Banished & Welcomed: The Laird's Reckless Wife (Love's Second Chance Book 14)

by Bree Wolf

  Her lips parted, and she seemed on the verge of replying when her mouth closed once again, and a hint of frustration came to her eyes. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, clearly contemplating what to say, before she huffed out a breath in annoyance. “All I can say,” she whispered as though afraid someone would overhear, “is that…that a situation will soon present itself and that the only one to solve it is Garrett MacDrummond.”

  For a long moment, Cormag stared at her, watching the way the muscles in her jaw tensed as she gritted her teeth. He saw her clasp her hands together tightly and steel come to her eyes as though she feared he would mock her. “A situation? What kind of a situation?”

  Exhaling a long breath, Moira rolled her eyes. “I canna say more. I need to go.” In a flash, she spun around and hastened toward the door.

  Cormag’s heart jumped into his throat, and without thought, he found himself rushing after her. “Wait!” Pushing the door closed before she could open it beyond a small gap, he placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to turn around.

  Her eyes were wide as Moira turned to face him. She instantly retreated until her back was against the door. Still, she did not drop her gaze nor lower her head.

  “I’m sorry.” Seeing the way her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, Cormag took a few steps back. Although Moira was not a small woman, he still towered over her, and even without his gift, he could tell that he had…frightened her? “Why can ye not tell me more?”

  Her sky-blue eyes roamed his face, weighing his words and searching for something that would tell her how to proceed. She was more than reluctant to share what she knew. She was clearly…afraid? Considering what little she had said, Cormag surmised that it had something to do with her gift. Had she seen something?

  After a small eternity, Moira swallowed, then licked her lips. “Send him to the border,” she said, an almost pleading note in her voice.

  “Now?”

  “Ye’ll know when.”

  Cormag frowned, searching her face. “Why?” He could not deny that he was intrigued and desperately wanted to know more. Never had he spoken to another who shared such a gift. “Why is this so important to ye?”

  Although Moira did not drop her gaze, she remained silent. Still, her lips seemed to move as though she too desperately wished to say more but did not dare.

  “I canna do as ye ask without knowing why,” Cormag said as he looked down at her. Her eyes still held his, and although he could not read her heart, he felt the warmth of her skin and smell the sunshine in her hair. The soft scent of wildflowers lingered near her, and he remembered how she had sat under the grove of trees earlier that day.

  Her eyes were hard, but at the same time, they held something vulnerable. “I promise ye that this will lead to no harm. I swear it.”

  Cormag swallowed, reminding himself that he could not in good conscience grant her request without knowing more. Still, his heart told him that there was no deceit in her words.

  Closing her eyes, Moira sighed, “My vow is not enough, is it? Not after what I’ve done.” Shaking her head, she turned around, her feet carrying her back and forth between him and the door.

  Watching her, Cormag saw her turmoil, saw how torn she was. Obviously, her request was important to her; still, she feared its consequences. Had a similar situation led to her banishment? Although Cormag knew the essence of what had happened back then, that she had betrayed her laird out of jealousy over his marrying an English lass, Cormag had always known that there were some things that eluded him.

  Her feet stilled, and once more her blue eyes settled on his. “Garrett will find the woman he’s meant to be with in Gretna Green in five days.”

  Cormag stared at her, seeing her jaw quiver as she waited for him to absorb her words.

  “If he doesna go,” she continued, “Fate will never lead them together again, and his son will never be born.” Moira swallowed, and he could see a tear forming in the corner of her eyes. “It has to be now.”

  Cormag exhaled a slow breath. Then he stepped toward her, his eyes searching her face. “How do ye know this?”

  Moira licked her lips. “I’ve seen it.” Again, her jaw quivered, and she gritted her teeth. “I know ye’re not one to believe in such things, but ‘tis the truth.”

  Cormag almost laughed, wondering about the irony that he who possessed a similar gift was considered one to deem such things no more than fairy tales. “Do the things ye see always come to pass?”

  The expression on Moira’s face froze as she stared up at him, clearly shocked by this indication that he might believe her. “Nay, not always,” she whispered, and a sadness darkened her blue eyes that spoke of pain and regret.

  After a moment, her shoulders pulled back and she lifted her chin. “Please, do this. I swear ye will not regret it.” Then she turned and walked away, closing the door behind her.

  As she hastened down the corridor, her footsteps echoing to his ears, Cormag still felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. A part of him wanted to go after her, but he knew even catching up to her would not bring him more answers. She had shared with him all she was willing to and would say no more. The question was, did he dare trust her?

  Did he dare trust that she spoke the truth and send his oldest friend to the border? If something were to happen to Garrett, Cormag would never forgive himself.

  The woman he’s meant to be with.

  Hearing Moira’s words echo in his mind, Cormag turned to the window, his eyes once more gazing out at the green hills. What if he did not send his friend, and Garrett lost his one chance at happiness? Would he forgive himself for that?

  Bracing his hands against the windowsill, Cormag wondered what he would do when the time came. Five days, Moira had said. So, the situation she had spoken of−whatever it was−would present itself soon.

  And soon he would have to decide.

  Cormag could only hope that he would not choose wrong.

  3

  A Rare Day

  Standing in the courtyard around midday, Moira stared at the three clansmen mounting their horses, provisions and a bedroll strapped to their saddles. The look in their eyes was one of determination mixed with a hint of annoyance. Still, Finn and Garrett were chatting cheerfully with one another. Only Ian seemed glum, his eyes downcast, his thoughts clearly directed inward.

  Moira clutched the basket with bread she held to her side, her fingers tightening on the handle, as she felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes. Were they deceiving her? She wondered, then blinked, only to see that the three riders where still there, now waving to their friends and families as they spurred on their horses.

  Swallowing, Moira gritted her teeth against the overwhelming emotions that seized her in that moment. Never would she have thought that the MacDrummond laird would believe her, heed her words and act upon them. She had only gone to him to fulfil her duty, to avoid regrets, to know that she had done all she could to assist Fate.

  Without thought, Moira followed the three riders until she reached the front gate, where she stopped and leant against the rough stone. There she stood for a long time watching them ride off into the distance, bound southward, toward the border and Gretna Green.

  Moira hoped with all her heart that her gift would not betray her again, that no harm would come to Garrett as she had promised.

  As she had promised Laird Cormag.

  Moira remembered the shrouded grey of his eyes as though he too was concealing something from the world. He struck her as a man familiar with keeping secrets. Nevertheless, she doubted that his secrets went beyond the nature of everyday clan affairs. Still, from the first, she had thought him trustworthy, and so Moira had gathered her courage and gone to him with what she knew.

  And he had listened to her. More than that. He had believed her, had he not? Or had she been mistaken? After all, she had hardly spoken more than a few words to the man in all her time with Clan MacDrummond.

  Not since that f
irst day when they had met in his study had Moira ever sought him out, and neither had he. She had sensed a certain apprehension in him whenever their paths had crossed by accident, and it had saddened her to think that he disliked her.

  Still, she could not blame him, could she?

  Again, Moira recalled the way he had stopped her from leaving his study. He had stood so close, his warm hand on her shoulder, urging her to look at him.

  After the distance that had always been between them, Moira’s senses had been overwhelmed by the way his presence affected her. Certainly, her heart had always skipped a beat whenever they had happened upon one another. However, to have him stand so close, to have his grey eyes looking into hers had been unexpected and…completely exhilarating.

  And in that moment, Moira had once again wished she could erase her past and have a chance to find happiness. Aye, most days she was content, knowing herself to be fortunate to have been given the chance to live with Clan MacDummond. However, occasionally, a quiet little voice deep inside spoke up, whispering of a longing Moira had buried the day she had realised that she had indeed betrayed her own kin.

  All her hopes had died that day.

  Never to rise again.

  Or so she had thought.

  From the moment her gaze had met Cormag MacDrummond’s that day two years ago, her heart had reawakened, and no matter how often she reasoned with it, it would not listen. It still wanted and wished and desired, and occasionally, Moira let it have its way, basking in the soft emotions she never thought she would ever know.

  And now, Cormag had heeded her words, placed his trust in her, and she felt her heart warm with gratitude. To be considered trustworthy again after all she had done brought fresh tears to her eyes, and Moira realised how much she missed the warmth of her family, of her own clan, the companionship and respect that had always been a part of her life.

  But that life was no more.

  What Cormag had given her was a small mercy, and she could not hope for more.

  She needed to find a way to be content with what she had and not long for anything beyond that or disappointment would find her yet again.

  Turning away from the receding figures of the three riders, Moira once again prayed that all would be well. That Garrett would find happiness. That her dreams were not taunting her yet again. If so, her fate with Clan MacDrummond would surely be sealed.

  Walking down the path into the village just outside the walls of Seann Dachaigh Tower where she shared a small cottage with her aunt, Moira heard voices as she approached the small structure. Quietly, she drew closer, and peeking around the side of the cottage, she spotted Fiona standing in the vegetable patch, her hand lifted to shield her face from the sun.

  That was nothing unusual; however, her aunt was not alone.

  Duncan MacDrummond, fair and tall like his nephew Ian, stood in front of her, a deep smile on his bearded face as the two of them conversed. Moira could not quite make out the words that were spoken; however, she saw the slight blush on her aunt’s face and doubted that it had been caused by the sun.

  The way the two of them gazed at one another, a hint of nervousness in their laughter, in the way their eyes flitted up and down, meeting and then not daring to, brought a welcome warmth to Moira’s chest. After all her days of loneliness, Fiona deserved to be happy again and perhaps Duncan MacDrummond was just the man for her.

  Moira could only hope so.

  Sneaking into the cottage, Moira set down her basket in the small kitchen before rummaging through her herbs, selecting a few to be taken to Mrs. Brown for cooking. The old cook had been a bit apprehensive at first, but was now grateful for Moira’s diligence in collecting, drying and delivering the herbs that would enrich her meals. Once again, this task gave Moira a sense of usefulness, and she could not deny that she revelled in Mrs. Brown’s appreciation.

  Glancing around the corner of the cottage, Moira smiled when she saw her aunt and Duncan still glancing at one another rather shyly, a youthful blush warming both their cheeks. Then she headed back up the path she had come, reminding herself that life looked better than she had ever expected it to.

  Moira picked her way up the small slope and headed toward the tower. Crossing the courtyard, she suddenly heard her name called and froze as though someone had slapped her.

  No one ever called her name.

  No one.

  Eyes wide, Moira turned, and fear crept into her blood before her gaze fell on little Blair, her blond hair in two plaits hanging over her shoulders. At the sight of the smiling little girl, Moira exhaled the breath she had been holding, her limbs trembling with the sudden relief that claimed her.

  “Hello, Moira, I picked these for ye,” Blair exclaimed as she drew to a halt in front of her. Her blue eyes shone with pride as she held up the bouquet of wildflowers, her little fingers clutched around their stems possessively. “They’re beautiful, are they not?”

  “They are indeed,” Moira agreed, making a show of examining and praising each little blossom. “And they’re for me? Would ye not rather give them to yer mother? I’m sure she had love them.”

  Blair shook her head. “I already gave her some. These are for ye.”

  Knowing she could not bring herself to refuse the eager, little girl, Moira thanked her for her kindness and took the flowers. Still, her fingers trembled, and she could not ignore the unease that gripped her as she lifted her gaze and found Niall standing at the other end of the courtyard, eyeing them with a scowl on his little face.

  Never had Moira been so grateful to know that his father was not around as he was currently riding toward Gretna Green with Garrett and Finn.

  After beaming up at her once more, Blair darted away; however, not toward her brother. Instead, she raced over to the baker’s market stall where her mother stood with Emma Stewart. The two young women had been friends for a long time, and Moira envied the deep bond that existed between them. Oh, what she would not give for a friend to talk to!

  Smiling, Maggie bent down to her daughter and brushed a gentle hand over the girl’s bobbing head as her little mouth prattled on without pause, her finger pointing toward Moira.

  An ice-cold grip settled on Moira’s heart for despite Maggie’s kindness toward her in the past, she still feared to see displeasure in the dainty woman’s blue eyes. Fortunately, when Maggie lifted her head and turned in the direction her daughter indicated, a warm smile came to her lips and she nodded her head toward Moira.

  Although somewhat rusty from disuse, Moira returned the woman’s kind greeting, and she felt her heart warm at this small gesture of cordiality. Today was truly a rare day!

  After crossing the courtyard, Moira finally entered the great hall, its vaulted ceiling echoing with the voices of those within. Keeping her head down, Moira moved with precision, avoiding those standing in small clusters, and stayed close to the wall that led to the rear corridor. She breathed a sigh of relief once she left the great hall, finding it easier to breathe away from the watchful and mostly disapproving eyes of others.

  Weaving her way through the corridors, Moira was still replaying the moment outside in the courtyard in her mind when she rounded a corner and almost ran into their laird and his mother Maeve. Both pulled up short; however, the look on Cormag’s face did not speak of surprise.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry, my dear,” his mother exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest. “My goodness, you have a lightness of foot. I didna even hear ye approach.” The smile on her face fell, replaced by a hint of mortification. “Please do not mistake my comment as criticism. ‘Twas merely an observation.”

  Lost for words, Moira merely nodded her head, her eyes darting back and forth between mother and son.

  While Cormag strongly resembled his father−as she had been told−tall and dark and brooding, his mother was a vivacious woman with lively green eyes and deep auburn curls. The few streaks of grey running through them seemed like silver threads, accentuating the paleness of her skin a
nd rich colour of her cheeks. Her hands seemed always in motion, gesturing wildly, and her lips rarely ceased to speak whatever was on her mind.

  Moira liked her instantly and was surprised to see no dislike in the woman’s green eyes.

  In fact, they were looking rather curiously at her son, who stood like a stone column beside her, silent and unmoving. “Have ye lost your tongue, my dear?” she asked him, humour in her voice. “Would ye not consider it right to offer a greeting as well?”

  Considering that Moira had not uttered a single word either, she quickly waved Maeve’s concern away. “There’s no need. In fact, I must be on my way. I−”

  “Where are ye headed?” Maeve asked, peering into Moira’s basket.

  Glancing at Cormag’s stoic face, Moira quickly focused her attention back on his mother. “To see Mrs. Brown. She asked for these herbs.”

  “Oh, aye, she’s a wonderful cook,” Maeve beamed. “We’re so fortunate to have her. What she creates out of a few simple ingredients…” She shook her head in awe, then peered into Moira’s basket yet again. Then she stepped closer. “These dunna look like herbs,” she observed, a slight curl coming to her lips as she lifted the small bouquet Blair had given Moira from the basket. “Were they perhaps a gift?”

  Returning the woman’s smile, Moira noted the strange way Cormag shifted his weight from one foot onto the other, the look on his face becoming even more stoic than before. “Aye, they were.”

  Maeve nodded, glancing up at her son, before she leant toward Moira. “Pray tell, who gave them to ye? Or is it a secret?”

  Moira laughed, realising that she would have felt at ease in the woman’s company had it not been for Cormag’s rather disapproving scowl. What on earth had she done wrong? The day before he had seemed almost caring, but now… “’Tis not a secret,” Moira told his mother, determined to ignore his disapproval of their polite conversation. “Little Blair picked them for me. She is such a delight.”