by Laura Landon
“Because of what they have done.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“What other reason can there be?”
Iain pushed himself away from the wall. “I do na know, Roderick. Explain it to me.”
“Don’t you see, Iain? The Cochrans are all that is stopping us from controlling every open route between Scotland and England. Why should we share such power with them?”
“Power is that important to you?”
“It is important to everyone. Even the Cochrans crave it. Sooner or later, they will realize how it will benefit them to stand alone. They will be a constant thorn in our side, a threat we must forever guard against if we do na stop them today.”
Iain stared at his brother. Màiri’s words would not leave him.
Roderick wants to be laird.
Iain strode into the hall. He had everyone’s attention. Including that of the five elders, who sat behind a long table at the front of the room, waiting.
He’d known they would be there. Too much had happened. Too many questions needed answers. Thank heavens, though, Màiri was still safe. She, at least, was not here, already being interrogated.
Guthred sat in the middle, the place of authority. As the chosen head, he was the one who most concerned Iain. The frown on his face did not bode he was in a favorable mood. Henry and Albert sat on one side of him, their heads together in deep conversation, and Edgard and Fearchar sat on the other, their angry scowls even more pronounced.
“What did you find, Iain?” Guthred asked, sitting forward in his seat.
Iain locked his hands behind his back and squared his shoulders, facing the council as he, as laird, had done so often in the past. The five were the guardians of the MacAlister clan, chosen to watch over their laird as he watched over and protected the people. “Laumon Cochran’s cottage was burned to the ground and his crops destroyed. Devon MacAlister’s cottage was also burned, his lass of two years killed.”
The five councilmen stiffened in their seats. Henry’s scowl deepened. “Do we fight?”
Iain shook his head. “Not if we can avoid bloodshed.”
“God’s blood!” Roderick bellowed, slamming his fist on the top of the table. “They burned Devon’s home and killed his daughter. We canna let them go unpunished!”
“Enough, Roderick,” Iain shouted. “You have na say in this.”
“Aye, I do.” Roderick turned to face him. “I have stood with pride at your side from the day you became our laird. I have followed your orders and protected your back and watched as you led our people toward peace. But in this I canna keep silent.”
Roderick stepped closer to the five elders. “Do you na see?” he said. “If we do na fight now, the Cochrans will always be a threat. They will destroy and burn every cottage and home outside the castle walls. We canna let their acts of aggression go unpunished. If our laird is na brave enough to fight, then perhaps we need a laird who is.”
Iain heard a loud gasp from the crowd of MacAlisters who now filled the room. He turned, squarely facing Roderick. For the first time in his life, Iain saw a glimmer of something evil in Roderick’s eyes.
Roderick wants to be laird.
He recognized the deeply buried jealousy only Màiri had been able to see. He could not believe he had not seen this before.
“You dare challenge me?”
“Aye. Look at yourself. You can barely stand. How fit do you think you are to be our laird?”
Iain listened to Roderick’s words, their possible meaning a heavy weight pressing painfully deep in his chest.
Iain looked at the elders huddled together. A growing number of men and women tried to squeeze into the room. Donald and Lochlan made their way through the crowd and stood behind him as a show of support. On the other side, a handful of warriors moved to stand behind Roderick. The lines had been drawn.
“You are sure we should na fight, laird?” Guthred said after conferring with the other four elders.
“I would wait until we can be sure the Cochrans are responsible before we go into battle with our neighbors.”
Roderick threw out his hands. “How? By asking your wife to cast a spell to reveal the answer. You listened to your wife’s sorcery once and now Devon MacAlister’s child is dead.”
Iain saw red. “Màiri will remain out of this. She had nothing to do with what happened.”
“Nay, Iain,” Roderick said. “What curse has she cast on you now?”
Guthred pounded his fist against the top of the table. “Enough, Roderick. Your laird alone is to answer.” He turned his hard gaze to Iain. “Perhaps you should fetch your wife, Iain. There is much we would like to understand. Bring her here so we can ask her some questions.”
“Nay! I will na bring her here. I do na want her involved.”
Guthred raised his hand in protest. “She is already involved. Look at the powers she has shown us. We have heard testimony from many people while you were gone. Each stated another revelation she alone knew. What power does she have, Iain?”
Iain leaned against the corner of the table to keep his balance. The room spun beneath his feet and his head ached more with every breath he took. “She has a gift. A gift that has given us much good.”
“She is a witch!” Roderick yelled. “Just look at you. You are so weak you can hardly stay on your feet. Day after day we have watched you grow worse. No wonder you do na want to fight. You do na have the strength. And everyone knows it is her fault.”
“Nay!” Iain defended, his blood racing hotly through his body. For the first time in his life, he knew real fear. What if he could not protect her from them?
“Màiri has nothing to do with my illness. She is not to blame for anything that has happened.”
Roderick stepped closer. “She has cast a spell on you. You are cursed and have only gotten worse since you brought her here.”
“Bring her forward, Iain,” Guthred demanded. “We only want to talk to her.”
“I will not! She does not have to defend herself! She has done nothing but good; nothing but show the truth where others would have us believe harmful lies. I’ll na have you brand her a witch. She is not! She is—”
Iain stopped short when he saw Màiri at the top of the stairs, the witch Yseult at her side.
“Nay!” he bellowed, clutching his head as another wave of pain ripped through him.
. . .
All in the room turned to stare at her, then parted as she made her way through them. Màiri did not stop until she reached Iain’s side. Yseult had warned her that Iain was in danger of losing the battle against Roderick as well as the battle for his life, and now she believed her. His illness raged before her eyes.
“What have you done?” he muttered to Yseult. “Why have you brought her here?”
“I have brought her to save you,” Yseult whispered softly. “She alone has the power. You must trust it.”
Iain looked at Màiri and shook his head. “You should not have come.” He turned to face the council. “She can tell you nothing.”
“But she can,” Roderick said from beside them. “We would all like to know how she knew the first time the Cochrans had not come to fight. And how she knew Rauri was innocent of Murdoch’s death. Tell us, Màiri.”
All eyes in the room focused on her. She lifted her head and faced them proudly. “You would like to know how I understand what others do not? I can only offer the truth.”
She turned, letting her gaze scan the crowd packed into the hall. “I was born with a gift that tells me what others feel. I canna see the future. I canna tell what has na yet occurred, but I can feel intense emotion after it has happened. That is how I knew someone was drowning, even though I did not know it was little Roby and I did not know if Iain could reach him in time.
“My gift has been passed down to me from my mother, as hers was passed down from her mother, and her mother’s mother before her. I am not ashamed of what has been given me,” she said strongly, “but
I was wrong in not telling your laird before he took me as his wife. It has been as hard for him to accept as it was for my father.”
She lifted her gaze to Iain and saw the regret in his eyes. “I thought if your laird could only love me, my gift would na matter, just as I prayed it would na matter to you either,” she said, looking out into the crowd. “I remember the warmth with which you received me the first day I rode in as your mistress. You welcomed me without hesitation. You accepted me without question. The life I had always dreamed of having was suddenly within my grasp. I wanted nothing more than to become a part of what you offered, to find a place where I belonged and a home where I was loved. But I knew it would not happen once you discovered my gift. So I tried to hide it. Even your laird did not know, until I realized someone here was trying to kill him.”
There was a loud gasp in the room and the murmur of disbelief.
Màiri turned to face Roderick. “Iain loves you Roderick. You are his brother. His own flesh and blood. Even though he does not want to believe me, I know you are the one who—”
“See!” Roderick said, pointing at her. “She is a witch! All our troubles are her fault. Our laird is dying more each day and the Cochrans want war, and she is the one responsible.”
“Nay!” Iain said, turning on Roderick. “You are the one! You want me dead! You ambushed me on MacBride land, and left me for dead along with the four warriors who rode with me. You poisoned the ale that Ferquhar drank, and are behind the raid that killed Devon MacAlister’s babe.” Iain raked his fingers through his hair. “I should have known it from the start, but I was blind to your hatred. I did na want it to be true.”
The truth stood before them naked and undisguised, and the pain in Iain’s eyes said he saw Roderick’s ugliness clear and plain.
Roderick tried to look shocked. “You would believe her—a witch—over your own flesh and blood? You think I am capable of the crimes of which she accuses me?”
“I believe every word, because Màiri is na capable of lying. She has never done anything to hurt any of us. My sin is that I did not believe her from the start. I pray she can find it in her heart to forgive me.”
Iain stepped forward to face the huge crowd packed in the hall. When he spoke, he spoke loud enough so all could hear him. “I will say this now so you all know my feelings for the woman I have chosen as my wife. There is no one in all of Scotland and beyond I could love as I do Màiri. I would trust her with my life because I know she would give up her last breath to keep me safe. I would trust her with my heart because I know she will always treasure it. I would give her all the riches I possess because nothing I have equals what she has already given me. Her love. I am only sorry I did not see its value before.”
He turned to face her. “I love you, Màiri MacAlister. I have kept the words hidden since the night you made me swear I would na say them. I love you and I will na live without you. In this you have to trust your heart to know my words are true.”
Màiri nodded, blinking back the wetness in her eyes.
“Who does your gift tell us is the threat, Màiri?” Guthred asked, standing at his chair.
“Roderick,” she said, lifting her hand and pointing an accusing finger. One after another of the green, stone bracelets Yseult had given her hung around her wrist, the polished stones dangling from her arm. “You, Roderick, are the one responsible for your laird’s sickness. You want to see him dead.”
“Nay!” Roderick said, then stared at the bracelets hanging from her arm.
She ignored the shocked gasps from the crowd of MacAlisters and stared at the violent expression on Roderick’s face. “Where did you get those?” he hissed, pointing at the bracelets.
Màiri shrugged. “It is a mystery. Perhaps Adele is sending a message from the grave? Perhaps she is unable to rest until she has revealed her killer?”
A loud gasp filled the room. Roderick’s face paled, but the black expression in his eyes told of unleashed fury ready to explode. “Witch!” he hissed, stepping back one more step. “I know who killed her.” He pointed his finger at Yseult. “She killed her.”
Lie.
Màiri opened her gift to him. “Yseult did na kill her, Roderick. You did.”
“Nay! The witch killed her.”
Lie.
“You killed her and blamed it on Yseult, just as you tried to kill Iain and blame it on the Cochrans.”
A multitude of enraged voices murmured their shock and disbelief. Roderick gave the crowd of people a wary look then turned on her.
“Lies. You speak nothing but lies, witch. You are making up these untruths to save yourself but it will na work. I had nothing to do with the attack and you canna prove I did. No one will believe you. No one!”
“Laird,” the warrior Dunslaf said, stepping forward with Charles. The room stilled to an eerie hush while the two men faced their laird. “We think you need to see this.”
Dunslaf took another step forward, then held out his hand. Iain reached for the object in Dunslaf’s palm and looked at it. “Where did you find this?”
“We found it at the place where you and the others were attacked. It was lying in the grass.”
Iain clenched Roderick’s brooch in his palm.
“It is your brooch, Roderick. The one you lost. They found it at the place where you killed four other loyal MacAlisters and left me for dead.”
The room exploded into a cacophony of tumultuous shouts demanding justice.
“Nay!” Roderick bellowed. “The witch put it there,” he said pointing to Màiri.
Iain shook his head. “It is too late to deny it, Roderick. Màiri knows your lies. You tried to kill me, just as you killed your wife, Adele.”
Roderick laughed, the sound a demented cackle. “See,” he said, turning to face the elders. “See how evil she is? She has put a curse on our laird. If we do na rid ourselves of this witch, she will destroy us all!”
Iain looked at Roderick. “Why, Roderick? What did I do to make you hate me so?”
“Surely you do na believe her? You would take the word of a witch over that of your brother?”
“I would take the word of my wife. She would na lie to me.”
Roderick backed away. “Damn you, Iain! You are as cursed as she. I have lived with your perfection my whole life and am sick to death of it. They all think you can do na wrong,” he said, swinging his arm out to the crowd of MacAlisters staring in shocked disbelief. “They do na see your weakness. Your obsession with peace makes you cower before aggression. You have taught them to cherish peace so long they do na know how to fight.”
Iain held his shoulders rigid with one arm braced against the edge of the table. “You are the one who poisoned me, all because you wanted to become laird.”
“Nay! It is her.” He pointed at Màiri. “She is the one who is poisoning you.”
Yseult stepped forward. “Then prove it, Roderick. Here,” she said, holding out a goblet. “It is the ale you left on your laird’s dressing table. If you are na the one poisoning your laird, drink it.”
Roderick glared at Yseult, his eyes filled with malicious hatred. “There is nothing wrong with this ale,” he said, clasping the goblet in his hand. “I am not afraid to drink it.”
In a show of great confidence, Roderick lifted the goblet and put it to his lips. He halted just before he took the first swallow. “Damn you, witch!” He swung out his arm and threw the goblet across the room. With a movement so swift Iain barely had time to move away, Roderick pulled his broadsword from his sheath and swung it through the air. Iain pushed Màiri behind him, then reached for his sword to deflect Roderick’s next attack.
Donald and Lochlan and the other loyal MacAlisters cordoned off any movement from the dozen or so warriors loyal to Roderick. Màiri stepped away from Iain to give him room to protect himself just as the first clash of steel rent through the air.
“Damn you, Iain. And damn that witch you married. If you would have drunk that ale instead of Fe
rquhar, it would all be over now and I would be laird.”
Iain deflected another blow, stumbling backward and rubbing his fist across his eyes. “Why, Roderick? Do you crave power so much that human life holds so little value? How can you sleep at night knowing the innocent lives you took, the four MacAlisters we played with as lads, Ferquhar, Devon’s babe… Adele?”
Roderick slashed the steel through the air again, almost knocking Iain to the floor. “Adele! Ha! She deserved to die. Did you know she was in love with you?”
Iain did not answer, but shook his head. “She was young, Roderick. She did na know what she wanted.”
Roderick laughed, his laughter harsh with a demented sound Màiri knew she would never forget.
“Adele knew exactly what she wanted, laird. She wanted you. And she made sure she told me at every turn how much she desired you instead of me.”
“So you killed her?”
Roderick smiled. “It was only fitting. She’d stolen a potion from the witch and killed the babe growing inside her because it was not yours. It was mine.”
A loud gasp echoed in the room. Roderick ignored it and stepped closer to Iain. “She said she would na risk her life birthing any babe that was na yours.”
With his broadsword pointed upward in front of him, Roderick stepped nearer until he was but a foot away from Iain. “Are you content with the witch you married, laird?” He inched closer. “Are you eager to plant your seed inside her belly and have the next MacAlister heir be the son of a witch?”
A leaden fist twisted in Màiri’s chest, weighing heavily against her heart.
“Or would you rather I spare you from such devastation? I can, you know.”
With that, Roderick raised a dagger he had hidden at his side and brought it down, aiming to plunge the blade between Iain’s shoulder blades. Iain twisted, but Màiri knew the two were too close for Iain to step beyond Roderick’s reach.
She threw herself forward, grabbing Roderick’s arm as the dagger swung downward. The blade twisted in his hand, missing Iain’s back by mere inches, but slicing the flesh of her forearm. A slow burning pain inched up her arm, the steady stream of dark red soaking through the sleeve of her gown.
