A Promise Given (25 page)

It wasn't long before Ian mounted the stairs once again. Shame pricked him
deeply, for he knew not what had possessed him to leave Sabrina as he had. His
mouth thinned with self-derision. He was a coward—a coward!

But there was a deeper truth to be faced. He could not hide from it. A
painful band of tightness crept around his chest. If it was Jamie she still
loved, then so be it. Mayhap, in time, she would forget him. For no matter what,
she was his wife. She shared his home and hearth. She had borne his child, and
God willing, there would someday be others. He could not imagine life without
his flame-haired enchantress. It would be barren and cold… no life at all.

Fool!
taunted a voice in his head. Was it any wonder that she wanted
naught to do with him? He had stolen her away from Dunlevy, from all she held
near and dear—from her beloved Jamie. He'd wed her—aye, and bedded her—and all
because she'd roused in him a passion that blazed as never before. He'd wanted
her. He'd been determined to have her… and so he had. Her wishes had played no
part in his plans, for selfishly he had thought only of himself.

And mayhap he was still as selfish as ever. For he could not lose her. He
could not give her up.

Her melancholy tore at his insides, and he knew not how to approach her. Out
of deference for her grief and the arrival of the babe, he had slept elsewhere
this past fortnight. But he felt like a stranger—and in his own home yet!—wholly
out of step, uncertain which way to turn. Mayhap it was arrogance, but it was
not a feeling he was accustomed to.

They could not go on as they were, he thought tautly. He must face her… and
face her now. He wanted to be back in her bed—
their
bed. He wanted a
place in her heart…

For he'd yielded his own long, long ago.

Such was the bend of his mind as he entered his chamber for the second time
within the hour. A quick glance revealed that Beth was sleeping soundly in her
cradle. But it was Edna, not Sabrina, who rose from a chair when he stepped
within.

"Where is your mistress, Edna?"

Edna was startled. "Why, I thought she was with you, my lord."

Ian shook his head. "I've not seen her since I left here an hour past."

Edna looked puzzled. "She fetched me to stay with Elizabeth. But just as she
left, I heard your cousin say he had a message for her—from you."

"From me!" Ian was taken aback. "But I sent no message." His eyes narrowed.
"Is that all?" he demanded.

"I believe he said you asked that she meet you at the north tower—the
battlements, I think."

Ian had gone very still. A flicker of disquiet took root within him.
Alasdair… this was strange, strange indeed. And he did not like it—nay, not a
whit!

He grasped Edna's shoulders. "Are you certain?"

Edna had begun to look frightened. "I can be no more certain, my lord." She
took a deep breath. "My lord, what is amiss? Is she all right?"

Ian's expression was grim. He whirled and retraced his steps. "Let us hope
so," he said over his shoulder. "But say a prayer for her, Edna—and me as
well."

Sabrina's heart was frozen. Her mind reeled. Margaret had drowned! Why wasn't
she dead?

"What is this, Sabrina? Have you no greeting to spare for your own
sister?"

Sabrina stared, convinced her eyes deceived her, yet knowing it was not so.
No ghost was this, but a flesh-and-blood woman, a woman who, to all appearances,
had been hale and hearty and whole these many months. Her hair gleamed smooth
and golden, touched with moon-glow. Her gown flowed about her slender form,
gauzy white.

Speech was an art she seemed to have lost. "Margaret," she managed at last.
"Margaret, how can this be… we all thought you dead!" She stopped, shaking her
head, as if it was too much to take in, as indeed it was! Suddenly all her
questions were rushing out, tripping her tongue. She was elated. She was
furious. Faith, but she was all a-muddle!

"Margaret, what do you here… where have you been all this time? What about
Papa… does he know you are alive?"

"Nay, sister. No one knows. None but the three of us." Margaret's gaze
slipped beyond her.

Sabrina turned slightly. Alasdair stood behind her, his eyes glinting.

Comprehension washed through her.
The three of us
. Herself,
Margaret… and Alasdair.

A shiver touched her spine. Something was wrong, she realized. Something was
horribly, horribly wrong.

Margaret's smile was laced with something she did not understand. But the
glitter in her eye… Sabrina went cold to the tips of her fingers.

Alasdair moved a step closer.

All at once she felt trapped—trapped with no way out, for Alasdair stood
between her and the stairs.

"Margaret, never say… never say you pretended to be dead!"

Margaret just laughed, a sound that chilled Sabrina's blood. She was
terrified anew, but this time for a far different reason. Instinct warned she
should not show it.

"Margaret… Dear God, how could you do this to Papa? He was heartbroken when
he thought you died. He loved you so—"

"Aye, he loved me. He loved me far more than you, sister."

Her tone was laced with malice.

Sabrina swallowed. "I—I am well aware of that. But there was never a day that
I bore you any ill will. Never did it stop me from loving you—never."

"You were ever a pudding heart, Sabrina." Margaret made it sound like a
curse.

Sabrina had gone very pale. "Why?" she asked, her voice very low. "Why would
you do this?"

" 'Tis very simple, sister. You see, I had no desire to marry Ian. I knew it
for certain when Alasdair came with him to Edinburgh." She paused. "You remember
that, don't you, sweeting? You could not accompany us—'twas really remarkably
easy, making you ill—a bit of chickweed in your tea."

Sabrina was shocked. "You did that? You deliberately made me ill that I could
not travel?"

"Papa did not want you there anyway. Why should you bother?"

Margaret smiled snidely. Sabrina was beginning to understand…

"Pray go on," she said quietly. "What happened in Edinburgh?"

Margaret's smile took in Alasdair, who blew her a kiss from his fingertips.
"Alasdair and I became lovers," she proclaimed airily. "Though none knew it, we
saw each other many times these past few years. And when Ian came to Dunlevy to
claim me for his bride… well, I knew then what must be done."

"You determined not to marry Ian, didn't you?"

Margaret's blue eyes opened wide. "Why, Sabrina, mayhap you are more clever
than I knew."

Sabrina's nails dug into her palms. "It was you who locked me in that horrid
chamber below-stairs, wasn't it?"

"Nay, love. That was Alasdair."

Sabrina trembled. "Why?
Why
?"

"That was not planned, nay, not at first, for we did not know that you would
marry Ian. But when the two of you wed, we decided that you would have to go,
for you were in the way. We could not take the chance that you might someday
discover what we’d done. And it all fell into place so perfectly. We had only to
bide our time, for Fionna's murder had already blackened Ian's name once. When
I' died,' Alasdair had only to plant questions in your mind about my death. Was
it an accident… or no? We had only to sow the seed, that mayhap Ian had a band
in both those deaths." She gloated. "Oh, but it was all so easy—and so very
enjoyable."

Sabrina's gaze slid to Alasdair. "I trusted you, Alasdair," she said through
lips that barely moved. "I—I was fond of you! I thought you were so charming!
But all the time your words were just lies… It was you who pushed me down the
stairs, wasn't it?

“I knew not if you would die." He shrugged. "If we were lucky… either way,
there was Ian to blame."

"And what about Mary? Where is she?" Sabrina's throat was bone dry. "Never
say you murdered her, too!"

It was Margaret who answered. "Nay. We did not, though I did consider it.
Mary, my dear sister, is now in the service of the chieftain of the clan
Lindsay, a man who is friend to Alasdair."

Alasdair again. The villagers' talk about Fionna. And Margaret… it was he who
began the rumors, to make Ian look guilty. He had been manipulating her all
along…

"You planned to blame Ian for Mary's disappearance, too, didn’t you?"

"Aye, we did." Margaret smiled. "Percival Lindsay believes that Ian lusted
after Mary, and that is why Alasdair sought to remove her from his grasp." She
smiled. "Indeed, Mary has served her purpose well, for the villagers—aye, and
others—are convinced the poor girl lies dead at the bottom of the loch. And poor
Mary believes that Ian is to blame for her departure."

Sabrina's stomach was churning. "You have Alasdair, Margaret. That is what
you wanted, isn't it? Why must you besmirch Ian’s name?"

"That is simple, dear sister. Alasdair has no love for his cousin, and that
is why we went to such trouble to smear his name. We have no desire to see Ian
regarded as a saint. Nay, we much prefer that Ian's name be cursed by all."

Sabrina took a deep racking breath. "What has happened to you, Margaret? What
has happened?"

"Oh, I've been as I've always been, sister. You simply did not see it. It was
I who told Papa you were throwing dice in the stable with the village boys, when
you should have been in the kirk on your knees. Of course I did not know that
Papa would lock you away. And of course I did not know that you would fear the
dark ever after. Oh, but I did enjoy that!" Margaret's eyes gleamed. "You really
were a devilish child, Sabrina—can you imagine?—gambling instead of
praying!"

Devilish? Nay, Sabrina thought faintly. But the devil was in her sister. Her
sister was the cunning mastermind of these awful deeds. Her sister, so fair and
beauteous, was evil and twisted… she had no compunction about murder. Margaret
still held the torch, spilling light all about her. All in white, she looked
ethereal and angelic and breathtakingly beautiful… but her hands, so soft and
white, would soon be stained with blood…

Her
blood. Sabrina's.

For Sabrina knew then, she knew it with a certainty that precluded all else,
that she was to die. The two of them would murder her.

Her lungs burned with every breath. "You will kill Ian, too, when I am gone,
won't you?"

"Oh, aye. Then Alasdair can take his place as chieftain of the clan, for he
has always despised Ian, you know. As for your child, my dear niece Elizabeth,
do not fret, Sabrina. I shall make a good mother to her."

The thought of Margaret's tainted hands on her babe filled her with
outrage.

"How, Margaret? All think you dead."

Margaret smirked. "Ah, I neglected to tell you that, didn't I? Once Alasdair
is installed as chieftain, I shall reappear. I shall tell how Ian struck me on
the head and threw me in the waters of the loch. But though I was stunned, I was
not dead. Nay, instead I managed to swim from his sight and hide. I wandered,
and fell… but when I awoke, I remembered naught, not even my name or where I
lived.

"Aye," she boasted, "I shall tell how a kind traveler took me in these many
months, until one day I chanced to remember who I was—that I was to wed Ian. But
poor Ian is dead, and so I may as well wed Alasdair instead… No, you say? Och,
but it could easily happen," she crowed triumphantly, "for I heard just such a
tale of a man in England."

God above, she was mad—Margaret was mad, yet so very, very clever.

"But come now." Margaret's smirk vanished. "We've dallied long enough." Her
sister stared at her with burning hatred that seemed to scorch her very
soul.

She beckoned to Alasdair.

Alasdair stepped forward. His teeth pulled over his lips in a feral
smile.

In his hands was a length of rope.

"Your body will be found in the morn, sweet Sabrina," he said softly.

Sabrina swallowed. Terror engulfed her, but she knew she must keep her wits
about her.

"A pity, I shall tell everyone. But of course we all know who is to
blame—"

"Aye," injected a hard male voice. "We do indeed."

Sabrina gasped. Ian stepped from the shadows, not three steps behind
Alasdair.

Alasdair whirled. "You!" he spat. Then suddenly a brow arched slyly. "Tell
me, cousin. Did you hear? Do you know—"

"I heard." Ian's voice was deadly quiet, his jaw rigid. "I know."

"Ah, cousin, but there is still more yet. You see, it was your father who
killed Fionna. I always knew that it was he—and I know why. I saw him, you
see—and he saw me that night. Why, I had barely slipped from her bed… What!" he
taunted. "You did not know it was I with Fionna that night? Oh, a tasty morsel,
she was, your stepmother."

Ian's hands balled into fists at his sides. Sheer rage flamed in his eyes.
"You bastard," he said from between clenched teeth. "You bastard!"

The rope was flung aside. A dagger suddenly appeared in Alasdair’s hand.

"What? Will you kill me, cousin?" His laugh was chilling. He beckoned with
it. The blade caught the torchlight as it arced through the air. "Come then.
Come now."

But he did not wait. He charged, his weapon raised high for Ian's throat.
Sabrina cried out, for no doubt Ian was unarmed—usually he donned sword and
dagger only when he left the keep. But she'd forgotten, he was a warrior, quick
and fleet with every sense attuned to the veriest danger. He ducked and whirled;
Alasdair bared his teeth and barreled toward him anew.

Again Ian eluded him, retreating backward. Sabrina knew then he sought to get
Alasdair away from her, to save her from danger. It spun through her mind that
never had a man been more splendid and mighty, more valiant and brave.

She was only half aware that Margaret had come to stand near. Margaret turned
to her, goading and triumphant.

"Take heart, sister," she hissed. "Ian is weak, as you are weak. Alasdair
will kill him, and then we will kill you."