by Bree Wolf
Wrapping her arms around her bent knees, Moira watched the two men, her heart teetering between fear and awe. While Ian’s hatred had not come as a surprise−long since had Moira feared that one day, he would find reason enough to attack her−Cormag’s defence had stolen the air from her lungs in a most pleasant way. How had he known that Ian was attacking her? How had he known that she needed help?
“Dunna be a fool,” Cormag replied, a forced chuckle rising from his throat deeming Ian’s accusations ludicrous. Still, the tension in his shoulders never subsided, and Moira wondered if he truly believed his own words. Did he think her a witch as well? Then why would he defend her? Why had he interfered?
Ian’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Ye’ve changed,” he hissed, momentarily glaring at Moira. “Ye’re different around her. Is that not proof that she’s a witch?” He shook his head. “Never have I doubted yer ability to lead our clan, but now…What did she do to ye? What is it ye hope to gain by defending her? Do ye simply wish to bed her? Is that it?”
In the next instant, Cormag’s fist collided hard with Ian’s jaw, sending the fair-haired man flying backwards. He landed with a dull thud, and a cry of pain escaped his lips. Still, he was back on his feet the moment Cormag lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar. “Pull yerself together,” Cormag snarled as he glared down at Ian. “Ye’re allowing yer anger to cloud yer judgement.”
Wide-eyed, Moira stared at the MacDrummond Laird, certain that he had never reacted quite so…passionately, without thought, almost without control, on instinct alone. Judging from the look on Ian’s face, he too was surprised by his friend’s reaction.
“Ye’ve been angry for a long time,” Cormag spoke, his voice deadly calm and, yet, the pulse in his neck beat wildly, “and ye need to find a way to deal with whatever it is that boils yer blood. Ye canna walk around making accusations because of something ye canna handle. Do ye hear?” Releasing Ian, he took a step back. “If ye need my help, ye only need ask, but I willna tolerate this vicious hatred. Would ye have attacked yer wife if she had been the one whom Blair had sought flowers for?”
Gritting his teeth, Ian swallowed, calmer now; his eyes, however, still shone with unadulterated hatred, and Moira wondered what it would take to make him look at her differently. What had he said earlier? She had turned his wife against him. What on earth could he mean by that?
Turning on his heel, Ian stormed out of the small cottage, banging the door shut as a last act of defiance.
Moira flinched at the sound, her eyes filling with tears as she stared at the wooden door.
“Are ye all right, Lass?” Cormag asked as he knelt in front of her, his sharp grey eyes taking in the tears spilling from her eyes. There was warmth and concern in the way he looked at her, and Moira felt her heart respond to it with desperate need.
Her jaw quivered, and she cursed herself for allowing him to see her in such a desolate state. “I’m all right,” she croaked, her throat sore, as she tried to push herself to her feet. Still, her knees felt as weak as her resolve to remain strong.
“Let me help ye.” Holding out his hand to her, Cormag moved closer, his gaze drifting to her throat, her hands still wrapped protectively around it.
Again, Moira swallowed, and again, it hurt. Then she noticed his hand hovering in the air before her, and time seemed to still.
Although she had felt his hand on her shoulder a time or two, the thought of feeling his skin against hers, warm and alive, once more stole her breath. For a long moment, she looked at him, wondering why he was here, wondering if she simply ought to send him away, wondering if she was imagining the tender concern she saw in his eyes.
Eyes that had always seemed sharp and hard and unyielding.
But not now.
Slowly, Moira removed her right hand from around her neck and carefully slipped it into Cormag’s. The moment their fingers touched, she drew in a shuddering breath, feeling the sensation in every fibre of her being.
A small smile teased his lips before his hand closed more strongly around hers and he rose to pull her to her feet.
Moira’s legs still trembled with shock, and she swayed on her feet. Instantly, her hand tightened on his, seeking to steady her, and he stepped forward, his other hand coming to rest on her left arm.
“Did he hurt ye?” he asked, his jaw tensing as his eyes dropped down to where her left hand still lay wrapped around her throat. “Let me see.”
Reluctantly, Moira unclenched her fingers, slowly removing her hand. She swallowed and immediately cringed at the pain. Pulling back, she dropped her chin, overwhelmed by the tenderness in his gaze. How long had it been since anyone−?
Gently, his hand grasped her chin, tilting it upward as he leant in, his gaze travelling over her exposed neck. Immediately, the expression on his face tightened, and she could see anger spark in his eyes. His fingers on her jaw tensed, and Moira felt her breath quicken.
Did this mean he cared? Would he still look at her the way he did if he did not feel the least bit of affection for her? Or was it simply compassion? Pity even?
Closing her eyes, Moira fought the need to sink into his arms and feel them wrap around her, holding her. It had been too long since she had felt close to another, since anyone had dared touch her in a gesture of comfort or affection. His right hand still held hers, and she could feel her skin tingle at the contact.
So warm.
So soothing.
So unfamili−
Moira held her breath when she felt his other hand move from her chin, his fingers skimming along the line of her jaw and down to her neck until they gently brushed over the bruises Ian’s hand had left behind.
Drawing in a sharp breath, Moira’s eyes flew open.
Instantly, Cormag retreated and his hand fell from her neck. Guilt etched into his eyes, and he gritted his teeth as her other hand slowly slipped from his grasp. “It’ll heal,” he murmured, his grey eyes not veering from hers. “Ye’ll be fine.”
Swallowing, Moira nodded as her throat burnt yet again. Still, her skin tingled with the way he was looking at her, and she wished…
Moira did not know what it was she wished for. It had been a long time since she had allowed her heart to dream, to hope, to long for something.
For someone.
Still, in that very moment, she could have sworn that her heart yearned for the taciturn man standing in front of her. Not because she was lonely, but because she knew she would never tire of having those dark grey eyes looking into hers.
If only she had met him in a different lifetime!
9
Burdens
With a last glance over his shoulder, Cormag hurried from the small cottage, leaving Moira behind.
Every fibre of his being urged him to stay with her, to not leave her alone. Still, he remembered well the way she had cringed when he had touched her, when his fingers had travelled along the line of her jaw seemingly of their own accord.
Always had he been in control, but where Moira was concerned, Cormag could not trust himself. He had hardly noticed the way he had drawn closer before she had shied away. Did she fear him? He wondered, cringing away from the thought as it burnt through his heart.
With perfect clarity, he remembered Ian’s words, Do ye simply wish to bed her? Was that why she had flinched at his touch? Or was it because he had so harshly attacked his friend? Not that he had not had good reason, but had she seen something in him that had frightened her?
Cormag wished he knew. He wished he knew if she had truly been afraid, afraid of him, or simply overwhelmed by the situation.
As he strode across the courtyard, trying to be unobtrusive, Cormag recalled the very moment he had come upon her and Ian. He had been nearby and sensed Ian’s hatred, blazing like an inferno, as well as the fear that mingled with it. The closer he had come to Fiona’s cottage, the stronger the emotions had seized him, and Cormag had known what would await him inside.
And then he had seen her.
Standing pressed against the wall. Ian’s hand wrapped around her delicate throat. Her eyes wide with fear. The look on her face one of resignation.
Rubbing a hand over his face to chase away the image, Cormag hurried along the corridor toward his chamber. He needed to be alone, afraid of what he might do or say should he encounter someone as all his thoughts circled around what had just happened. His heart thudded wildly in his chest, and he knew how close he was to losing control.
“Are ye all right?”
At the sound of his mother’s voice, Cormag cringed as though someone had struck him. Of all the people he needed to avoid, she was the one who was the most dangerous to him.
For she knew him well.
Too well.
“’Tis nothing,” he replied over his shoulder, barely slowing down, worried to be drawn into a conversation. “I’ll speak to ye later.”
Before he turned away from her, his feet carrying him onward, Cormag noted the slight frown coming to her face. A sense of suspicion drifted into his being, and he knew he had not been convincing.
“Ye can run but ye canna hide,” she exclaimed, a slight chuckle in her tone as she followed him, her footsteps echoing closer. “Ye might as well tell me the truth.”
Pulling to a stop, Cormag gritted his teeth before he turned to face her. “What is it ye wish to know?”
Her green eyes swept over his face in that oddly unsettling way that made him wonder if she could read his thoughts. “Tell me.”
Cormag sighed, “Have ye heard what happened to little Blair?”
The look in his mother’s eyes grew sad, and she nodded. “Aye, ‘tis awful.” She exhaled a relieved breath. “I’m so grateful her brother managed to pull her out. He’s always looking out for her.”
Cormag nodded. Indeed, this once, Niall’s watchfulness had been lifesaving.
“But that is not what made ye angry,” his mother commented, her green eyes sharp once more as she looked at him enquiringly.
“Ian blamed Moira because Blair got hurt trying to pick flowers for her.”
His mother nodded knowingly. “Aye, there’s bad blood there,” she whispered, and for a moment, her eyes became distant. Then she blinked, and her gaze returned to his. “Did he harm her?”
“I found him with his hand around her throat,” Cormag whispered, feeling anger boil hot once more, curling his hands into fists by his side.
His mother’s eyes narrowed as she glanced down. “But she is well?”
Unable not to, Cormag began to pace. “As well as can be,” he growled, knowing his behaviour would only fuel his mother’s suspicions. “His hand left marks on her neck.”
“Did ye speak to her?”
Cormag halted in his step, then turned and looked at his mother.
“She might need someone to talk to,” she suggested, stepping toward him. “A friend who can give her comfort.” Placing a hand on his arm, she looked up at him, a soft smile curling up the corners of her mouth. “She shouldna be alone after what happened.”
Cormag gritted his teeth. “She barely knows me and…would certainly not consider me a friend.” He swallowed, taking a step back. “Her aunt will be home soon. She’ll look after her.”
His mother sighed, “Fiona is rather preoccupied right now. She willna know what−”
“I canna be her friend!”
The harshness of his words shocked Cormag more than his mother as she simply continued to look at him, that knowing half-smile on her face, and asked, “Why not?”
Feeling the muscle in his jaw twitch, Cormag drew in a slow breath, trying his best to calm the pulse that thudded in his neck. He knew he was acting rash and without thought. He ought to know better. He ought to know how to maintain his balance, how to avoid this emotional turmoil that now threatened to undo him.
But he did not.
In that moment, all he knew was that he needed to be alone. “I’ll speak to ye later,” he said, stepping away. “At present, I’m…”
“Go,” she whispered, that knowing smile back on her face. “But ye might want to consider something other than the solitude of yer room. If ye dunna want to speak to me, perhaps a friend will serve ye better.” Her green eyes twinkled with humour as she smiled up at him. “Finn is downstairs in the hall. Perhaps he’ll know what to tell ye.” She brushed a hand down his arm in that comforting gesture she had always used ever since he had been a lad before turning around and walking down the hallway.
Staring after her, Cormag paused, wondering if she could be right. Annoyingly, he had to admit that his mother had a way of being right about these things. He knew that if he were to spend the afternoon pacing the length of his chamber, it would only bring him closer to the edge of the abyss. Perhaps he ought to ask Finn for a quick training session.
Cormag would have preferred to speak to Garrett; however, his oldest friend was still in England searching for his wife. Still, Finn knew Ian better than anyone and could perhaps shed some light on the man’s hatred for Moira. The thought of him attacking her again made Cormag feel sick to the stomach and he knew not what to do.
An hour later, the two men strode onto the meadow they had used for their training ever since they had been lads. It was a familiar surrounding, one that inspired calm and concentration, and Cormag felt his heartbeat slow.
The sun shone brightly, gleaming in the blades of their swords as they faced one another. Their feet stood secure on the ground, and their hands were wrapped around the hilts of their swords. A soft breeze brushed over Cormag’s heated skin as he spun around to block Finn’s attack.
His friend laughed; his gaze watchful. “Ye look distracted,” he remarked after a while, lowering his sword. “Is something wrong?”
“Nay!” Charging forward, Cormag attacked.
Dropping down, Finn avoided the reach of Cormag’s sword. He rolled sideways and jumped back up onto his feet, the look in his eyes more contemplative than before. “I canna say I believe ye,” he commented as his frown deepened. “Quite frankly, ye’re scaring me. I’ve never seen ye so…unfocused. What happened?”
Panting, Cormag thrust his sword into the ground, watching it reverberate with the impact. Then he ran his hands through his hair, not knowing what else to do with them. “Did ye hear what happened with little Blair today?”
Finn’s gaze darkened. “Aye.”
Seeing the question in his friend’s eyes, Cormag swallowed. “Ian blamed Moira for it.” His teeth ground together. “He attacked her.”
Finn’s eyes widened. “He did what? Are ye certain?”
Cormag nodded, feeling his control slip away once more.
“Tell me what happened.”
Looking at his friend, Cormag nodded and described the scene he had all but stumbled upon. “Ye shoulda seen him. He was not himself.”
Concern rested in Finn’s eyes as he stepped closer. “He’s never liked her, but…” He shrugged. “I always thought that was only because of his usual mistrust.”
“So, did I,” Cormag replied. “But now ‘tis clear that ‘tis more than that. Something happened.” Again, his jaw clenched as his thoughts ran in all kinds of directions. What could possibly have happened to cause that kind of hatred?
“Did ye ask Moira?”
Cormag froze at the sound of her name. “I didna. She was too shaken, and I dunna think she knows.”
Finn sighed, shaking his head. “Ian’s been…” He threw up his hands. “Ye’re right. He’s not been himself lately. He’s angry and…and now that…” Closing his eyes, Finn drew in a slow breath, and Cormag felt a wave of regret, of guilt wash over his friend.
“Now that what?”
“Now that I have Emma,” Finn whispered, “I can see that ‘tis not the same between him and Maggie.” He shook his head. “I didna see it before. I was too…focused on my own misery. I havena been a good friend.”
Stepping forward, Cormag placed a hand on his friend’s sho
ulder. “Dunna blame yerself. Ye’ve always been a good friend to him. The trouble is that he doesna seek help. Whatever plagues him, he willna speak about it.”
“I’ll try,” Finn promised. “I’ll speak to him. Perhaps it’ll help.”
Cormag nodded, hoping that Finn was right. Still, he could not help but feel that Ian would not share his reasons with his friend. He could only hope that Ian’s anger would wane before causing irreparable harm. If he attacked Moira yet again…
Yanking his sword from the ground, Cormag cursed his gift for it failed him here and now. If only he knew what fuelled Ian’s hatred, he could protect Moira. However, the cause remained hidden, and so he was forced to wait and see how things unfolded.
Never had Cormag felt so powerless.
10
Open Words
Sitting under her favourite cluster of trees, Moira found peace in the soft singsong of birds overhead as it mingled with the gentle caress of the breeze tugging on her hair. Nearby, she heard children laughing, and although Moira had always loved the echo of their joy, she felt herself tense.
Fear gripped her, and she glanced over her shoulder, afraid to find Ian standing there, his hands reaching for her throat.
When Moira saw nothing but the distant glen, she breathed a sigh of relief, and yet, her hand brushed absentmindedly over the bruised skin on her neck. Only an echo remained of Ian’s attack, and each day as the bruises faded more and more, Moira wished her memories would do so as well.
Still, she could not deny that she cherished the memory of how Cormag had come to her aid. More than once she had relived the moment they had shared in the cottage in her dreams, seeing those dark grey eyes looking into hers, full of concern and compassion. She remembered the soft touch of his skin against hers, the tenderness with which he had reached out to her, brushed his fingertips over her bruised skin.
Moira remembered how she had flinched at his touch and how he had immediately retreated, guilt darkening his eyes.
