A constant stream of well-meaning women had flowed in and out of the cottage, and all offered their sympathies and some with advice on conceiving despite what Gilda had said. None of them fooled her. She caught their pitying looks, looks that screamed, “Declan has moved on,” “You poor abandoned creature,” and “You were an idiot to trust him.” Who am I kidding? Those are my thoughts, but I’m sure the same ideas are flitting in their heads.
No small chatter of the day’s events filled the journey home, and her hand was unusually empty. She knew leaving Mary with Aalish had been the correct thing to do. If she was going to have it out with Declan, one way or another, the child needed to be spared the melodrama.
The only positive was that the five guards followed her back, and none had stayed to watch Mary. Her heart had no idea it could feel so bereft of love with Mary left behind and the uncertainty of her future looming before her. An evening without a bedtime story broke what was left of her shattered heart. Pulled from the dreadful thoughts by the sound of her name, she replied, “What?”
“I said the horizon grows dark. The soft rain ‘tis about to become a storm,” William said, walking at her side.
She didn’t care about rain or the thunder rumbling over the sea. Ruined silk seemed fitting. Instead of a reply, Emma kept walking.
“I had hoped the hair washing would lift your spirits,” William offered as they headed up the hill to the main gates.
Harsh laughter left her lips. “Sure, William. Clean hair is going to make everything hunky-dory. Gee, now that my hair is clean, the world is a beautiful place once again.” She stumbled over the too long hem of the wet silk gown. Stupid dress. With the day’s rain, the path had become a muddy slope, and the slippers were useless for any sort of traction.
After her bath that morning, she had found her chest void of the dresses Cortland had ordered made for her, as well as her doe-skinned boots. Added insult to injury, she had assumed. Let’s take away all my creature comforts too.
William steadied her steps by taking her arm in his hold and helped her up the steepest part of the path. “I warned you nay to trust him. Declan was the never the man who deserved you.”
For the second time in twenty-four hours, Emma lost it. She screamed at William while throwing off his protective hold, stumbling and sliding in the mud again in the process. Even off balance, she managed to push William away, not caring that Glenn’s men saw every moment. Somewhere deep inside, she knew she yelled at the wrong man but couldn’t seem to stop. Somehow it was all William’s fault that Declan had turned away from her, that Mary was in the village, that Cortland was still gone, and that her life was in turmoil. As if William controlled the universe, she railed, certain it was his fault the silk slippers made her slip and slide in the mud.
She stormed to the main entrance of the keep alone. Even William had his limits, and she had found them, all of them. She slid to a halt on the wet stones as Meggie emerged from the doorway with loaded saddlebags in her hands. It was the tears on the woman’s face that caused the most concern.
“What’s wrong?” Emma asked the woman who had always smiled and laughed. Fear pierced her veil of anger and made her regret staying so long away from the keep.
“Oh you poor, sweet child,” Meggie murmured as she handed the saddlebags to one of the stablemen who promptly tied it to a horse to the left of the door. Meggie’s gaze wandered the courtyard. “Where is Mary? What in the world will I tell that poor creature?”
“Meggie, look at me,” Emma said, taking the woman’s face in her hands. When their gazes locked, she replied, “Mary is in the village with Aalish. Given the argument I plan on having with Declan, it seemed the best option.” When loud shouts filtered outside, Meggie’s eyes fell to the ground. “What’s going on?”
The housekeeper’s face sobered immediately. “Stay here by the horse. Your da will be here shortly, I would imagine.” More shouts sounded from within the hall, and Emma heard Cortland and then Declan’s hostile voice answering, though the actual words were muffled by the distance. Then the yelling faded, leaving only the patter of raindrops on the stones lining the courtyard.
Turning to face the door, Emma felt Meggie’s grip on her arm. “Please, Emma, stay out here with me. What they say . . . you should hear none of it.”
“Cortland’s back,” Emma said with relief flooding through her.
“Aye, he rode in only a short time ago. It seems that the laird sent him on a fool’s errand. There were no matters to settle, and your father is livid, to say the least. Given what greeted him upon his arrival . . . dear me, I have never seen him so upset.” Meggie stopped speaking and shook her head. “I am so sorry.”
Given the whispers that had reached her over the last few days in her drugged stupor, Emma had a nasty idea of what Cortland walked into. Straightening her spine, she asked the question that she instinctively knew would have a horrible answer, “What did he see?”
For the first time she could remember, Meggie said nothing. That alone told her all she needed to know. The only question that remained in Emma’s mind was which woman. Like that even matters. Emma asked the only question she thought Meggie would answer. “Did you slip something into my cup?”
Meggie patted her cheek and nodded. “You needed to rest. I did what was best for you. Declan was correct—sleep heals. ‘Twas one order that made perfect sense to me.” Meggie’s face paled. “You should still be in the bed, nay trampling through the countryside. The rain is cold and threatens to become a powerful storm.”
Thunder echoed from the distance, and a flash of lightning lit the sea in the distance. For the first time since running into Meggie, Emma felt the clammy, wet silk against her skin. While cold, there was no comparison to the frigid sensation in the pit of her belly.
Declan drugged me.
Gently, she pushed Meggie’s hand aside while the notion of why she would be trampling anywhere raced in her mind. Turning her gaze to the horse and man who held him, a man whose eyes looked everywhere but at her, she asked, “What’s in the saddlebags?”
“Emma, please,” Meggie started.
“What is in the bags?” Emma demanded with her gaze back on the doorway she knew she needed to enter. Yet she knew deep in her soul the hall was the last place she wished to enter.
“The clothing your sweet father had made for you along with his clothing.” The admission came from a voice that cracked with sobs.
“Why?” While she asked the question, the possibilities of answers tore at her heart.
“The laird ordered me to pack them this morn when you bathed,” Meggie said softly. “I tried to tell him you were weak and should be resting . . .”
If Meggie finished the statement, Emma didn’t hear it. Pushing past the housekeeper, she entered the main doorway and found her path blocked by some of the warriors who clearly listened yet stayed clear of the confrontation.
“Enough, Cortland,” she heard Declan’s voice snarl. “You are done serving the clan. Besides, I have no need for your pious lessons.”
“How much have you had to drink, lad?” Even in her numbed state, Emma heard the insult. This argument must be completely out of control if he’s referring to Declan as a boy.
Cortland continued, “Since when did it become piety to question a married man who seeks the favors of someone other than his wife? You are a fool to throw away a marriage of promise. Dismiss me all you like, but ken this, Laird Draig, I am done serving you, and I will long regret the years I dedicated to you. You were never worthy of my daughter.”
The laird’s dark laughter rang in her ears while she pushed through the men. One tried to hold her back, but he received an elbow to his stomach as thanks. I need to see this. Dear God, I don’t want to see this.
Cortland stood at the far end of the hall facing Declan, who sat at a ben
ch with Ciara at his side, far too close to his side to offer any sort of hope to Emma. While many gathered to watch the chaos unfold, all the warriors and women who served within the keep lined the walls and spilled back into the various corridors; none seemed to want to be too close. The onlookers shared a common trait—a shocked expression.
“You think I am beneath your daughter? The lass should count her good fortune that I tolerated her for so long when all I needed was blood on the sheets.” Declan’s smirk had Cortland’s hands balled into fists at his side. Turning to Ciara, he said, “You would nay believe what I have had to endure for the last moon. The lass offers little for a man with great appetites.”
If, after hearing the statement, she had any air left in her lungs, the way Declan’s eyes locked on Ciara’s overflowing breasts would have stolen the rest.
“I can only imagine,” Ciara laughed. “Yet you will lose your lands and wealth to Glenn. Surely even an unwanted wife is worth it for the benefit.” Her saccharin voice made Emma’s stomach churn.
Emma knew Cortland had solved something when his shoulders straightened and she could see him sucking in a breath. Yet it was Declan who replied. “The edict stated I needed to be wed at twenty-eight. There is naught that claims I must remain wed.” Declan rose from the bench and fastened his unflinching gaze on Cortland.
It was her father who spoke next, his voice laced with an anger she had never before heard. “Even in your drunken stupor, you speak more than will ever be forgiven.”
Declan laughed and lifted a cup to his lips. Tilting his head back, Emma saw him swallow repeatedly. An empty cup dropped from his hands to clatter on the stone floor.
Maybe he’s drunk. He sure sounds drunk. Attempting to rationalize away the horror consuming her, deep down Emma knew the moment was more real than she would ever want to imagine.
Declan spoke, and what remained of her world crashed down to her feet. He spewed insults at Cortland, calling him too old to be effective, too weak to face the needs of the clan, and a man whose time had passed. A nasty smirk covered the lips that had previously whispered sweet endearments in her ears. “However, thanks need to be given for your aid in securing my title. You provided exactly what was needed, an untouched lass to bleed on my sheets. Her favors provided several weeks of entertainment though have lost their charm.”
He can’t possibly mean that. He told me I was his world.
“You son of a bitch,” Cortland snarled with his hand lifted over his head to clasp the sword strapped to his back.
“Hold that weapon,” Declan commanded. “I would nay have you slain by the warriors you have trained. The hall is full of men sworn to me, nay you.”
Cortland’s gaze never left Declan to search the crowd for assistance, which didn’t surprise Emma. To the man who claimed her as father, an oath was binding above all. He would never ask anyone to break one, even to save his life. His hand fell away from the sword.
Reaching down to the bench, Declan lifted a small leather bag closed with rawhide and threw it at Cortland’s feet. The bag made a clinking sound when it hit the floor. “When you seek a place in the world, let all ken you were fairly compensated for your years of dedicated service. The Draig pays his debts. There is enough silver to see you settled and a few extra coins for your daughter’s efforts. Though I would never have paid as much for the lass. Her skills are severely lacking.”
Moisture filled her eyes with each and every insult and taunt while her mind tried to grasp the situation. His perfect lips, ones that had worshipped every inch of her skin and cried out her name in what she thought had been ecstasy, delivered a cruelty she never would have believed possible four days earlier. If he would just physically hit me, it would be kinder.
What happened? Emma wondered as each and every slur echoed in her head and left her gasping for air.
Rage and hurt mixed with the blood rushing in ears, and her feet stepped forward to confront Declan, to demand that he say those things to her, not only about her. Not knowing what she would say, she took another mute step. Strong arms banded around her middle and trapped her arms to her side. A whisper reached her ear, though she had no idea which man held her, and spoke. “Nay, Emma. Let your father deal with him. Let me take you outside. You should nay have to hear such madness.”
Madness. The words seemed incredibly appropriate to her as Declan and Cortland hurled more insults at each other, too many of them involving her. The whole scene reeked of insanity, of a world gone wrong, or at the very least, a nightmare from which she might never wake. Please, someone make it all stop.
Her thoughts whirled to the man she thought she knew, the man she loved. She heard his previous declarations: when I call you wife, I speak it with love in my heart, and I wished only to marry you. Then those ghosts faded, and she only saw the cruel beast in the hall.
Lies, lies, and more lies. Declan has turned out to be everything I was afraid he would be: a man desperate to secure his title. A man who would stop at nothing to do so, the consequences be damned. A means to an end, is that all I ever was to him? Why would he be so cruel and make me love him?
While she struggled within the hold, she never truly fought. Her fight died, along with her spirit, when Declan lifted a rolled piece of parchment. She didn’t need to hear him state it was their marriage contract; her heart already knew.
Throwing the parchment into the massive fireplace at his side, Declan turned back to Cortland, while the flames destroyed the physical proof of what had been a mere convenience. “The marriage is over. You and your daughter will leave my lands now and never return. Dinna think to linger. A horse is readied for you with your belongings already packed. Be gone from my sight.”
Cortland said nothing as he turned to face the door, his face a mask of rage and wounded pride until his gaze found hers. Emma would have sworn pity filled his eyes when he noticed her. His head motioned forward, and the warrior holding her turned her to face the rain falling outside.
Emma opened her mouth to scream, and only air escaped. Not willing to go anywhere until she had confronted Declan, she pulled her arms up and out and broke his hold. When she faced the hall, Declan had turned his back to the scene with his gaze seemingly locked on the fire that burned the evidence of what had been their marriage. Her eyes locked on his bound hair and the dark thick bundle that reached the middle of his back. Even in her agony, she could feel it brush over her skin.
She made it three steps before Cortland had his arms around her and had lifted her off her feet. Twisting her body forced the hold to break, and Emma opened her mouth to speak but could find nothing to say. What do you say to a man who just called everything you thought real a sick and twisted joke?
“Declan,” her voice barely managed to whisper but not loud enough to be heard over the hushed din of the gathered assembly. Shaking her head to clear away the raw pain that threatened to tear her apart, she tried again. “Declan!” her voice echoed off the walls.
The laird’s slumped frame straightened to full height, yet he never turned to face her. His hand shot out like he was waiting for her to take it, and her foot moved forward despite Cortland’s sudden grasp on her arm. A spark flared in her heart that the last few minutes had been a mistake and that Declan would somehow make it all vanish.
Then the spark died when the laird said, “Ciara, bring the pitcher to my study.” A choked sob left her throat when the woman rose and took the hand that had belonged to her.
Memories taunted her. She has nothing I want, Declan had repeatedly said. She knew it was another lie to add to her growing pile of deceit.
Again, Emma spoke to his back. “Declan.” While she wanted to demand to know why he was throwing her away, why he so cruelly used her, she could only manage to call his name.
Ciara had the courtesy to turn her head to face her and answered with a cunnin
g grin on her lips. “I believe your wife wishes your attention.”
Declan’s hand closed over Ciara’s, and Emma felt her knees buckle even before he dealt her the deathblow. His cold, harsh voice filled the still air. “You are mistaken. I have no wife.”
Cortland’s arms lifted her from under her armpits to pull her from the floor. Tears blurred her vision of Declan’s arm tight around Ciara’s waist while the crowd gathered in the corridor leading to the study parted like the biblical red sea.
“Dinna fight me,” Cortland growled into her hair while he attempted to quiet her thrashing body.
Commotion erupted around her with bodies leaving the shadows and filling the hall. Emma pulled against Cortland, who dragged her unwilling form toward the front door. Unable to gain traction on the floor with the wet slippers trapped in the long, ruined gown, Emma slid despite her efforts to escape.
“No!” she screamed at Cortland though the cry had been truly meant for the man who destroyed her world. When Cortland pulled her to her feet, her elbow shot back to connect with what she assumed was his face given his grunt and the pain that shot through her arm.
“Help me,” Cortland called to one of the men. In a flash, her kicking feet were subdued by strong arms that made her struggles futile. Cold rain and wind buffeted her body that had been placed on the horse in the courtyard. Cortland prevented her from jumping off the beast and chasing down Declan.
With a grip that bordered on painful, Cortland growled, “We have only moments to escape. Several of Glenn’s men are running to the stables. I can only assume they mean to chase us because we are no longer protected on these lands. Hold still and let me save your life.”
He left me to die. The utter stark reality stilled her struggles, and she slumped into Cortland’s hold. Emma never saw the gate they passed through or the trail on which their journey began. She only saw the image of Declan leaving the hall with Ciara wrapped in the arms that had held her.
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