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

by Bree Wolf

  A future alone.

  A future without that other person by one’s side.

  With each day that passed, Cormag began to understand these emotions more and more for they had sneaked into his own heart when he had not been looking and taken root. Now, it seemed as though they had been a part of him forever, and he knew not how to deal with them.

  Suddenly, the wave of emotions of those within the hall was too much for him to bear and he found himself rushing from the peaceful gathering before he had even decided to do so. His feet carried him down the corridor to his study where he hoped to find the necessary peace and quiet to know his own heart, unaffected by the feelings of others.

  Sometimes it was difficult to tell, and Cormag feared to make a wrong decision based on an emotion that was not even his own.

  Gulping down a lungful of air, Cormag shut the door behind him and strode to the window without another thought. The snow-covered hills greeted him, and he felt his mind ease as the strain of the evening slowly fell away. It was the familiar routine that calmed him, and he sometimes wondered what he would do if his small sanctuary was ever lost to him.

  The moon shone in the dark night sky; its silver rays reflected in the blanket of snow draped over a sleeping world. It was a peaceful image, and Cormag found himself breathing easier. Still, his thoughts remained in an uproar as he remembered the few moments he had shared with Moira. He remembered the hint of longing he had felt swell in her chest the first time she had sought him out in his study to ask for a favour. Had he been mistaken? For whenever their paths had crossed since, he had always detected a hint of nervousness or unease in her. Sometimes, she had seemed skittish, and a part of him wondered if she might be afraid of him. Could she tell that he…longed for her? Did that thought upset her because she did, in fact, not return his affections? Was that why she always sought to avoid him?

  Frustration rose once more, and Cormag marvelled at how others managed their lives with this constant level of uncertainty. While he could at least most of the time be certain how some felt, others were always in doubt. How did this not drive them insane?

  A sudden knock on the door made him spin around.

  His brows drew down, and he shook his head. “How can it be that I didna sense yer approach?” he whispered to himself as he strode toward the door. Perhaps his preoccupation with Moira affected him more than he knew.

  Opening the door, Cormag found none other than Finn and Emma standing before him, the glow in their eyes speaking volumes. Not that Cormag needed to read their expressions, for the love and joy that suddenly filled his heart nearly brought him to his knees.

  Clearing his throat, he gritted his teeth, fighting for composure. “What can I do for ye?” he asked as he stepped back around his desk, motioning for the couple to enter.

  Finn closed the door behind them before they stepped up to his desk, their hands linked as though they could not bear to be separated from one another…even if only by the air between them.

  Cormag envied them. “I suppose congratulations are in order,” he said without thought, still fighting to keep his expression even as their emotions in his chest urged a deep smile onto his face.

  Finn and Emma exchanged a look, a slight frown on their faces. “Is it that obvious?” Finn asked laughing as he pulled Emma’s hand through the crook of his arm.

  Cormag nodded, allowing a small smile to show. “I’m afraid so.” Still, he wondered how they had finally overcome the obstacles in their path, obstacles that had kept them apart for years. Had they simply spoken truthfully with one another? Had it truly been as simple as that?

  “We came to ask for a favour,” Finn said, glancing at Emma, who returned his smile with a dazzling one of her own. “We wish to be married…tomorrow.”

  Cormag stilled. “Tomorrow?” he asked, looking from one to the other. He was about to ask for a reason when he stopped himself, knowing that it was unnecessary. They could not wait. Not after all this time.

  “Tomorrow then,” Cormag finally said giving his agreement. He saw relief wash over Finn’s face before he turned to look at Emma. “’Twould seem ye decorated the hall for yer own wedding day, Lass.”

  Smiling, Emma cupped her hands over her face in sheer disbelief of her happiness before she flung herself into Finn’s arms. He caught her, his arms rubbing over her back, before he turned his head to look at Cormag. A silent thank-you flew from his lips, and Cormag was relieved to see that sometimes circumstances truly did not matter.

  Whatever had stood in their path, it seemed it had never been of importance. But was that true for everyone? Or were they simply two of only a handful of fortunate ones?

  A small smile came to Cormag’s face as he watched them leave his study arm in arm, happiness emanating off them in waves, and he wondered what would have happened if he had not spoken to Finn, if Moira had not interfered, giving them an opportunity to speak to one another. Would they still be getting married tomorrow? Had they truly helped bring two people together?

  Cormag wished he could speak to Moira about this. If only he dared!

  8

  Over the Edge

  When spring chased away the last of the snow, Moira felt relieved for the outdoors had always been her sanctuary offering her peace and quiet. Wrapped in a warm cloak, she ventured across the meadows, delighting in the children racing each other up and down the small slope, their little faces speaking of an equal delight to be no longer confined indoors.

  The air smelled fresh, heavy with lingering rain but full of promise as a deep green reclaimed the land. Animals awoke from their slumber, and their voices echoed through the air, speaking of joy and a new year on the horizon.

  Soon, Moira would spend most of her time in the hills and forests surrounding Seann Dachaigh Tower, searching the banks of lochs and glens for the herbs she needed to replenish. Her mind would be set to a useful task, a task that would keep her occupied and chase away the thoughts that had lingered all winter.

  Thoughts she should not have entertained.

  Thoughts that would only lead to heartbreak.

  Thoughts of Cormag MacDrummond.

  Although they had spent the past two years avoiding each other, something had changed since the day she had sought him out to ask for a favour. Ever since then, she had felt his gaze on her whenever they happened to pass one another in the courtyard or the great hall even if only from a distance. Still, he never spoke to her, his shoulders tense whenever she dared glance in his direction.

  Mostly, however, Moira kept her eyes averted, afraid that the flutter of her heart would somehow be visible on her face. What was it about Cormag MacDrummond that made her feel…unhinged?

  Walking through the tall grass, Moira felt the droplets clinging to the stalks soak through her hem, bringing with it a slight chill. Still, Moira could not return, not until she had sorted out the turmoil in her heart. She needed time alone. Time to think. Time away from suspicion and mistrust.

  Again, she recalled the look in Cormag’s eyes when they had happened upon one another only a few days ago.

  Moira had walked around a corner and drawn up short, her heart hammering in her chest when she had found herself almost colliding with his broad chest. Her eyes had darted upward to meet his but had not dared to linger. She had stammered an apology and tried to slink away, but…

  Closing her eyes, Moira remembered the feeling of his warm hand on her shoulder.

  He had stopped her, his sharp grey eyes studying her face as though trying to see below, to understand something that eluded him.

  Moira frowned, realising that unlike her he had not seemed startled in the least to come upon her so unexpectedly. Or had it not been so?

  During the first two years of her stay at Seann Dachaigh Tower, Moira had rarely stumbled into his path. However, over the last few months, it seemed that wherever she went, he was nearby. Why? Was he watching her?

  The thought that he might distrust her sent a jabbing pain
through her heart. Moira could not say why, but for some reason, she had always felt as though…he knew that she had not acted out of malice. That she had made a mistake, aye, but that she had never meant to harm anyone.

  Had something happened to make him doubt her? Or had she been mistaken about him?

  Perhaps she ought to confront him.

  In her old life, she would not have hesitated to do so. However, now, everything was different.

  Still, Moira could not help but wonder why his suspicion should rattle her so. No, not rattle. It brought a flutter to her heart and often had her breath lodge in her throat.

  Leaning against the thick trunk of an elm tree, Moira closed her eyes, recalling the moment their eyes had met. Indeed, he had been…watchful, but there had been something else in his gaze as well. Something that had made her skin crawl, not with dread, but with…something else. Something pleasant. Something enticing. Something…

  And then he had touched her, and the world had stopped spinning.

  Moira recalled with shocking detail just how his hand had rested on her shoulder, the pads of his fingers pressing against the fabric of her dress, warm and teasing, as though urging her closer.

  Closer to him.

  If Mrs. Brown had not happened upon them in that moment, who knows what would have happened? Moira could not deny that she longed to know. Was it possible that he cared for her? Or did he merely desire her?

  “Moira!”

  Flinching, Moira felt her eyes snap open as the shock of hearing her name called reverberated through her body. Would she ever get used to it? Once, it had been nothing unusual. Something pleasant. Comforting.

  But now, it held a dark foreboding, making Moira’s skin crawl.

  “Are ye all right?” little Blair asked as she pulled to a stop in front of her. Her blue eyes swept Moira’s face, and her brows drew down in concern. “I shall pick ye some flowers. They’ll make ye feel better.” A deep smile came to her little face.

  Moira could not help but return it. “If ye can find any. It might be too early, mind ye.” Despite her best efforts, Moira had been unable to keep the little girl from her side. No matter her brother’s and father’s disapproval, Blair had a mind of her own and she intended to use it the way she chose.

  Grinning, the little girl dashed off, certain victory glowing in her eyes as she raced past her brother, who bore the familiar frown upon his face.

  Moira smiled at him, but his brows only drew down more before he turned his back on her and followed his sister.

  Her shoulders slumped in defeat, however, before the familiar wave of hopelessness and despair could engulf her, Moira consciously straightened her spine and lifted her chin, pulling her shoulders back. She steered her thoughts toward Maggie’s enchanting smile, a woman who had only ever met her with kindness. She thought of Garrett, who had left shortly after Christmas to search for his wife. However, before he had left, their eyes had met across the hall, and he had inclined his head to her in gratitude. In that moment, Moira had realised that he knew, that Cormag had to have told him of her request, a request that had not led to disaster.

  Not this time.

  Although months had passed and they had not heard from Garrett, Moira was certain that he was still searching, that one day he would find his wife and be happy again. After all, she had seen it.

  Then she directed her thoughts toward Emma and Finn, remembering their happiness as they had finally spoken their vows on Christmas Day. Then, too, Moira’s interference had not led to anything harmful, judging from the unadulterated joy always sparkling in their eyes these days.

  All had gone well, and Moira knew that there were a few people−even if only a handful−who did not look upon her with disapproval, with suspicion, with disgust. No, there were a few people in Seann Dachaigh Tower, who respected her, who liked her, who did not see her as a threat.

  Moira reminded herself never to forget that as she strode up toward the village situated around the ancient structure that had provided a home to Clan MacDrummond for countless generations. She might still be a stranger, not one of them; still, she had a place among them.

  Stepping into the small cottage she shared with her aunt, Moira called Fiona’s name, but all remained quiet. Perhaps her aunt was still out with Duncan. Earlier that morning, Moira had seen the two of them strolling across the courtyard, eyes only for one another and completely oblivious to everything else happening around them.

  The warm glow of Fiona’s eyes had brought a smile to Moira’s face, and she hoped that her aunt would find happiness a second time around. Moira would certainly miss her if she became Duncan’s wife; however, she knew that it would please her to see Fiona happy again especially after the hardship Moira had brought into her life simply by being here, by being her niece.

  For the remainder of the morning, Moira kept busy in the small kitchen, straightening up and noting down the herbs she would need to look for first. Then she began preparing the midday meal, hoping Fiona would be back in time.

  As Moira was about to set the table, a sharp knock on the door drew her attention. Frowning, she turned toward it. Fiona wouldn’t knock, would she?

  Crossing the room, Moira flinched when the knock came again, this time with even more vehemence. Someone was angry, and for a moment, she wondered if she ought to even open the door. But what if something had happened to her aunt? What if she was needed? Or her herbs?

  Fear gripped Moira’s heart, and she all but lunged forward, grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. “What’s hap−?”

  The rest of the question died on her lips when she found herself face to face with Ian MacDrummond.

  His face was a dark red, and his eyes had narrowed into slits, daggers flying from them as he glared at her.

  Before Moira could gather her wits, Ian pushed inside, his right hand wrapping painfully around her throat. He shoved her backwards until the back of her head collided hard with the wall, and she saw bright lights dance before her eyes. “How dare ye go near her?” he snarled into her face as his hand tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Stay away from her! Do ye hear? Stay away!”

  Blinking her eyes against the blinding flashes, Moira tried to draw air into her lungs as her hands fought to loosen Ian’s grip around her throat. “I d-dunno what y-ye mean,” she gasped, beginning to feel the lack of air darken her sight.

  “Blair almost drowned!” Ian spat into her face, his gaze only inches from hers as he glared at her in disgust, in hatred, in abhorrence. “Do ye hear me? She almost drowned because of ye!”

  Moira’s ears rang with his words, and panic swept into her heart. “What?” she gasped, her voice strangled and barely audible. She tried to swallow, but Ian’s grip prevented it. “H-how?”

  Ian’s jaw clenched, and fear came to his pale eyes before he shook it off and anger returned, darkening his features. “She meant to pick flowers for ye,” he snarled. “Water lilies, she said. She fell in and…” Pain contorted his face, and Moira saw clear as day how deeply he loved his little girl.

  “I didna know,” Moira rasped, remembering how Blair had spoken to her earlier that day. The little girl had wanted to cheer her up, and so she had looked for flowers that were not even in bloom yet.

  “Isna it enough that ye turned my wife against me?” Ian hissed, and his hands dug deeper into Moira’s flesh. “Ye also seek to harm my daughter? What kind of woman are ye? Harming children?” His jaw clenched, and he shook his head. “Ye’re evil! A witch!”

  Dark spots began to blur into her field of vision, and Ian’s voice sounded as though it was coming from far away. Moira felt her hands cease their efforts as her body surrendered, her muscles unable to keep fighting without life-sustaining air.

  Was this it? Moira wondered somewhere deep down. Was this how she would die?

  Feeling her knees buckle, Moira sank down when Ian’s grip suddenly vanished from around her neck. Instantly, air surged into her lungs, and her eyes je
rked open in shock. She hit the floor hard, and her hands flew up to wrap around her neck protectively as she drew air back into her starving body.

  Then Moira’s gaze cleared, and she looked up.

  With his back to her, Cormag stood between her and Ian, his feet firmly planted on the ground and his hands lifted in warning as he faced his friend. “What madness is this?” he demanded, his voice harsh and, yet, in control. Still, there was something in the way he glanced back at her that told Moira how deeply this confrontation affected him.

  “Blair almost drowned!” Ian snarled, his eyes blazing with hatred as he shot forward again, his hands once more reaching toward her.

  Moira drew in a panicked breath, and her feet pushed her harder against the wall, futilely trying to put more distance between her and the man seeking to avenge his child.

  “Dunna dare lay a hand on her!” Cormag commanded as he shoved Ian back. “What happened was an accident. ‘Twas no one’s fault, do ye hear?”

  Ian’s glare moved from Moira to his laird. “Why would ye defend her? She’s evil. She’s betrayed her own clan.” His jaw clenched. “Ye should never have allowed her to stay. She’s a danger to us all.”

  Shivering, Moira watched as Cormag took a careful step toward Ian. “She made a mistake, aye, but she didna harm yer daughter. What happened to Blair was an accident, nothing more.” He clasped a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “I willna have members of my clan attacking one another, do ye hear?”

  As though slapped, Ian jerked back. “She’s not of our clan, or have ye forgotten that? Her own people banished her. She doesna deserve yer defence. How dare ye choose her over yer own people? Over my daughter?”

  “I am not,” Cormag replied, a dark tone in his voice as his shoulders tensed. “Always have I put our clan first, but that doesna mean I’ll stand by and allow ye to harm her.”

  Disgust filled Ian’s gaze as he took a step back, looking at his laird as though he had never laid eyes on him before. “How dare ye defend her after what she’s done? Has she bewitched ye?”