will always be a confusion to me, you are still my sweet Màiri. I am glad you were the one betrothed to me.”

  She relaxed against him. Life with Iain would be perfect—if only Roderick… She only had until he returned.

  “Look,” Iain said, pointing over the crenelated wall. “See that cloud of dust in the distance. It’s Roderick. He has come home. Now, all will be well. You will see. He will
bring news of peace between us and the Cochrans.”

  Màiri watched Roderick approach, trying desperately to ease the pitching of her stomach. She wrapped her arms around her waist and held tight. She was not ready to face Iain’s brother. She was not ready to put Iain to the test. She was not sure she would come out the victor.

  She and Iain turned to go down to meet Roderick but stopped when they saw Donald running toward them.

  “What is it, Donald?” Iain asked, already reaching for the broadsword that hung at his back. The look on Donald’s face issued the warning.

  Donald pointed the opposite direction from where Roderick approached, to a large cloud of dust swirling in the air. “’Tis the Cochrans. They’ve come armed.”

  The air caught in her throat. It had started. Roderick’s path of destruction had begun.

  Chapter 15

  Iain ran down the stone stairs, issuing orders with every step, while Donald followed close behind. The bailey was a scene of organized confusion, with MacAlister warriors racing to the weaponry, then to their assigned positions. Each MacAlister had been trained with diligence and knew exactly where his duties lay. Everything was in readiness for a battle down to the smallest detail. A battle for which no one had a reason.

  “Get the women and children below,” Iain bellowed, pointing to the keep. “Conan, position your men atop the curtain wall. Rauri, guard the back. Hector, raise the portcullis. As soon as Roderick is within the walls, close it again. Donald, Lochlan, come with me. We will take the front tower. The Cochrans will strike there first.”

  All the men raced to do their laird’s bidding and when Iain turned, he saw her standing there. The look of apprehension on her face stopped the air in his chest. “Get to your chambers, Màiri, and bolt the door behind you. Open it for no one except me.”

  She hesitated.

  “Go!”

  She moved toward him instead of back to the keep, the dark look in her eyes filled with obvious desperation. He wanted to go to her and hold her but he did not have time. He wanted to comfort her and tell her everything would be all right but he was not sure it would be. He wanted her to know it was not his choice to fight.