“Did ye hear me?” Angus growled, coming much too close to defiance, which Iain could not allow from any of his clansmen, even though he understood Angus’s ire and fully agreed that he deserved it.
“I heard ye. Now find a seat. I ken how I acted is unforgivable.”
“Aye,” Angus grumbled. “Ye dunnae deserve her.”
“I ken,” Iain replied. “But she’s my wife now, whether I deserve her or nae.”
“Aye, she is yer wife,” Angus snapped. “Ye’d be well served te remember that. She’s nae accountable for yer pain, but she could heal it.”
“Ye overstep, Angus. Go sit down with the others.”
The old stubborn Scot looked as if he might continue to argue, and Iain admired and appreciated how much Angus cared for Marion and how he was willing to bring trouble on himself in her name. But Iain could not tolerate it. His position as laird was finite; his order must be followed.
Angus’s mouth drew into a thin line, but he jerked his head in a nod and turned away. Before Iain could take a deep breath and get his emotions under control, Lachlan gripped his shoulder. “What’s the matter with ye?” he demanded in a low voice.
Iain stared at Lachlan, who would never be able to understand what was wrong with him. Iain had been so happy to see Marion when she’d first entered the hall that his blood had leaped at the sight of her. And then when he’d realized she was wearing Catriona’s wedding gown and his first thought had been how stunning she looked in it, he’d quickly tried to conjure an image of Catriona on their wedding day. But he could not. All he could see was Marion, her hair flowing and shining like the moon. He could not see beyond her luminous emerald eyes or the way their color perfectly matched the silk gown to even recall how Catriona’s eyes had looked in it. His dead wife’s wedding dress hugged his new wife’s gentle curving hips, tiny waist, and voluptuous breasts, and he heated with desire like he’d never known before her. His body hummed with the memory of how Marion tasted, felt, and smelled, and in that moment, his heart ached with feelings he’d not wanted but could not deny. She was inside of him and he was happy.
But what he was doing was unforgivable. He’d sworn never to forget Catriona, and now it seemed he was failing in another vow. He didn’t think he could stop what was happening, though.
“Iain,” Lachlan snapped, his tone annoyed. “Did ye hear my question?”
Iain looked at his brother, leaning toward him so no one would overhear. “Aye. I’m my own problem. I must find a way to reconcile what I vowed to Catriona with what I want.”
“What do ye want?” Lachlan asked.
“I want Marion.”
“Ye already have her.”
Iain rubbed his knuckles across his chin. “I want to take all she wants to give me.”
“Then take it, brother, but ye must return it, as well—and quickly, afore ye hurt her so greatly she nae wishes to offer it to ye anymore.”
Iain glanced sharply at Lachlan. “Ye almost sound as if ye speak from experience, but I ken that kinnae be.”
“Nay, it kinnae.” A dark look swept over Lachlan’s face, but he said no more.
Frowning, Iain followed the direction of Lachlan’s stare to the table where Bridgette sat with Graham and Elspeth. Graham put his arm around Bridgette’s shoulders and whispered in her ear, and Iain felt Lachlan stiffen beside him. He studied the subtle flare of Lachlan’s nostrils and the tick in his jaw.
“Do ye care for Bridgette?”
“Nay.” Lachlan had replied so quickly that Iain knew it was a lie.
But Iain also understood his brother did not want to discuss it. And he thought he knew why. “That’s good,” he hedged, “because I think Graham cares for her.”
Lachlan nodded. “Aye, he does verra much. I’m glad it appears she is finally seeing him as a man.”
Lachlan sounded anything but glad, but Iain didn’t comment further.
He turned his attention to Fiona and Elspeth, who appeared to be arguing. He thought about Marion and what she’d said about borrowing the gown. He watched Fiona as she violently shook her head at something Elspeth had said, and then suddenly both women looked at him. Elspeth stood up, but Fiona grabbed at her sister, and he understood his error, then. Fiona must have tricked Marion to humiliate her, and Iain had inadvertently helped her.
Ferocious anger overcame him as he slid out of his seat, descended the dais, and strode to the table where Fiona and Elspeth sat warily watching his approach. He stopped in front of the two sisters, a familiar pain moving through him for Catriona, but something now burned more fiercely in him: longing. He wanted desperately not to be miserable anymore.
He looked from one sister to the other. “Who gave Catriona’s wedding gown to Marion?”
“She did,” Elspeth blurted, pointing at her sister.
The blood drained from Fiona’s face, so Iain knew it to be true. “I want ye ready to leave my land tomorrow. Pack a trunk.”
Fiona scrambled out of her chair and grabbed his arm. “Iain, it’s nae as it seems!”
He scoffed. “Is it nae?”
A look of horror swept over Fiona’s face. “Nay, ye dunnae understand!”
Iain clenched his teeth to stifle the desire to shake the woman. “Did ye or did ye nae give Catriona’s gown to Marion, knowing it would make me angry?”
“I did, but—”
He took a firm hold of Fiona’s elbow and led her out of the great hall so the rest of their conversation would not be overheard. “Ye let Marion wear that gown in here nae knowing what she wore. I’ll nae have someone treat my wife that way.”
Fiona scowled. “And why nae? Ye dunnae love her.”
“Ye dunnae ken a thing about how I feel for her,” he ground out. “Listen carefully to me, Fiona. Even if I had never married Marion, I would nae have married ye. I did nae wish to marry again at all, until her. Now, go fetch yer sister and get her to help ye pack. John MacDonald has asked to marry ye, and I’m going to let him.”
Iain departed without a backward glance and raced to his bedchamber. All he wanted was to see Marion and beg her to forgive him, but when he burst through the bedroom door, he realized the chamber was empty—of Marion. The room itself was most assuredly full—of Catriona’s things. Her wedding gown lay on the bed along with the more serviceable gowns she had worn. They covered the bed fully, and Iain’s pulse ticked rapidly in his temples as understanding filled him. Marion thought there was no space for her in his life or his heart. He hastily stuffed the gowns into Catriona’s trunk and then dragged the trunk to Marion’s bedchamber, which was still unfinished. It didn’t matter because she was never going to sleep in there.
With the task he should have done the day they arrived at Dunvegan finally completed, he pondered where Marion might have gone. She was likely wandering about somewhere, possibly down below or even out on the rampart. Iain would start in the kitchen, where he knew she felt comfortable.
Kyla greeted him with wide eyes and a quick curtsy when he appeared in the kitchen entry. “Laird?”
“I’m looking for Marion,” he explained.
Neil’s wife furrowed her brow. “She’s nae here. I would think she’d be in the great hall with ye.”
Iain nodded. “She was, but I’m a fool.”
Kyla’s gaze widened further. “Maybe check the tower, if she thought to be alone.”
He nodded and strode out the door to the tower. He took the stairs three at a time, sure he’d find her there, but when he didn’t, he cursed, his anger at himself growing stronger. Next he checked the stables, where he found Angus, who must have slipped out of supper.
“Have ye seen Marion?” Iain called, breathless.
Angus shook his head, his brow wrinkling. “She is nae with ye?”
“Nay. I dunnae where she went.”
“I’ll help ye search,” the older Scot said, rushing Iain out of the stables.
Together they checked the herb garden and vegetable garden where there wer
e places to sit in seclusion, but they still did not find her. Worry obliterated his guilt for the moment. “Where could she be? Surely, she would nae go down to the water alone?”
Angus scowled at Iain. “Ye do nae ken her very well if ye dunnae understand she’d do such a thing. Her emotions triumph over her good senses sometimes, ye ken.”
“I ken,” Iain responded, his concern growing. What if she was so angry that she’d left the castle grounds for the woods? The idea of her wandering alone out there at night where wild animals were, or worse… His heart stuttered. His lands were well guarded, but what if Froste or de Lacy had sent someone to fetch her again?
Without a word of explanation, Iain stormed toward the great hall and burst through the door. The chatter in the room died instantly. “I want every man outside now to help me search for Marion.”
Before anyone could respond, the warning horn from the watchtower blew in five short bursts, signaling an enemy ship was near. Iain’s chest felt as if it were about to explode as men charged toward him.
“Arm yerselves for war,” he roared as he headed toward the wall where he always kept his sword. The clank of weapons being readied joined the hum of men talking, and soon Iain strode into the courtyard. His men poured out behind him, armed with swords, bows, and arrows. Iain, flanked by his brothers, Rory Mac, and Angus, led the charge down the seagate stairs, expecting to see the enemy rushing off a ship ready to attack. But when they reached the shore, a ship with a large banner depicting a swirling snake was sailing away under the bright moonlight.
Iain stuttered to a halt, momentarily confused. It was certainly Froste’s ship, so why was it leaving before seeing battle?
“Did they decide nae to strike?” Rory Mac asked, sounding just as bewildered as Iain.
At that moment, the man who ran the watchtower, Roland, stumbled across the ground. He fell at Iain’s knees. “Laird,” he rasped. “I’m sorry. I-I fell asleep. When I awoke, I saw the ship and sounded the horn.”
Iain’s heart tightened, each beat excruciatingly painful as he stared, frozen in shock, out beyond the loch to the distant sea. Why would they leave? he wondered. The possibility that they’d come for Marion and had found her out here, alone, angry, and hurt made fear and anger pulse within him.
“But why?” Lachlan asked, continuing Rory Mac’s line of questioning. “Why come here at all?”
Iain’s gaze locked on Angus. The old man had bent down to pick something up, and when he rose, he clutched a hair comb in his large hand. Iain stared at it as the image of Marion entering the great hall flashed in mind. Her hair had been pulled up at one side, and this comb… This comb had been Catriona’s.
“Marion!” Iain roared, reason fleeing him as he charged into the icy black water. Before he could dive under, hands grabbed onto him and tugged him back.
Lachlan clasped his shoulders. “Ye’ll nae rescue her that way.”
Coldness seeped through Iain, but it had nothing to do with the freezing temperature of the water. Fear ebbed in the back of his mind, but he shoved it away. There was no time for fear. No time for hesitation. No time for anything but to rescue Marion. He could not lose her. And when he reached Froste, or whoever of Froste’s or de Lacy’s knights had dared to take his wife, he was going to kill every last one of the men.
Marion awoke with the left side of her face pressed against the cold wet sand and rough grass. She attempted to sit up, but a strong wave of nausea overcame her. Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard voices, but she was afraid it might be Froste’s men still, so she dared not call for help. With a grunt, she rolled onto her back and breathed in long, measured breaths to calm her roiling stomach.
Her head pounded viciously, and when she raised a shaking hand to her temple, she touched something crusty, likely dried blood, on her forehead. She slowly pushed herself up to her elbows, the nausea still there but not quite as strong. From there, she managed to crouch, her stomach dipping with her movements. She parted the grass just enough so that she could see but hopefully not be seen. Her vision was slightly blurry, but shadows of men with torches swept along the shoreline.
Her breath seized in her chest as she remembered what Froste’s men had said they were going to do to Iain. If it wasn’t already too late, she had to get back to the castle and warn him of Froste’s plan. If she could stay low to the ground, she felt confident she could make it to the seagate stairs and up to the courtyard without being seen by Froste’s men.
Infused with determination to help Iain, she began crawling through the grass and over the rocks. The boulders were like a hundred small knives making precise slices across her hands and knees, but she bit back the pain that threatened to defeat her. When she came to the edge of the grassy area, she drew slowly to her feet, teetering where she stood as nausea washed over her wave after wave. She took a step, and her world tilted to the right.
Behind her, she thought she heard yelling, and panic caught in her chest. They’d seen her! Forcing her shaking legs to move was torturous. She tried to run, but her body was heavy and slow. The shouting behind her grew louder, and she pushed herself harder, her legs finally understanding her silent, desperate command. Dirt flew out to the sides as she ran, and when she reached the stairs, she scrambled up them frantically.
Two stairs. Four. Six. Twelve. Twenty. How many more? Thirty. Forty. Fifty.
She lifted her head to check, and everything around her dipped and spun. She tried to gain the next step, but her foot slipped. As she fell backward, a gut-wrenching scream ripped from her lungs.
At first Iain thought he was imagining Marion when he glanced toward the seagate stairs and saw her racing up them, her pale hair glowing in the moonlight and blowing behind her in the wind. But when Angus started shouting her name, Iain knew a moment of such sweet relief that a shudder ran through his body. He blinked and the respite ended as she swayed precariously. His heart lurched with the knowledge of what was to come, what he could not stop. She flailed her arms wildly about her, and he darted his gaze downward, counting the steep steps to the unforgiving ground. Fifty steps.
The world around him abruptly fell away. All sound faded. His vision tunneled onto her, only her. Tumbling. Falling. Hitting the bottom step and lying still. His guttural cry pierced the hum in his ears as he charged toward her, the rough terrain slowing his progress in a torment worse than any he’d experienced in his life. He fell hard to his knees, the stone steps cutting into his skin, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered but her. He’d trade his life to make certain she kept hers.
He gathered her limp, wind-chilled body in his arms. “Marion,” he cried out.
She did not move. Did not respond.
“Marion, open yer eyes,” he demanded, his throat aching with each syllable he choked out. “Ye will nae die!” he ordered, even as his mind shouted that she might.
Dried blood had caked on her forehead while fresh blood seeped from her blue-tinged upper lip. His hand shook violently as he lifted his finger to her lips and wiped away the blood, so warm against her icy skin. “Please, Marion,” he whispered, burying his head in the curve of her neck and holding her tightly. “I need ye,” he admitted brokenly in her ear.
“I need you, too,” she whispered.
He jerked upward and gaped at her. “Ye’re nae dead!”
She offered a faint smile. “Not yet, but if you keep holding me so tightly, I may still succumb.”
He pulled her closer and held her against his chest with care, relishing in the faint beat of her heart against his. After his trembling subsided, he held her far enough away that he could see her eyes. A crowd had gathered around them, but he didn’t care. He caught her glorious gaze. “I’m sorry. For how I responded in the great hall and for making ye feel there was no place for ye in my life.”
The smile she gave him lifted him all the way out of the darkness he’d dwelled in for far too long. She pressed her cold hand to his cheek. “I forgive you.”
Nineteen
When Marion awoke, the first thing she saw was Iain slumped in a chair beside the bed. She moved her hand to his and brushed her fingertips over his skin.
His eyes popped opened, and he jerked upright. “Ye’re awake.”
She swallowed, her throat dry. “How long have I been asleep?”
“A full day. How do ye feel?”
“Stiff,” she said as she looked to where the trunk had been. She wanted to know what he had done with it, but she preferred he offer the information. She did not wish to ask. When she pulled her gaze back to his, he was staring at her.
He took her hand in his, brought it to his lips, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I’m verra sorry for my part in yer injuries.”
Marion’s brows dipped together. “You had no part in my injuries. I slipped.”
“Ye would have never been alone outside in the first place had I nae yelled at ye for wearing Catriona’s gown.” His face was set in hard lines. “I’ll nae make excuses for my response. I—”
“You love her,” Marion supplied, wishing to spare him the worry of hurting her by saying the words. “You love her, and it pained you to see me in her gown. I understand.”
His blue eyes glittered with the hurt he was feeling. “Ye dunnae understand,” he replied. “It pained me because when I saw ye in it, I could nae remember what she looked like when she’d worn it. All I could see was ye. All I could feel was my desire for ye. I swore to her that I’d nae forget her.”
She took a quick breath of utter astonishment. “You’re afraid you’ll forget her if you let yourself love me?”
“Aye.” The word was a single one, a small one, but drenched with misery deeper than the sea.
Her throat ached with the need to argue, but what words were there to convince him he’d not forget Catriona? She could not imagine loving someone as Iain had loved Catriona and then ever forgetting him. Yes, Iain’s memories would likely fade a bit, and he’d make new ones with her, but loving someone new would not erase the love he’d felt for Catriona.
When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) Page 26
