Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection ( Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection (The Moirra's Heart Series Book 3))

by Suzan Tisdale

  “So ye killed Delmar so that ye could have Moirra to yerself?” Finnis asked.

  “Aye.”

  “And Moirra had no knowledge beforehand, of what ye felt or what ye planned?”

  “Moirra did no’ ken anythin’ beforehand.” That much was true. Moirra hadn’t an inkling that Delmar Wilgart was a coward who preyed on innocent young lasses.

  Finnis let out a long, frustrated sigh. He knew he was being lied to. There was no doubt in his mind that there was much more to this story than he was being told. “Ye realize ye could hang fer this?”

  Alysander nodded again. “Aye, I do.”

  If Finnis was correct in his assumption, the King’s cousin was a fool who was completely willing to die to save his wife. Finnis did not believe there was a woman on this earth worth dying for.

  “Alysander McCullum,” he said as he sat forward in his chair. “Ye shall be held here in Glenkirby—”

  Almer stepped forward, appalled and angry. “Ye canna mean to accept this man’s word!”

  Finnis shot to his feet and leaned over the table. “Almer Wilgart, if I hear one more word out of yer mouth this day, I swear I’ll have ye bound, gagged, and thrown into the cell next to Alysander!”

  Almer was not a complete fool. He clamped his mouth shut and stepped away from the dais.

  “Alysander, ye shall be held here indefinitely, until we are able to sort this all out.”

  Almer started to speak, thought better of it and took yet another step back.

  Finnis looked directly at Almer when next he spoke. “Almer, if anythin’ happens to Alysander, I will hold ye personally responsible. He may well have admitted guilt in the murder of yer brother, but remember, he still be the King’s cousin. Do no’ ferget that.”

  Finnis did not wait for any response from anyone else as he left the dais. He stopped halfway down the steps to give one final order. “I hereby release Moirra McCullum as well. She shall remain free until me return.”

  Twelve

  At first, Moirra had no idea where she was and had little recollection of how she came to be there. However, she did remember most of the events of the morning. She could remember her daughters’ dejected faces when they’d seen her for the first time in weeks. She could also remember Alysander, looking just as dejected, just as despondent even though he tried to paint a smile for her. What happened after that was a nonsensical blur.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Deirdre sitting on a little stool next to the small bed. When she tried to sit up, Deirdre gently pushed her back. “Wheesht, Moirra,” Deirdre whispered. “Ye need to rest.”

  “I need a bath,” Moirra argued. “And I need to get to me daughters.”

  “I ken ye need a bath, Moirra. William and Phillip are fillin’ the tub below stairs. I only ask that ye rest until it be ready.”

  Too tired and cold to argue, she let her head fall against the pillow. “I fear ye’ll need to burn these bed coverin’s, fer God only kens what be crawlin’ on me clothes or in me hair.”

  Deirdre giggled slightly and smiled. “That be why I put ye in Thomas’ bed.”

  Moirra closed her eyes as she felt a wave of nausea roll over her. “I was never this sick with me girls,” she whispered.

  “Then it must be a boy ye carry,” Deirdre said softly as she dipped a clean cloth into the basin. “Or mayhap it be just because ye carry Alysander McCullum’s child.”

  Moirra was too tired to comment, but had to agree that either one or both were strong possibilities. Deirdre wrung out the cloth and began to wipe Moirra’s face and neck.

  “Deirdre, where be me daughters and Alysander?” Moirra asked, her voice growing softer, weaker.

  “Do no’ worry over them now, Moirra. Ye’ve a fever and ye need to rest. They be well and ye’ll see them soon. Fer now, we must concentrate on gettin’ ye better.”

  “And clean,” Moirra mumbled before drifting off to sleep again.

  When she finally woke some few hours later, she was surprised to find that she had not only been bathed, but she was now snuggled deep into a warm bed. Deirdre sat next to the bed, holding Moirra’s hand. Moirra tried to sit up, but the action made her head spin. “What happened?” she asked, her throat and mouth feeling quite dry.

  A relieved smile formed on Deirdre’s face. “Och, lass! Ye gave us quite a scare.”

  “How did I get here?”

  Deirdre’s smile waned ever so slightly. “Finnis set ye free.”

  Moirra tried to shake the cobwebs from her mind. “Free?” she asked. “Why? How?”

  “Wheesht,” Deirdre whispered. “Do no’ fash over it now, Moirra. Ye need to rest and regain yer strength.”

  Moirra’s stomach began to feel queasy again. She rested a hand on her stomach, fear tightening deep in her chest.

  “Yer babe be fine,” Deirdre reassured her. “As long as ye stay abed and try to eat, ye shall be havin’ that babe come spring.”

  Moirra let out a relieved sigh. “Where be Alysander?” she asked. She nodded back to sleep before hearing Deirdre’s reply.

  * * *

  The bath was meant to help break the fever as well as wash the weeks’ worth of gaol filth away. Though Deirdre had sworn to her that the water was as hot as Hades, Moirra thought it felt as cold as ice against her skin. Or was that the second bath? The fever was muddling her thoughts, her memories, and it made her feel angry and frustrated.

  How many hours had passed since leaving the gaol, she did not know. All that she knew was that her daughters and Deirdre were hovering over her like mother hens to their chicks. Where was Alysander? Why did she feel so cold? The world around her was a blurry mess. Her head pounded, her eyes throbbed, and every muscle and bone ached with an intensity she could not ever remember experiencing before.

  “Where be Alysander?” she asked. “Me girls? Where be me girls?”

  “Wheest, Moirra,” Deirdre said, urging her to not worry and to try to rest.

  “But I need them. I need Alysander,” she insisted, with as much strength as she could muster.

  In and out of awareness, hours seemed like moments, or were they days? Moirra lost all sense of time. The only thing she was certain of was that she felt quite ill and cold and extremely tired. She also desperately wanted to go home, to be wrapped up in Alysander’s arms, to hear the soft sound of his breathing, to feel his heart beating against her own.

  Home.

  She hadn’t truly felt at home or at peace since her parents’ deaths. But with Alysander, she began to get a taste of it again and desperately she wanted to hold on to it all the rest of her days. But where was he? Why wasn’t he here to hold her, to take away the bone-deep cold that enveloped her? Mayhap he was busy rebuilding their cottage so that they could all go back there soon and live together again. That thought was the only thought that brought her any comfort.

  Thirteen

  The fevers raged on for days. So much so that Deirdre worried that Moirra would not survive from one hour to the next. Toward the end, Deirdre did more praying than healing, for there really was nothing left for her to do. She had tried cool baths, every herb known to break a fever and a few that were questionable. Nothing worked. In the end, ’twas all in God’s hands and Moirra’s determination to stay alive.

  On the afternoon of the sixth day, Moirra started bleeding. ’Twas light at first, nothing that meant she was losing her babe. But the following day, the bleeding increased and there was nothing Deirdre could do to stop it.

  * * *

  “Alysander?” Moirra called out his name as well as her daughters’ names over and over again. The fever was relentless, unyielding.

  As Deirdre applied cold cloths to Moirra’s forehead and neck, she whispered words of encouragement and comfort. “Ye’ll be well soon enough, Moirra. Ye’ll see. Yer too stubborn to die just yet.”

  “Deirdre?” ’Twas Orabilis who spoke, standing in the doorway. “Will me mum die?”

  Deirdre offered her a warm s
mile. “No’ if I have anythin’ to say about it. Do no’ worry it, child. Yer mum be a strong woman. ’Twill take more than the ague to take her from ye.”

  Orabilis did not look completely convinced. “It took her first husband.”

  Deirdre let loose a heavy breath. “Come here, Orabilis,” she said as she held out one hand.

  Hesitantly, Orabilis came to stand beside her. Deirdre wrapped her arms around her, drawing her in. “I do no’ want ye to worry, Orabilis. We will get yer mum through this.”

  When Orabilis withdrew, her eyes were damp. “I do no’ have anyone else.”

  “Och! Orabilis that be no’ true. Ye have yer sisters, ye have me. We will always be there fer ye, as will as yer mum.”

  Moirra’s eyes fluttered open. They were glassy from the fever. “I be no’ goin’ anywhere,” she mumbled before closing her eyes again.

  Orabilis smiled, though still wary of her mother’s illness.

  “Ye see, lass?” Deirdre asked. “Ye heard it right from yer mum’s own lips.” She hoped her smile would offer some kind of encouragement.

  “Aye,” Orabilis said as she climbed onto Deirdre’s lap. “But if she does no’ make it, I swear to ye now that when I grow up, I will kill Almer Wilgart.”

  If such a declaration had been made by any other six-year-old child, Deirdre would have scoffed with disbelief. However, Orabilis Dundotter was not a typical six-year-old child. I pray now fer any man brave enough to marry ye when yer aulder, child.

  Fourteen

  The more Alysander paced the small confines of the gaol, the angrier he became, mostly with himself. Not for having confessed to the murder of Delmar Wilgart, but for not having done it sooner. If he had confessed sooner, his beautiful wife would not have had to suffer the filth and indignity of this Godforsaken place.

  Moirra carries me child.

  What would become of them, of their child? Alysander was doubtful that Moirra or their children would ever be able to get over the stigma of having been accused of murder. What hope did they have of living a normal existence?

  It had been three days since his confession. Repeatedly, he had asked for quill and parchment so that he could write to Moirra, explaining to her why he had done what he had done. His request had been denied each time.

  God’s teeth how he missed her! He wondered if she had come to see him yet. Was she even well enough to do so? His experience taught him that if she had, she would have been turned away, just as he had been when their positions had been reversed.

  And the girls? He worried over them. Were they all now conspiring to plan his escape or, worse yet, were they preparing to go to Almer and confess? He prayed that Moirra would be able to stop them from doing either of those things.

  And what of William McGregor? Alysander had hired him to act as counsel for Moirra. Had he washed his hands of the entire debacle? Alysander could think of no other reason as to why William had not come to speak with him yet. In truth, Alysander would not blame him if he had.

  And Finnis. His one and only true friend had not come to see him, but how could he? With George and Harry watching over Alysander’s every move, there was a good chance that Finnis could not risk visiting. If word spread of such a visit, the tongue-wagging would never cease. If anyone learned of their friendship, Finnis might very well end up being in danger of being hung right next to Alysander. If the townspeople grew angry enough, or were worked into a frenzied state of hatred, God only knew what they might do. He could well imagine Almer Wilgart doing just a thing as that; working the crowd into a state of frenzy and hysteria.

  Nay, for now, it remained safest for Finnis to stay away, for everyone he loved to stay away.

  The not knowing what was happening outside the walls of the gaol was the worst part of his incarceration. Being secluded, kept away, left his mind to wander hither and yon for hours a day. Fretting and worrying over his wife and their babe and his stepdaughters, uncertain what would become of any of them, and knowing he could most likely hang at any moment, ate away at his confidence and hope.

  How could he help his family from inside the gaol? How could he ensure they had a future without him? A future where Moirra would not have to be forced to handfast or marry yet another man? ’Twas doubtful any man would ever be inclined to marry her. Guilt tightened around his heart for finding comfort in knowing she’d never marry again. The thought of her in the arms of another man was enough to send him into a fit of rage.

  Raking his hands through his hair in frustration, he went to stand under the small window. The rain had let up a few hours ago and now the sun shone brilliantly — or what he could see of it — through the small window. How many more sunrises would he see before they hung him? How many sunsets? Would he ever see Moirra again?

  Nay, he didn’t want her to be there when they hanged him. He would beg again for parchment and quill or for William to come to the gaol so he might make his last wishes known.

  Moirra.

  She had been the single best thing that had ever happened to him. Moirra and her daughters had shown him what a real and honest family was. So completely opposite his upbringing, especially after his mother had passed away. He was thankful, wholly thankful for the little time he had been given with Moirra and her daughters. That was the one thing he would take with him to the gallows; the sweet, blissful memory of his time with them.

  He could go with peace knowing that he had experienced the love of his wife, the love of daughters he now considered his own.

  * * *

  William McGregor was neither an uneducated nor foolish man. He wished he could say the same for Alysander McCullum. While Alysander might be educated, he was as big a fool as any William had ever known. Still, he considered him a friend of sorts. And when he saw how happy Alysander made Moirra? Well, that was enough to raise his opinion of the man.

  But when Alysander confessed to murdering Delmar Wilgart, William knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man was both insane and in love. A deadly combination as ever there was.

  So when Finnis enlisted his aid in helping to ensure that Alysander McCullum would not hang, William was eager to help. He would do almost anything to make certain Moirra was happy. And if her husband were hanged? There would be no getting over that loss.

  William had loved Moirra Dundotter ever since he was a lad of five. She had been such a kind, sweet little girl who had grown into a fine woman. There had been a time when he would have married her if he had possessed the courage to ask.

  But time changes people and for that, he was thankful. Happily married now for three years, the father of one bright, beautiful son with another child on the way. He adored his wife, Joanna, and the little family they’d begun. Though he still held a special, secret place in his heart for Moirra, he now looked upon her as a second sister. He adored her just as much as he adored and cherished his sister, Deirdre, and would do anything he could to protect either one of them.

  Joanna knew that, at one time, William had more than just a friendly, brotherly liking of Moirra, but she also knew she had been the woman to win his heart. One of the things Joanna said she loved most about him was his strong sense of duty and family. Therefore, when he had gone to her three days ago to let her know that he would be gone for a few weeks, she did not argue. Instead, she helped him pack, making certain he had clean clothes and enough food to feed an army. But she made him promise her that he’d be back before she gave birth to their next child. He had four weeks. ’Twas enough to make a man go mad, being away from his wife and family and having the fate of another man’s life resting on his shoulders.

  Now, he was on his way to Stirling with a letter from Finnis Malcolm that he was to personally hand-deliver to Robert II. If meeting with the Guardian of Scotland wasn’t enough to make a man shite his pants, then nothing would.

  Riding with him were two of Finnis’ men, Bruce and Alec. While they may have much experience in all this riding back and forth, the politics of being in the K
ing’s court and the like, William did not. Until the past few weeks, he was a simple man, a crofter, leading a simple life. Now, he was thrust into the center of what could only be described as insanity.

  Bruce and Alec, men of dark hair and quiet demeanor, said very little as they rode like demons across the countryside. William supposed that was best, for what would they have to talk about? What with him being a simple crofter and they being members of the King’s guard.

  Once this was all over, he swore he would never allow himself to be embroiled in someone else’s battle. Unless of course it was someone in his immediate family, then there would be no hope for him.

  The only exception would be if it were his eldest brother Thomas. Nay, if Thomas got himself into this kind of trouble, there was a strong possibility that William would allow him to hang. He reckoned most of the troubles happening to Moirra and Alysander at the moment were because of Thomas and his dark soul. ’Twas a sorry thing a man had to say about his own brother, but ’twas true just the same. Thomas McGregor was a cruel bastard.

  He hadn’t always been that way. Nay, there had been a time when Thomas was a good, decent man. But their father had literally beaten all the goodness out of him. Of that, William was truly sorry. They had all been the recipient of Phillip McGregor’s heavy hand and dark heart, but Thomas had suffered the worst, even as he grew into a young man. Phillip the senior for whom Phillip the younger had been named, was as bitter and angry a man as William had ever seen. It wasn’t discipline he meted out, but cruel, harsh punishment.

  How they’d all survived was anyone’s guess. Divine intervention William supposed.

  Fifteen