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

by Bree Wolf

  The contact had been so unexpected and overwhelming that a jolt had gone through her. She could only hope that Cormag had not misinterpreted her reaction. She loathed the idea that he might think she had been repulsed by his touch.

  More than once, she wished she could have spoken to him, but lately their paths did not seem to cross. It was as though he was staying away from her.

  Moira’s heart sank at the thought.

  “Ye look sad.”

  Moira’s head snapped up, and for a moment, she feared her worst nightmare had come true.

  That Ian had found her and come to exact revenge.

  Then she blinked and found Maggie standing off to the side, her auburn hair gleaming in the sun. Relief rushed through Moira, and she closed her eyes, willing her pulse to calm.

  “Ye thought ‘twas my husband,” Maggie remarked as she walked over and then sat down beside Moira. Her blue eyes held regret as she reached out a hand to brush over Moira’s arm. “I came to speak to ye about what happened. I came to apologise.”

  Moira smiled at the young woman. “There’s no need. I−”

  “Aye, there is,” Maggie insisted, her fingers toying with the hem of her dress. “What he did was wrong, and I’m sorry ye got hurt. I tried to talk to him, to make him see that ‘twas only an accident, but sometimes there’s no talking to him.” She scoffed. “He can be as stubborn as a mule.”

  “I’m sorry Blair got hurt. If I’d known she would−”

  “Children get hurt,” Maggie interrupted, a sad smile on her lovely face. “’Tis a fact of life. As much as we want to keep them safe, we canna always protect them. ‘Twas not yer fault, and I dunna blame ye.” Scooting to the side, she turned to face Moira. “And neither does Ian. Not deep down. He did what he did because he was terrified of how close we’d come to losing her. He felt powerless, and it was more than he could handle.”

  Moira nodded. “I understand.” Despite her own terror in that moment when Ian’s hands had closed around her throat, Moira had seen the fear and pain in his gaze. She had known that while it had been hatred that had made her a target, it had been fear that had forced him to act that day.

  “When he…” Moira looked at the woman beside her, wondering about the words Ian had spoken that day. Words that still echoed in her mind. “He said, Isna it enough that ye turned my wife against me?” Her gaze swept over Maggie, seeing her eyes darken and her chin drop. “What did he mean?”

  Tears pooled in Maggie’s eyes as her fingers tore more roughly at her hem, seeking to release some of the frustration that now stood in her eyes. “I dunna love my husband,” she whispered. “I never have. I thought I could at one point, but I…” Tears streamed down her face, and for the first time since Moira had come to Seann Dachaigh Tower, Maggie was not the flitting, dancing fairy with light in her eyes and a heart full of strength and laughter.

  No, in that moment, she looked broken, her heart weighed down by regret and guilt. She too felt powerless, caught in a life, in a marriage, that was not built on love, but on a wrong choice. “He knows,” she whispered, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “’Twas days after ye came here that I told him how I felt. I didna know it then, but I think ‘tis the reason why he dislikes ye so. He believes ye did something to steal my love for him.”

  Moira reached for the other woman’s hand, gently pulling it into her own.

  “I tried to talk to him,” Maggie continued, “but he doesna hear me. I think deep down he knows that I speak the truth, but I guess ‘tis easier for him to think otherwise. It allows him to feel anger instead of regret, and…” She exhaled a shuddering breath. “Regret is so crippling; I know why he retreats from it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Moira whispered gently, squeezing Maggie’s hand. It was a comfort for them both, a connection to another who cared, who listened, who was simply there. “What happened?”

  Maggie sighed, and the ghost of a smile flitted across her face as she turned toward her memories. “When I came to Scotland to visit my mother’s clan, I was…I was in love.” A chuckle escaped her, and her eyes took on a faraway look. At least for a moment. “I thought he loved me as well, but I suppose I musta been mistaken. Before we’d even returned home, my father wrote to me that he had gotten married.” Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. “He didn’t even write to me to tell me himself. I never heard from him again. Not a word.”

  “And so ye stayed in Scotland?”

  Maggie nodded. “I was terrified of seeing him again…with…with his wife.” She swallowed hard. “And so, I extended my stay again and again. Ian was there. He tried to cheer me up. He was so sweet, so full of life and laughter.”

  Moira felt her jaw drop.

  “I know,” Maggie replied. “’Tis hard to imagine, but he’s not always been the man he’s now. I did that to him. I knew that he loved me, and I thought perhaps one day I could love him as well. And so, I stayed and accepted his proposal.” Her hand squeezed Moira’s. “It took me a long time to realise the severity of my mistake. I should never have accepted him. I ruined his life, and there’s no going back.” A deep sigh left her lips. “I’m sorry for what happened. ‘Twas my fault. I’m so relieved Cormag came when he did.” Her gaze drifted lower to the faint bruises on Moira’s skin. “I dunna want to imagine what might’ve happened if he hadna been there.”

  Moira nodded, feeling an echo of the relief that had swept through her upon seeing Cormag come to her aid. “Aye, he saved me. I wish I knew how he came to be there,” she marvelled, still wondering about the many times their paths had crossed seemingly by coincidence. “It felt as though he had known that…”

  “That ye needed him?” Maggie whispered, something teasing sparking in her eyes. “Aye, he’s a quiet one, but he…he sees things others dunna. He knew of Ian’s hatred for ye, and when he heard of what had happened to Blair, I suppose he knew Ian might blame ye.”

  Moira blinked, wondering if this could be true. Had he truly come for her? Or had he merely been nearby and happened upon them by chance? “But why would he…?” Again, she blinked and turned to look at Maggie. “I’m nothing to him while Ian is his fr−”

  “Ye’re not nothing to him,” Maggie objected, her hand closing tightly around Moira’s. “He cares for ye. Do ye not see that?”

  All thoughts vanished, and Moira could do little else but stare at the young woman beside her.

  Maggie laughed. “Aye, ‘tis always hardest to see for those involved. ‘Twas the same with Emma and Finn.” A deep sigh left Maggie’s lips, and although the smile still clung to her features, there was a deep longing in her eyes. “He’s different around ye.”

  Moira felt a shiver run down her spine as she remembered how Ian had thrown those same words into Cormag’s face. Could it be true? Did he truly…?

  “I can see that ye care for him as well,” Maggie whispered as she tried to meet Moira’s gaze, a teasing smile tickling the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps ye should speak to him.”

  A shudder gripped Moira. “I canna,” she stated forcefully, knowing how devastating it would be to hope and then have those hopes crushed. “He’s the laird, and I’m…I’m an outcast, barely tolerated to live amongst ye. Nay, there’s no future for us…even if ye were right.”

  Sighing, Maggie shook her head. “If ye believe that, I canna sway ye, but I urge ye to look a little closer next time ye see him.” Then she rose to her feet and with a quick wave walked back up the slope toward the keep.

  Moira stared after her for a long time, but in her mind’s eye all she could see were those dark grey eyes locked onto hers, full of tenderness and concern.

  If only there were a chance.

  10

  A Call for Aid

  The great hall was abuzz with joyful voices as Cormag stood off to the side watching the happy couple receive congratulations and well-wishes, their eyes aglow whenever they looked at one another. Despite his advanced age and serious disposition, Duncan, a touch of red colouring his che
eks and the pulse in his neck hammering like a stampede, looked like a lad who had lost his heart for the first time. His hand held on to Fiona’s, never once slipping from hers, as he guided her to their place of honour at the large table.

  Taking her seat, Fiona smiled up at him, and Cormag saw her draw in a shuddering breath when her new husband’s hand trailed down her arm until it once more reached for hers resting on the tabletop.

  Both had loved and lost, and Cormag was happy to see that they received a second chance at love. They both deserved it, and he could only hope that their union would bring their families closer together.

  Swallowing, Cormag glanced at the far corner of the large room where Moira stood in the shadows.

  While Ian and his family joined in the festivities, Moira had kept away, only lingering on the fringes, casting glances at the festive celebration, but never once participating.

  Cormag’s heart sank when he saw the longing in her eyes as she looked at her aunt. There was joy there, joy to see someone she cared for find such happiness. Still, her hands clenched, and tension rested on her lovely features, and even though Cormag could not sense her heart’s desire, he suddenly felt certain that she knew the meaning of regret. Had she once dreamed of a wedding of her own? Of a husband?

  Swallowing, Cormag reminded himself of the few details he knew about her banishment. Connor Brunwood himself had informed him that while he believed that she had never meant to harm him, she had conspired to rid him of his wife. What had been her motivation? Had she thought as Old Angus had? That the English were the downfall of the Scottish clans even today? Or had there been another reason? A more personal reason?

  Cormag gritted his teeth at the thought that Moira had given her heart to the Brunwood laird and wondered if the man possessed it still.

  As the festivities continued, Cormag remained where he was, watching his people.

  Watching Moira.

  Lost in thought, she seemed oblivious to her surroundings, her teeth worrying her lower lip as though her mind was working to solve some problem. Her hands remained clenched, and every now and then, they would rise and cross over her chest, gripping her arms as though she needed comfort and knew not where else to find it.

  Cormag frowned, wishing he could move to her side, wishing he knew how she felt in that moment, wishing…he could help.

  And then her gaze rose and met his.

  His heart paused as though hanging suspended in mid-air when he saw something in those blue depths. A flicker of…something. A message…as though…

  Moira took a few steps sideways toward the arched doorway leading to the rear of the castle, and all the while her eyes lingered on his as though inviting him to follow. Then she turned and vanished down the corridor.

  Cormag’s heart slammed to a halt, and before he knew it, his feet carried him across the hall, following in her wake.

  “Where are ye going?” Ian snarled from behind him.

  Cringing, Cormag turned to face his friend. “It doesna concern ye,” he snapped, instantly regretting his tone. “I’m sorry, but I needa go.” However, when he turned to walk away, Ian held him back.

  Glancing over Cormag’s shoulder at the doorway through which Moira had left, he shook his head. “That woman is trouble, and ye know it. Why are ye being such a fool? After all she’s done, how can ye−?”

  Brushing Ian’s hand away, Cormag stepped back. “I willna discuss this with ye again, old friend. I understand yer reservations, but the world is not black and white.” Giving Ian a quick nod, Cormag headed out the doorway, disappointed to see that Finn had not been able to sway their friend from his path of hatred. What would it take for him to abandon it?

  Hurrying down the corridor, Cormag glimpsed Moira’s dark green skirts disappearing around a corner. His heart picked up the pace as his feet did as well, and he wondered if he had mistaken her intention. Had she truly wanted him to follow her? And if so, for what reason? In truth, they had very little to say to each other.

  A fact, Cormag began to regret more with each day that passed.

  Turning another corner, Cormag frowned when he saw her waiting down the corridor outside the door to his study. Her feet carried her a few paces up and then down again as she wrung her hands, agitation now clearly showing on her face.

  The moment Moira noticed him, her feet stilled, and her blue eyes met his. She drew in a slow breath as she watched his approach, and despite the small tremble he saw grip her frame, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, not shying away from what lay ahead.

  “Is something wrong?” Cormag asked when he reached her side. His heart was beating frantically now, and he could not help but worry about what had urged her to seek him out this day.

  She swallowed. “I need to speak with ye.” Her eyes shifted to the door. “Alone.”

  Nodding, Cormag led her into the room, then closed the door. “Ye look worried,” he observed, wishing he knew why her pulse beat so fast and her feet would not keep still. “What can I do?”

  At his question, she paused, and her blue eyes sought his, a hint of astonishment in them. “Would ye help me if I asked?” she murmured, uncertainty in her voice, but her gaze held his, pride not to cower, not to plead.

  Taking a step toward her, Cormag nodded, realising how alone she had to feel to be so surprised that another would dare offer his help. What was it like to be alone in the world? To have no one to turn to in a time of need?

  Cormag could not imagine it for his clan had always stood as one. Certainly, there were disagreements−some harsher than others−but in the end, no one was left alone standing outside in the cold. Was that how Moira felt day in and out?

  If only he knew!

  At his affirmation, Moira’s eyes closed as though to savour the moment, and the soft smile that teased the corners of her mouth made him want to reach for her. Still, he did not, and when her eyes opened once more, he stood there as before, his mask firmly in place.

  “I need to ask ye for another favour,” she whispered into the stillness of the room. Her eyes lingered on his face, and he knew that she was assessing his reaction.

  “A favour?” Cormag mumbled as he had before, and a frown came to his face as he stepped closer. “Is it about Garrett?”

  Swallowing, Moira nodded. “He needs help.”

  A deep chill seized his bones as he saw the concern on her face. “What happened? What did ye…see?” Weeks had passed since he had last heard from Garrett. Apparently, even with Lord Tynham’s help, tracking down his wife was not an easy feat, and Cormag had long since begun to worry that this endeavour would not end well.

  “He found her,” Moira replied, her lips quirking with the hint of a smile. “He found her.”

  Joy tickled his lips. “But that is…good.” His gaze narrowed. “Why does he need help?”

  “When I saw him, he−”

  In that moment, the door burst open, banging loudly against the stone wall, and Ian walked in, a dark scowl on his face.

  Cormag saw Moira flinch and cursed himself for not having sensed another’s approach. It would seem his gift completely deserted him whenever she was near. “What is this?” he demanded, turning toward his friend. Behind him, he sensed Moira take a step back, but then she paused and straightened, refusing to retreat…even in fear.

  “Do ye truly believe a word she says?” Ian snarled, his pale eyes darting to the woman standing behind Cormag. “Why can ye not see that she’s bewitched ye?” With his jaw clenched, Ian shook his head in frustration. “Ye were never a fool, Cormag. Ye’ve always done what was right for the good of the clan. But now? Why would ye believe her? She’s a traitor! Every word out of her mouth is a lie!”

  Hatred seeped into Ian’s blood, and his face turned a dark red as he stood there, his feet in battle stance and his right hand absentmindedly moving toward his belt as though he was about to draw his sword.

  Fortunately, he was unarmed.

  Fighting against his
friend’s hatred as it tried to urge him into a reaction he would regret, Cormag drew in a slow breath, remembering his father’s calming voice whispering to him to find his balance, the place where he existed and no one else.

  Where he could be himself and act as he would without persuasion.

  “Leave this room now!” Cormag demanded, his tone unyielding as he stared down the man who had invaded his study without so much as the courtesy of a knock. “Ye have no right being here, and I’ve told ye before I willna discuss this further. Leave.” He took a step toward Ian. “Now.”

  Ian’s jaw clenched, and Cormag could see the battle that waged within him. Hatred sparked in his eyes. Still, there was a sense of right and wrong in his friend that would not allow itself to be silenced without a fight. “What did she say about Garrett?” he demanded, his gaze sweeping over to Moira. “What did ye do to him?”

  “I did nothing,” Moira replied, a slight quiver in her voice. Nevertheless, she took a step forward and faced Ian with an unflinching look in her eyes. “He went to find his wife, and…although he’s found her, there’s…there’s danger ahead. I came to ask that ye send help.” Her eyes drifted to Cormag, and he nodded to her.

  “And ye believe that?” Ian demanded, his hard gaze going back and forth between Cormag and Moira. “How can she possibly know if she isna a witch? And if she is, her word canna be trusted!”

  “I’m not a witch,” Moira stated calmly, a hint of annoyance in her blue eyes as she rested her hands on her sides, exasperation in the way she stood in front of them. “Sometimes I have…glimpses of what lies ahead, but nothing more. ‘Tis the extent of what I can do. I dunna have the power to…bewitch anyone.” For a split second, she turned to look at him, and Cormag felt his heart skip a beat. “I never did.”

  Ian snorted in derision, and Cormag could not help but think that there was some small truth in his friend’s words. After all, did he not feel robbed of his senses whenever she was near? Did he not think of her even when he did not wish to? Still, that did not mean that she was a witch. It meant that−