by Laura Landon
“Màiri!” Iain bellowed, grabbing her from behind and pulling her close to him. “Nay!”
Iain raised his broadsword, his eyes focusing on Roderick, but he could not swing the sword forward to kill him. Màiri knew he would not be able to kill his own brother.
Before Roderick could raise his dagger again, Donald and Lochlan rushed forward, stepping in front of Roderick to protect Iain and Màiri.
“Laird! Laird!” Rauri hollered from the entryway. “The Cochrans are almost at the castle wall. They have come armed!”
“We must fight!” Roderick ordered. “All of you, follow me,” he said, rushing across the hall with only his few followers running behind him.
“Nay, Roderick!” Iain yelled. “We will na fight the Cochrans.”
Roderick turned at the top of the stairs. “Do na listen to him,” he said, raising his broadsword. “We must fight!”
None of the MacAlisters joined him. Only his band of followers moved. But Iain was surprised at how many dissenters Roderick had gathered.
Roderick glared at them. “Cowards! All of you. Cowards.” With a loud cry of battle, Roderick and his army raced from the keep, their swords drawn.
“Should we stop them, laird?” Donald asked.
Iain ignored Donald’s question and wrapped a strip of cloth around Màiri’s arm then cupped his hand behind her head and held her cheek gently against his chest. “Are you all right, my Màiri?” he whispered in her ear.
“Do you want us to go after them, Iain?” Donald asked again.
When Iain didn’t answer the second time, Donald backed away, the look on his face telling that it was too late to save Roderick.
“I am fine, Iain,” she whispered against him. “The cut is na worse than the one before. It is good you have had practice with a needle.”
“Roderick and his men have ridden across the drawbridge and charged against the Cochrans, laird,” Rauri yelled from the top of the stairs.
Màiri heard the desperation in Rauri’s voice and she held onto Iain with all the strength she could give him. Every muscle in his body trembled and she feared he might crumble against her.
“God help him,” Iain whispered, lowering his head until his forehead touched hers.
“There was nothing you could do. Roderick’s hatred was buried too deeply.”
Màiri stood with Iain cradled in her arms, the MacAlisters standing around them in stunned silence. The minutes stretched into a never-ending abyss of unreality. Finally, the sound of footsteps coming near brought them out of the world of silence they’d entered together.
“Roderick is dead, milord,” Rauri announced solemnly. “Along with the men that rode with him.”
“And the Cochrans?”
“They have gone home.”
Iain shuddered beside her and his arms wrapped around her tighter. The mighty strength he’d always had in such great abundance before flowed out of him as he leaned heavier against her. And then he stood tall. That one short moment was all the time he allowed himself to grieve. With a great rush, he filled his body with a deep breath of air and held his head high. He looked every inch the laird he was meant to be.
“Take some men and bury Roderick and his followers outside the castle walls, Rauri. Make it a place where their graves will na be disturbed.” Iain turned to Donald. “Go to the Cochrans with enough men for a show of strength. Explain what happened and tell them the MacAlister laird will come within a fortnight to rebuild the peace between our people that was almost destroyed.”
Iain turned to face the crowd still gathered in the great hall and staggered. He grasped the edge of the trestle table and held on to support himself.
Màiri noticed his pale complexion and the pain he couldn’t hide from his eyes and stepped closer to him. She wrapped her arm around his waist and let him lean against her. She wanted nothing more than to be the helpmeet he’d come to rely upon; the other part of himself he could not live without; the other half of his heart that made a whole. She wanted nothing more than to love and be loved by him. She held him closer and pressed her cheek against his chest.
“Here, milord,” Yseult said, holding out a goblet. “Drink it.”
Iain looked first at the woman he’d accused of being a witch then to the potion she held in her hand. Màiri could read the hesitation in his eyes.
“The poison already inside you will kill you in time. If you truly love her,” Yseult said, looking at Màiri, “you must drink it.”
Iain reached for the cup and drank it until it was gone, then pulled Màiri closer to him. “I do na want to die yet, my Màiri. I love you far too much to leave you. Tell me that you still love me. I need to hear the words.”
“I love you, Iain. More now than before. Less this moment than the next.”
Màiri heard him breathe a deep breath.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I can survive anything as long as I know I will always have your love,” he whispered.
“It is yours to keep.”
“Even if I am not laird.”
“Even if you are not laird.”
Iain nodded, then turned to face the crowd still watching them in silence. “There will be a count taken,” he announced boldly. “Every man and woman will have their say. Know that if you accept me as your laird, you accept your mistress as well. Just as you will accept the gift she has brought with her. The choice is yours to make.”
There was a great gasp that echoed through the room. “Nay, laird,” a voice hollered from the back. “We do na want another laird.”
“The count will be taken,” Iain issued, placing his arm around Màiri’s shoulder and walking with her up to their chambers. Màiri knew if only one vote was against him, he would step down. She smiled. She did not need Iain to be laird. She only needed Iain to love her.
She had given him her heart, and whether he was a warrior or her laird, it made no difference. She knew her heart would always be safe as long as it was in his keeping.
EPILOGUE
Màiri took the familiar path across the bailey toward the practice area. She knew this was where she would find Iain with their sons.
“Have you come to see the laird, mistress?” Donald asked, placing the dull metal object he held in his hand close behind his back. “He is at the far side by the wall.”
“Thank you, Donald. I would walk with you, if you do na mind.”
“Nay, mistress,” he answered, shifting the sword he was trying to hide to his other hand. “I would be pleased for the company.”
Màiri pretended not to notice what Donald had in his hand as they walked toward the practice area. “Has your laird been training with the boys all this time?”
“Aye, milady. Alexander is as good as the laird was when he was the boy’s age. When I left, he had Rauri nearly pinned to the wall.”
Màiri smiled as she thought how much her oldest son took after his father. Even though he was only eight, he was already tall for his age and promised to have the same broad expanse across his shoulders as Iain. “I do hope the sword you are hiding behind your back is not for Alex. I have warned Iain repeatedly that he is too young for something so dangerous. Ones fashioned from wood are good enough for now.”
“Oh…uh…nay, mistress,” Donald stuttered uncomfortably. “The sword is not for Alex.”
“Good,” Màiri sighed, nodding her head because of the truth her gift told her Donald spoke. At least in this her wishes had been granted.
She kept her pace even, then stopped to let Donald walk ahead of her when she saw Iain. In one arm Iain wielded a small wooden sword, battling their second to the youngest son, Malcolm, just barely four. In Iain’s other arm, he held little Duncan, just two this summer. The giggles coming from her youngest as he clenched his stubby little arms around his father’s neck to hold on tight was a sight that warmed her to her soul.
So much had happened since she had become Iain’s wife, the hard times mixed in with the go
od. It had taken Iain a long time to recover from the poison Roderick had given him, and even longer to recover from Roderick’s death. She knew he would never forget that the brother he’d loved his whole life had hated him so much he’d wanted him dead. But now he had his own sons to love and nourish and teach. There was no end to the love they had for each other.
In looks, her four boys took after their father, with Iain’s dark hair and deep blue eyes. Each of them promised to be as handsome as Iain when they became young men, and Màiri prayed they would all be as happy as she and Iain had been.
Even after all this time, just the sight of him made her heart leap in her breast. Never had she imagined she could love someone as much as she loved him. Never had she imagined it was possible for her to be so happy. She leaned against the short wall near the gate, hidden from her sons while they practiced to be mighty warriors under their father’s watchful eye.
“Did you bring it, Donald?” her second son, Gregor, hollered, barely able to contain his excitement. “Do you have it?”
Donald cocked his head in her direction, trying to warn Gregor his mother was nearby, but being only six years old, he was much too excited to take the hint.
Only Iain was astute enough to heed the warning. He stopped in mid swing and glanced toward her, then grinned one of his heart wrenching smiles that turned her soft as warm dough. He continued toward her. “I see we have been found out, Donald. I think this morn will na go quite as we planned,” he said with a glint in his eyes. “Come here, boys. Let us see what Donald has brought.”
Alex put his metal sword back into the sheath at his side and walked across the practice area to stand beside his father. Gregor stood anxiously in front of Iain, while Malcolm reached for his father’s free hand and held it close to his small body. All little Duncan could do was stick a thumb in his mouth and rub his tired eyes with his tiny fist, then nestle his chubby cheek against Iain’s shoulder and settled in to take a nap. The sight of them all together sent a warm rush to the very core of her body. How could she be angry with any of them for long?
“We might as well own up, men,” Iain said, trying to hide the grin from his face. “Your mother has already seen what we’re up to.”
Màiri walked over to her family and braced her hands on her hips. Keeping a grin off her face was not easy, and she doubted that her protruding stomach did little to make her seem a fierce warrior. Being pregnant didn’t help the impact of her words at all. The seductive grin on Iain’s face diluted her temper to a mere sigh. The wink did her in. Truth be told, all she wanted was to wrap her arms around the five of them and never let go.
“That’s a fine looking sword our Alex is wielding, husband,” she said, sounding as fierce as she could. “It fair shines in the sunlight for the dull piece of oak it is supposed to be.”
Iain dropped his head back on his shoulder and smiled broadly. “Aye, my Màiri. It surely does.”
“And I canna imagine to whom Donald could possibly intend to give the sword he is hiding behind his back. Surely it canna be for my baby Gregor.”
“I’m not a baby, mama,” Gregor defended. “Duncan is your baby. I’m near growed.”
“I think, perhaps, you are not nearly ‘growed’ enough to wield the sword Donald has in his hand.”
“I am too, mama. Father said so.”
“Father said so?” she mimicked, raising her eyebrows. “Surely your father did not say such a thing?”
“Well…” Iain said, stuttering in search of the right words. Gregor came to his rescue.
“If you want, father, you can tell her the sword is not for me,” he whispered loud enough for all to hear. “Mama doesn’t know when you tell a lie like she does us.”
Iain cleared his throat while Alex jabbed his brother with his elbow.
“I think you’ve said enough, lad,” Iain said, trying to hide his laughter. “Perhaps it would be best if I talked to your mother alone. Alex, take Duncan inside and give him to Jane to put to bed, then the three of you can go to the stream to swim. Keep an eye on your brothers, lad,” he said, placing Duncan into Alex’s waiting arms then patting his oldest on the back.
Màiri turned to watch her boys walk across the courtyard while Donald quietly stepped to the other side of the practice area, far away from her accusing eye.
“You have given me four fine lads, my Màiri,” Iain said, draping his arm across her shoulder. “Look how they care for each other.” Alex held the babe, Duncan, while Gregor walked close at his side, his hand clutching Malcolm’s. “There is na jealousy there.”
Màiri was filled with pride, watching the four of them. “You do na have to worry on that score, Iain. They will grow to be fine young men.”
“And they will be strong and mighty warriors,” Iain answered with pride.
“Aye, but they are just lads, Iain. You must na rush them. Gregor is too young to wield such a sword.”
“Don’t you see, lass?” he said, pulling her closer to him. “Strength and might and courage are their only guarantees for peace. The only guarantee they will survive.”
“But Gregor… he is just a babe.”
“Nay,” Iain said, leaning down to kiss her gently on the cheek. “You heard him. Duncan is the babe. Until you give me the babe nestled inside you.”
Iain placed his hand on her bulging stomach and held it there. The babe kicked. “The babe already shows promise of being a great warrior for Scotland. I can feel him fighting to get out.”
“What if it is a girl, Iain?”
“Think you that I do na want a girl? I can imagine nothing I would like more. A daughter just like her mother.”
“With the gift?”
“Blessed with the gift.”
Màiri laughed. “Your four sons would never have a moment’s peace. And neither would you.”
“Me?”
“Mayhaps you will na escape our daughter’s gift like you have mine.”
Iain laughed. “You think I have need to escape your gift?”
Màiri leaned against him and shook her head. “Nay. There is na need, but I still canna understand why my gift fails with you. It fails with na other.”
“There is a very good reason, à leannan mine,” Iain said, kissing her lightly on the nose. “It is so you are forced to trust me with your heart instead of relying on your gift.”
“I have always trusted you, Iain. From the day you took me as your wife, I have trusted na one, save you.”
“And I have loved na one, save you. You healed more than just my wounded body the day you found me. You received my heart into your keeping and kept it safe. You were the greatest gift I ever received. I could never want for more.”
Màiri reached up and cupped her palm against Iain’s cheek. “I love you, Iain,” she whispered as he lowered his mouth and kissed her. The fire that raged deep inside her burned with just as much intensity today as when he’d first kissed her all those years ago. She did not doubt they would both feel the same when they were old and gray.
Màiri smiled. She needed no gift to know they would both savor every moment between now and then.
Also from Laura Landon at Prairie Muse Publishing
SHATTERED DREAMS
WHEN LOVE IS ENOUGH
BROKEN PROMISE
A MATTER OF CHOICE
MORE THAN WILLING
NOT MINE TO GIVE
TANGLED: Boxed Set
LOVE UNBIDDEN
THE DARK DUKE
From Laura at Montlake Romance
SILENT REVENGE
INTIMATE SURRENDER
INTIMATE DECEPTION
THE MOST TO LOSE
A RISK WORTH TAKING
See all of Laura’s books at Amazon.com
ABOUT LAURA
Laura Landon enjoyed ten years as a high school teacher and nine years making sundaes and malts in her very own ice cream shop, but once she penned her first novel, she closed up shop to spend every free minute writing. Now she enjoys cre
ating her very own heroes and heroines, and making sure they find their happily ever after.
A vital member of her rural community, Laura directed the town’s Quasquicentennial, organized funding for an exercise center for the town, and serves on the hospital board.
Laura lives in the Midwest, surrounded by her family and friends. She has written more than a dozen Victorian historicals, many of which have been published by Prairie Muse Publishing and are selling worldwide in English, and one which is currently published in Japanese. In April of 2012 she released her first Scottish historical and in 2014 followed with this publication, KEEPER OF MY HEART.
In October 2012, Laura experienced an amazing day when Amazon’s Montlake Romance published not one but three of her newest novels. Two of these have been optioned for publication in Russia and Turkey, and several are available in German in ebook and paperback. Her readers can be assured that she is scheduled for even more releases by Montlake Romance in the months to come.
Laura Landon is a Prairie Muse Platinum and Amazon Montlake author.
