"The only reason I spared your life today is because she’s still alive. I owed you for finding a way to get her out of the dungeons when I could not, but that debt is now repaid."
The lad locked gazes with him, an insane brightness lingering there.
"Do not attempt to contact her or reach her. You will leave her and I at peace until we depart or I will hunt you down and reveal to the king who really placed Henna in that cell."
Argyll nodded, but had the brains not to say a word.
When Ian returned to Malcolm’s house, the kirk’s men were searching door to door in Edinburgh, looking for Sorcha. It seems that once they discovered an old woman in her place at the dungeon, the king had issued commands to have her found. No one denied them entrance, at the cost of offending the king. When they arrived at Malcolm’s home, he invited them in, but inside he was boiling mad.
"Who informed the kirk she was missing?" he asked more casually than he felt.
The leader of the search snapped his attention to Lord Hunterston for a moment.
"The Earl of Argyll’s man. She’s wanted for witchcraft. Was supposed to burn with the others, but pleaded her belly in court, then left an old woman in her place."
Malcolm affected the air of an aristocrat.
"How long will this take? I’m to have a jacket fitted shortly."
"Not long, sir."
Inside the hidden cupboard in the wall, Ian and Sorcha were pressed together, chest to chest, both of them straining to hear the movements outside.
Ian reached out and cupped Sorcha’s cheek in his hand, lightly tracing his thumb against her skin.
In the room on the other side of the fake panel, the door opened and booted feet scuffed across the floor. She could hear them moving closer. Sorcha reached out and grasped Ian’s hand. He gave her a light squeeze of reassurance.
Then she heard Mary’s voice. The small hairs on her skin prickled.
"Aye, I’ve seen them," Mary said.
Sorcha sucked in a breath, and Ian clapped his hand over her mouth to keep her gasp from being heard.
"They were at a inn down on Crows Wynd."
Sorcha sank against Ian in relief. He removed his hand from her mouth to cup her face and brought it close to his.
"Thank you, Madame," bade a man’s voice.
As the heavy footfalls left the room, Ian came closer. He brushed her lips with a kiss. Sorcha responded, wrapping her arms around his neck.
A minute later the panel slid open and the light was nearly blinding after sitting in the dark. They broke apart.
Malcolm chuckled.
"Never did have a proper sense of timing, did you?" he jested.
Ian grinned.
"There’s a ship leaving at dawn from Leith. You’ve been booked passage upon it."
Sorcha leaned forward and gave Malcolm a peck on the cheek.
"Thank you, Malcolm."
He cleared his throat. "You best pack your things."
Ian grasped her hand.
"Why don’t you go start and I’ll be up in a bit. I’ve some unfinished business to settle with Malcolm."
Sorcha nodded. She walked to their room, a sense of uneasiness overtaking her. Tonight would be her last on Scottish soil. Inside a mixture of sadness and excitement wrapped around her heart.
Would she ever see her uncle again? What would become of Archibald? She took Ian’s fine linen shirt out of the drawer and hugged it close. It smelled of the heather laid in the drawer. She would miss home.
The door creaked open behind her and a swish of skirts accompanied by a waft of attar of rose alerted her to Mary’s presence.
"Feeling sentimental, m’dear?"
She was unsure how to feel about Mary. On the one hand, she was Malcolm’s wife and therefore her sister-in-law, and had been gracious during their stay here. On the other, Ian turned cold each time she came around, and she knew his instincts were good.
She turned to face the flame-haired beauty.
"Aye."
Mary gave her a cat-like smile.
"My advice is to make friends quickly." She paused for effect, drawing her finger down the polished wood of the bedpost. "That way when Ian tires of you, it’ll be less painful."
Sorcha tucked the shirt into their traveling trunk, then turned to the dresser as if Mary’s words had been nothing.
"Didn’t you hear me?" Mary asked, an impatient, rough edge to her voice.
"Aye." Sorcha picked up another of Ian’s shirts.
"Don’t forget, I know him well."
"As do I."
"And did you ken that he and I met while you were in prison, for a last liaison?"
Sorcha swallowed past the lump in her throat.
"He was so distraught that I knew I was the only one who could comfort him—. We talked about going to France together." She sighed, then gave Sorcha a pointed look.
"Never forget that your husband only married you for the money, lass."
Mary’s barbed words hurt, but Sorcha dug deeper, drawing strength from the memory of the fierceness of his eyes when he had claimed her to be his very soul; the touch of his hand soft against her skin in the dark of the night when he made love to her; the strength of his claim on her in a court when all wanted her dead. She didn’t need to be second best to this woman, or anyone else ever again.
Ian believed in her, and more importantly, she believed in herself.
She turned and faced Mary, stepping close enough so the woman could not mistake her words.
"Do you always act so foolishly when you know you’ve lost?"
Mary sputtered, but Sorcha wasn’t through yet.
"The fact is, lass, that you’ve never claimed more than a man’s staff in your life. You didn’t claim his heart and ye never will. It belongs to me, and me alone." She turned her back on Mary. "Now off with ye. I’ve to see to packing my husband’s things."
Mary whirled around and stormed to the door, bumping into Ian as he entered the bedchamber.
"Good day, Mary."
She huffed and stalked from the room. Ian stared after her retreating form.
"What is nipping at her heels?"
"The truth." Sorcha flashed him a grin. "It stings sometimes."
He opened his arms wide, and Sorcha willingly went to him. His hand sifted through her hair as her cheek lay against his chest.
"Did you ever think me a witch, Ian?"
He chuckled.
"Nay, not a witch. A sorceress of the heart perhaps, but never a witch."
She raised her head up and looked into his eyes.
"So you think there is such a thing as magic?"
He cupped her cheek in his hand. "Ahh, lass," he smiled in a way that made her weak, "never doubt love itself is magic."
Epilogue
Early in the dark of morning the trunks were piled onto the carriage. Sorcha gave Malcolm a hug. Ian extended his hand, and he and Malcolm shook.
"Godspeed to you both." His voice was thick with emotion.
"Thank you, Malcolm, for everything."
Malcolm yanked on his brother’s hand and gave him a crushing bear hug. Ian pulled back and turned to her, his eyes glazed with unspoken feelings.
It was good to know that they had made peace with each other. Sorcha smiled. They were very much like the other. After Mary’s last efforts pry her and Ian apart, and Ian’s confession to his brother that Mary had wanted him dead when she presented the deed to him, Malcolm’s patience with his wife had been reduced to rubble. He packed her off to live with a distant relative in the highlands.
Sorcha had received a missive the night before from her uncle wishing her happiness in her new life in France. He told her that Archibald had abruptly left his home when he had been sent packing from court as a laughingstock and had gone back to a highland holding of Clan Campbell.
Ian handed her up into the carriage and made to step in himself, then stopped. He turned back to Malcolm.
"I’m sorry about Mary."
Malcolm shook his head.
"Me too, but there’s nothing that can be done about it. If I’d had any sense about choosing a bride, I’d have never had chosen Mary. At least she’s in a place where she cannot damage anyone else."
"You didn’t send her to the hunting lodge, did you?"
Malcolm replied with a wicked grin.
"Aye. Think she’ll like it there?"
Ian laughed so hard, his eyes began to water.
"Nay, she’ll hate it, which is why it is so perfect."
Malcolm slapped Ian on the back.
"Let’s agree not to let anything come between us again, eh, little brother?"
Ian grabbed his brother in a great bear hug.
"Aye."
Malcolm stepped back and opened the door to the carriage, handing Sorcha up and giving Ian a curt nod as he entered the carriage. The door clicked shut and with the snap of the reins the carriage jolted into motion. They made their way down the twisting streets of Edinburgh on their way to Leith.
They arrived at the docks to board the ship that would take them home. The ship rocked gently against the harbor. Ian helped her down from the carriage, his hands about her widening waist. He held her close, then kissed her, before setting her down. Together, they walked hand in hand up the planking on to the Aregenon.
The deck bustled with activity while they made ready to sail. Sorcha leaned over the rail and inhaled the brisk salt air, feeling much more alive than she had ever remembered.
"Isn’t this exciting to be going to our new home?"
Ian twined his hand with hers and gave her one of those devastating smiles she would never get enough of.
"For me, home is wherever you are, lady of the wood."
The End
The Spellbound Bride Page 26
