Like a father instructing a child, he said, “No, it isnae fair. Few things are, though.”
“Maybe you could change that, Ian. Maybe you can be different.”
“Ya stand with me or no'. Ya must make yar decision, now. If yar no' with me, ya may stay here. I willnae bother ya ever again.”
Ginny's lip began to quiver and her eyes began to tear up. Ian saw her face and turned away. He could not be swayed. His new wife had to know that his decisions were akin to law and she was not above the law. The die had been cast when the Sinclairs engaged in such treachery. A clan is just a large family. The sins of the father always fell upon the son.
The tears were flowing down her face now. Ginny could feel herself giving in and following him blindly, but she would not be able to live with herself if she did. They say if you don't learn from history, you're doomed to repeat it. Well, in this case, Ginny had the knowledge of her time. The senseless killing done by terrorist cowards. Strapping bombs to naive men and women, telling them they would receive their reward in the next life. Telling them to walk into groups of innocent people, whose only crime was being born in a hated country. In the end, nothing changes, only the hate is escalated. The retaliation repeated, back and forth, with the leadership making decisions that end up killing the innocent. Useless and stupid, but ultimately inevitable. Or was it?
Taking a shaky breath, Ginny knew that her decision would end this relationship. But principals were not something so easily destroyed or at least they shouldn't be. “I can't stand by you Ian. I know you think I'm just a dumb girl with a big mouth. Truth is, I know a lot more than you do.” She could see his disbelief and continued anyway. “You believe different things and maybe I thought I could change your mind, make you see things a different way, but I know I can't. This is who you are and I can't change that. And you, of course, can't change me either.”
“What would ya have me do, Ginny?”
“I would have you speak to all the lairds and find out what happened to bring this about. I would have you be diplomatic, rather than automatically fighting. If it comes down to something petty, I would have you fight the Sinclair laird alone, without killing his entire clan. Or let Alec fight him, since he was the one who lost the most.”
“ Impossible. Ya know that.” Ian seemed to waver for just a moment, then he turned abruptly and started walking toward the door. Ginny stood still, watching him leave, feeling the sinking, empty feeling inside. The tears were flowing freely and her breathing was coming in short pants. Who am I to change things , kept cycling through her head. But the truth was, she could only account for herself and she knew what he was doing was wrong. Humanity had a way of screwing everything up, but individual humans could be brave and just. So, in the end, she stood her ground.
“Good luck to you Ian,” she called out as he left the room.
He turned suddenly, captured her eyes and said, “I love ya, Ginny. I dinna know when it happened, but I do. I wish ya only happiness.” And with that, he left.
Ginny dropped to her chair as if some unseen force sucker punched her in the gut. Grabbing her middle, she began to cry. What's wrong with me? she asked herself. This is make believe. Why does it feel like this?
Not even hearing his approach, she felt his arm slip around her shoulders. Brother Douglas was trying to soothe her, like a father would soothe his daughter. “It will be fine, my dear. Ya must trust in God's divine vision. He will look after him.”
Ginny stopped crying for a moment and looked at the monk. “It doesn't matter. He won't come back for me. I wanted to take a diplomatic approach and as you know, Highlanders don't take the diplomatic approach.”
The monk smiled. In his smile were many years of trying to win the same argument. “They can be a stubborn lot. Ya must trust that when it is over, he will take ya home.”
She thought about what the monk said. Take me home. Indeed. But which home would she go to. She had such a hard time believing this was make believe, but her logical side couldn't grasp this being real. In the end, she was at a loss... a loss of how to get home, how to make this right, how to not feel like a piece of her had been ripped away.
Suddenly, Ginny knew. She stood up so abruptly, the monk almost fell over. “I need a horse. Do you have a horse I can borrow?” she asked the stunned man.
“Nay, we have only one horse and one of the brothers has used it to administer to the sick.”
Ginny's mind was working furiously. “Where are the McKennas?”
“Right outside our gates.”
Great! she thought. She would steal one of their horses. If this was make believe, she would be fine. If this was real, she would be dead and could go home. It didn't matter, because something had to change. She did not want to spend the rest of her life cloistered with a bunch of monks.
“Thank you, Brother. You've been most helpful.” With that, she ran out of the room, heading to the door to the courtyard.
* * *
Ginny peered through the gate of the abbey. The large open field was crowded on both sides by the two different groups. It looked like this field existed just for the battling clans. Low grass, no trees nearby, just wide open expanse, with only the occasional boulder to mar the landscape. On one side, the Sinclairs and the MacBains. On the other, right outside the gates of the abbey, the McKennas, the MacDonalds and the MacGregors.
The early morning sun was just peering over the horizon. Ginny had hoped for some darkness, so it would be easier to steal a horse. Glancing around, she finally spotted the horses in the back, near the outside wall of the abbey. Only a couple of boys stood there, guarding the horses. Formulating her plan, she slipped unnoticed outside the gate and headed to the horses.
As she expected, all the men were facing their enemy and not paying any attention to her skulking along the wall. The guard boys were standing together, speaking in low tones. Ginny caught only a snatch of their discussion. It revolved around how many Sinclairs Ian and Alec would kill. Each had a bet on who would get more, but they were having some trouble deciding how to count.
Ginny crept into the middle of the horses and searched for Ian's. Nothing would get that man's attention like having his wife of less than twenty-four hours steal his horse. However, in the end, Ginny decided that if she was to die today, there was only one man who she would rather piss off more. Stealing Broderick's horse, again, would be like the ultimate middle finger to the man who was never nice to her, always full of contempt and had, of course, back handed her when she first arrived to the McKenna keep.
After locating the horse, Ginny quietly mounted and prayed that she would be able to hold on long enough to get past the McKennas and out toward the Sinclairs. Not being particularly religious, but having had heavy Catholic training, Ginny performed the sign of the cross and kicked the enormous animal forward. She was well past the soldiers before anyone realized what was happening.
Holding on, and feeling somewhat confident, Ginny galloped across the field. She could hear Broderick's bellow from halfway across the field and it made her smile. Screw you, jackass, she thought merrily as she continued to hold on. She began to sing Bob Dylan's Steelers Wheel: Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you.
Now was the time to put the rest of her plan into action. Quickly contrived and not very clever, she moved her horse directly in front of the Sinclair men. They all stood still, openly gawking at her, when she screamed, “I want to speak to the Sinclair laird.”
No one moved, they just continued to stare. Ginny wondered if they didn't speak English. So, in what could only be the most insulting of pronunciations, she said, “C'aite a bheil ceannard?” This finally elicited a response from the men. They began laughing uproariously. Some even fell over with laughter. Great, this is working great, Ginny thought watching the men enjoy themselves thoroughly.
Finally, a young man came forward and looked at her. Speaking English, thank God, he said loud enough for everyo
ne to hear, “I am the Laird Sinclair.”
The laughter died down and the men watched her carefully. Ginny knew she only had one shot at this and wasn't even sure what she was going to do. The whole plan depended on her thinking on her feet and acting quickly. Turning her head slightly to the side, as if sizing him up, she said, “A little young to be laird, aren't you?”
Raising an eyebrow, the young man scrutinized her back. He was tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders and huge muscles in his upper arms. His hair was an indistinguishable brown and his eyes were gray. His face was handsome, but hardly beautiful and he had a huge scar that ran across the bottom of his chin.
Ginny was thinking he should grow a beard to hide the scar, but then wondered if he was too young to manage one. The silence went on for under a minute, but it seemed much longer with all the tension everyone was feeling. Finally, he spoke, “The former laird, my father, died recently. I have taken his place.”
“Perhaps you can tell me why you plan to battle the McKennas today,” she asked the question so only the laird and a few others could hear.
The Sinclair laird moved a few steps closer and in response, Ginny directed the horse a few steps back. She did not want to be within striking distance of the laird. Seeing how she responded, the laird stopped.
“Did the McKenna send you here to ask?” he asked with an amused look on his face.
“Do you really think he would do that?”
“Nay. I think yar no' a good mistress. He may even kill ya for yar desertion.”
“I didn't desert him and I'm not his mistress,” Ginny marveled how quickly information moved around the Highlands despite a lack of technology. “My conscience dictates that I try to stop this bloodbath. Your blood, by the way.”
That brought a new round of laughter to those who could hear her. “What makes ya think we will lose?”
“Passion. They are so angry at you for what you did to one of them, they are beside themselves with revenge. They are focused and determined. What do you have?”
The laird's eyes narrowed. “What happened to his brother's wife was in retaliation.”
Before he could continue, Ginny asked, “Retaliation for what?”
“My father told us of what happened all those years ago. The raping of Sinclair women who found themselves anywhere near a McKenna.”
“What? When did that happen? I know that Ian has no idea why you're so angry with his clan. How long ago was that?”
The laird looked confused. He was hiding something, although she wasn't sure what. Ginny noticed that many of the men who had heard the conversation also looked uncomfortable. It suddenly occurred to Ginny what was going on. They were caught up in a revenge plan of someone else's making. They weren't even sure what they were fighting for and now that the person who wanted the revenge so badly, for whatever reason, was dead, they were simply carrying on where he had left off.
“You don't know, do you?” she asked incredulously. “Did it even happen? Can anyone in your clan corroborate his claims?”
“It doesnae matter. My father's dying wish was for every McKenna to pay for those sins.”
“You would risk your clan's lives for something you're not even sure happened? Do these men have wives and children to care for? You would make them suffer for revenge that may not even be warranted?” Ginny was beyond stupefied. She was struck dumb, not able to speak another word. There wasn't anything left to say.
The laird walked closer to Ginny, but this time she didn't make any retreat. He looked peaceable enough. She waited until he stood next to her and looked down at his face. There was great pain in his eyes. He spoke quietly, obviously not wanting his clan to hear, “Tis too late now, lass. When my father took the McKenna woman and sold her to those lowlanders, I knew that no McKenna would rest until he'd had his fill of blood. I canna blame them either. My father had us all convinced of his claims, but toward the end of his life, it became clear he was no' himself.”
“You would destroy your clan and the MacBains because you don't want to admit that your father was...” Ginny didn't know how to finish that sentence. “Maybe he suffered from a sickness that made him crazy. Ian never said anything bad about the Sinclairs before he found out about this treachery. He might understand that this fight wasn't yours, but your father's.”
“Could ya convince him...” he began as Ginny shook her head.
“No, you need to convince him. After this, he won't ever listen to me again.”
The young laird looked her in the eye, then yelled over his shoulder for someone to bring him his horse. “Why would a mistress go to so much trouble?”
“I told you I wasn't his mistress. I'm his wife.”
The laird's head snapped up to meet her eyes. His anger, fueled by how he would feel if his wife behaved the same way, was evident. But in a moment it was gone. He knew she had risked a great deal to prevent the battle. He owed her his gratitude. “If I cannae convince him, and ya need somewhere to live when the battle is over, I would be honored to take ya home with us.”
Ginny smiled. “I'll let you know. Get your horse and meet in the middle of the field. You may want to bring the MacBain laird as well.”
“Aye. Thank you Mistress McKenna.”
Turning her horse back toward the McKenna side, she said over her shoulder, “Don't thank me yet.” With that, she kicked her horse into a gallop and held on once again as she faced a far more imposing foe.
* Chapter 25 *
Ian saw her riding back and couldn't believe it. Why hadn't the Sinclairs kept her? She would be a bargaining chip in their favor. They probably didn't know he'd married her and maybe they didn't think Ian would be too concerned about a mistress. Whatever the reason, she was riding back to him, with a grim look on her face.
Ian noticed Broderick stiffen next to him. “Ya willnae touch her, Broderick.”
When the giant man said nothing in response, Ian turned toward him. “Ya willnae touch her, aye?”
Begrudgingly, Broderick nodded his head to indicate he would not touch her. If anyone got to touch her, it would be Ian. And certainly not in the way he did last night, in their wedding chamber. He was closer to strangling her. Sensing his anger, Ginny stopped the horse at least twenty feet away.
“Come here, now, wife!”
Ginny's eyes widened in fear, but she knew that if she was going to make this work, she needed his cooperation. Taking a huge leap of faith that he would hear her out before beating her unconscious, she dismounted from Broderick's horse. She then took the reins and walked the horse over to Ian. Before she could say a word, Broderick ripped the reins from her hands and took back his horse, again.
Ian just stared at her, as did the rest of the clan. They crowded around, hoping to hear her explanation, as well as her punishment. It was like those first few days all over again. All the progress she'd made with the clan had been destroyed. It was something she would be willing to live with as long as they didn't battle.
Before she could open her mouth to explain, Alec walked forward and glared at her. “How could ya, Ginny. Ya saw what they did to my Aileana. Ya know what they are capable of, but ya betrayed us anyway. How could ya do that to my wife?” Alec's face was filled with pain.
Ian hadn't taken his eyes off her the whole time. His face was like stone, but she could sense his anger seething under the surface. Ginny figured he was too mad to say anything. He needed to control his anger before he could speak. Suddenly Ian looked over Ginny toward middle of the field. There, on horseback, was the Sinclair and MacBain lairds, no weapons, waiting for Ian to join them. Ginny let out a sigh of relief.
Lifting her head haughtily, she stared at one man then the other. “I did what I thought was right. You may not agree and you may hate me forever, but please hear me out.”
Before she could continue, Broderick screamed at her, “Yar a traitor and if I hadnae given my word, I would have killed ya myself already.”
Ginny had tears in her ey
es. Taking a deep breath, trying to steady her voice, she said, “Ian, you told me you couldn't understand why the Sinclairs would do what they did. I decided to find out why. Their laird recently died and his son took over. He's willing to speak to you and try to explain. He wants to prevent the bloodshed.”
Alec snorted. “Of course he does. It would be his blood he is sparing.”
Ian continued to say nothing so Ginny kept talking. “He wants a chance to explain. I thought before you risk your clan and two others, you might want to hear what he has to say.” Ginny stared into Ian's eyes. Was there some softening there? She could only hope.
Broderick, barely containing his bitter contempt, questioned, “Why should we listen to them, Ian? They have no honor. And this whore has even less.”
Before she could think twice about it, Ginny yelled at Broderick, “You stupid idiot. You would risk your life, leave your wife alone, and not even know why. You want someone to kill that badly, fine! I give you permission to kill me, but only after Ian has spoken to the Sinclair laird.”
Stupid arrogant jackass, she thought. Ginny was shaking with anger. What more could she do? She didn't have this much trouble with the damn enemy. “Obviously, the choice is yours. Do what you wish.” Looking over her shoulder at the two lairds waiting in the middle of the field, she said softly, “They're willing to talk. What have you got to lose?”
With that, Ginny walked back to the abbey. Just like the first day, the McKennas were staring daggers at her, some spit at her feet, but no one laid a hand on her. The MacDonalds and the MacGregors were staring silently as well. I am the world's most pathetic romance novel heroine, she thought grimly. But what were these other feelings? She walked through the gate and back into the abbey.
* * *
Ian was dumbfounded. He didn't move for a full minute, considering what Ginny had said. Broderick was the first to speak. “Ya canna be thinking of going over there. Mayhap the whore has been in league with the Sinclairs all this time. It may be a trap.”
A Lesson in Passion Page 19
