Devil of Kilmartin (26 page)

Even wee Fia did not dance to her side, pelting her with a dozen questions at a time. This hurt the worst, knowing that she had caused more pain for this child, when all she had wanted to do was help her. Fia kept to the shed where her aunt had taken up Fia’s mother’s task as alewife to the castle.

A few brave folk allowed Elena to tend their aches and pains, but even they were reserved as they had not been before. Finally she gave up, keeping to Symon’s chamber or the stillroom, where she gathered together most of the things she thought she would need for her travels.

When the door swung open she jumped, startled from
her thoughts. Symon entered, smiling at her, but clearly distracted.

“Is there trouble?”

“Nay—aye, there is.”

Elena rose from her stool by the fire. Somehow she thought she could withstand more bad tidings standing.

“Ranald . . .”

“Have you found him, then?”

Symon looked at her with unreadable eyes. “Aye. He’s been found. Dunmore has him.”

It took a moment for understanding to sink in. “Dougal? How?”

Symon shook his head. “It must have been during the attack, but I don’t know precisely how. The tunnel was well guarded, but I cannot believe the bastard knows another way in.”

“Dear God. But why would Dougal want . . .” Realization hit her. “He is held hostage in exchange for me, is he not?”

Symon pulled her close, and she wrapped her arms about him. The solid feel of him calmed her, gave her strength.

“ ’Tis but one goal of Dunmore.” He kissed the top of her head, then lay his cheek there.

“What will you do?” she asked, dreading the answer.

He sighed. “I do not know.”

Fear shot through her. She pulled away, but he caught her arm, keeping her close.

“I will not turn you over to him, love. I could never do such a thing, and the clan would not allow it. Ranald would not wish me to give in to Dunmore.”

“You believe that even though Ranald poisons you?”

Symon sighed. “I cannot believe he is the one behind the poison. Ranald wants only what is best for the clan. We differ in how to attain that, but nothing about my affliction has been good for the clan. He would not cause this suffering for our people.”

“I hope you are right.”

“I know I am.”

She studied her hands for a moment, lacing and unlacing her fingers. “I suspect your clan would be glad to see me go,” she said quietly.

“Nay.” He raised her chin and kissed her sweetly. “I know they are wary of you just now, and I know too well how that wariness hurts you. They are overwhelmed with what you did for me, ’tis all. Give them time, and the auld women will be planning a celebration in your honor. They expect you to be my bride, you know. There is talk that we have already exchanged vows in the auld way and ’tis but a formality to announce our union before the clan. They would not allow my bride to leave.”

“And you?”

“You know what I wish. I want you to stay here, with me. We should wed. ’Twould insure your safety, for even Donal would not—”

“Donal? You mean Dougal, do you not?”

Symon looked confused for a moment. “Aye, Dougal. Even Dougal would not steal another man’s wife.”

She pressed her palm to his cheek, quickly determining that there was no poison at work; just simple fatigue confusion had him mistaking the name. And mistaking what must happen.

“Marrying me would only anger Dougal. I ken him
well. If we wed, he will double his attacks. No one will be safe. Dougal does not ever give up.”

“Aye. ’Tis why I must free my brother. I cannot leave him in Dunmore’s hands. I couldn’t live with myself. But first, we must marry, to keep you safe.”

Elena didn’t trust her voice. He could not wed her, though she could cherish no dream more. To do so would seal the fate of Clan Lachlan and their chief, whom she loved so much. Once more, Dougal controlled her life, though he was not even here. He would take all that she had come to love, all who had come to love her, and destroy them, and only because she thwarted him.

Only because she hadn’t submitted to Dougal’s will. And now he sought to bend Symon to his will, by forcing him to choose between Ranald and Elena. And Symon refused to bend at all.

If he married her, Dougal would kill Ranald, or worse. She was sure of it. She had seen his temper, his ruthlessness. If she allowed Symon to marry her, his brother would pay the consequences, and Symon would hate her forever for causing such a horrible choice, such a horrible outcome.

She would do what she must to help Symon retrieve Ranald, for she could do no less for the man she loved and the clan who had taken her in.

As soon as Symon slept this night, she would retrieve her things and slip out through the weans’ bolt-hole once more. This time she would not be afraid. She would leave just enough of a trail south, to mislead Symon, and distract Dougal, making sure Dougal knew she was gone from Kilmartin and gone from the MacLachlans’ keeping, drawing
him away from Lamont Castle so the MacLachlans could retrieve Ranald.

Then she would head north, into the Highlands. When she was beyond where anyone knew of her clan she would find a place to live, making her living from simples or perhaps as a midwife, for women always had need of a midwife.

“We can tell the clan in the morn.” Symon’s deep rumble dragged her back from her plans. “We’ll have to wed in the auld way, saying our vows before the clan. There is no time to call the banns.”

“Are you hungry?” She kept her voice light, belying the sadness and despair that threatened to overwhelm her. “I had Jenny send your meal up.”

Symon pulled her to him, kissing her until her head spun and her body ached for him. “I will eat, lass, for I fear I’ll need my strength again this night.” He grinned at her, and she knew she would remember this last time in his arms for the rest of her days.

chapter 16

S
ymon reached for
Elena, missing her warmth, but only cold bedding met his questing hand. He opened his eyes, searching for her. She was not within the chamber. He grinned. Of course. It was her wedding day. No doubt she was in the kitchens, selecting the wedding breakfast, or in Meggie’s chamber, borrowing a pretty gown. Symon bounded out of bed, a weight lifted from his shoulders by the prospect of having Elena by his side for the rest of his days.

It was too bad he would have to kill Dougal of Dunmore—as Donal called himself these days. In some ways he owed his current and future happiness to the bastard. If he had not chased Elena from her home, she would not have ended up in his arms—and his bed.

His bride’s ardor of the night before brought a huge grin
to his face. Aye, he owed Dunmore a thanks. And he would give it to him, gladly, as soon as Symon freed one of his brothers, and ran the other through with his claymore. Pity Dunmore would die before hearing the words from Symon’s lips.

Symon took his time preparing himself. He brushed the dirt from his plaid and pleated it carefully, wishing to please his bride with his appearance. He scraped the whiskers from his face and even combed his hair, leaving it free as Elena seemed to prefer it.

As Symon went to leave the chamber, a quiet tapping sounded on the heavy door. He opened it, half hoping Elena had been unable to stay away longer. Instead he found Murdoch, his huge hand holding a tiny one. Wee Fia shrank backward and Murdoch squatted down.

“Do not fret, lassie. He is not near so fierce as he looks.” But Murdoch looked worried as he stood and faced his chief. “The wee lassie saw something this morning you might have an interest in, Symon. I told her you would not be angry, since ’twas not her doing.”

Symon motioned the two into his chamber. Murdoch lifted the little girl into his arms. “Go on. Tell your chief.”

The child swallowed, then pulled her thumb from her mouth. “ ’Tis the mistress, Elena, she left, through the weans’ hole.” She quickly stuck her thumb back in her mouth and laid her head on Murdoch’s shoulder, though she never took her eyes from Symon.

Symon heard the words, but could not understand them. Elena was preparing for their wedding, then he’d go off to the Lamont stronghold and free Ranald, end Dunmore’s life. He’d be free to look forward to the future. With Elena by his side, he did not even worry over who had poisoned
him. Eventually the culprit would slip up, and they would discover his identity and purpose. In the meantime Elena would keep him sane, free of poison. She must. She was the key to the future. She was critical to the prophecy.

She was his heart.

“When did you see her, sprite?” He winced when he realized he had used Elena’s pet name for the child. She knew it, too, for she blinked, her eyes tearing up.

“ ’Twas just afore the sunrise, when the sky is still gray.”

Which explained why the bed was cold. She had been gone for several hours by now. Numbness climbed into his chest, circled his heart, then breathed a chilling frost there. He nodded at Murdoch, who took the child from the room, murmuring something to her, gaining her smile.

Symon scowled and paced. He would have to go after her. She was in great danger all alone in the wood. Dunmore could find her, she would be frightened, running scared again. Why? He wanted to scream the question aloud, wanted to demand an answer. Why?

He had it planned out perfectly. Marry Elena, retrieve Ranald, do away with Dunmore. Together he and Elena and Ranald would discover the source of the poison, then that too would be finished, done. Life would return to the path it had once taken, only it wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

He wasn’t the same man he had been before all this started—mad or not. He had experienced too much this past year to return to the callow lad he had been. And there was the matter of the lass he would spend his life with. No simple lass would suit him anymore. He wanted more than a pretty face and a willing body. Aye, he wanted a sharp mind. . . .

A sharp mind, one that knew their common enemy as well as he did, but she did not know the truth. Realization shook him. She had left to keep him safe. To keep his clan safe. It was her way. Dunmore would never stop in his quest for revenge on Symon, and Symon’s taking of Elena was just the latest excuse. Symon knew this as well as he knew he would never give Dunmore what he really wanted. But Symon’s way was to get rid of the man. Elena thought to rid Dunmore of his reason for tormenting the MacLachlans.

Guilt crushed him. If he had but told her the truth about Donal—Dougal of Dunmore—she would have understood that leaving would solve nothing, would only put her in harm’s way, in Dunmore’s way. Dear God, she had left the only safety she had found, and Dunmore was out there waiting for her. He was sure of it. Symon raced for the byre, shouting for Murdoch. He hastily saddled his horse as Murdoch slid to a stop in front of him.

“I ride for Lamont Castle. Gather any able to fight and follow as quickly as you can.”

Murdoch agreed.

“Gather your mounts as fast as you may. I cannot wait!” He leaped onto his horse, shouting for the gate to be opened, then raced out of the castle and headed for the valley where he had first met Elena.

E
lena pushed on,
her steps faltering a little with fatigue. She had left before dawn, having spent her last hour with Symon watching him sleep, memorizing the details of his face, the sound of his breathing, the musky-sweet smell of their loving. She gathered her memories
about her like a thick Highland blanket, holding them close to warm her in the days to come.

A branch pulled at her hair, and she stopped to free herself and listen briefly, as she had all morning, to see if anyone followed. No unusual sound came from the forest, so she continued.

No one had followed her from the castle that morning, she was sure of that. She had set off south, leaving just enough broken branches and a long red hair or two to entice any of the Lamonts lurking about to think she had headed that way. When she was sure no one was following her, she doubled back, passing near the castle once more, and heading north at last, toward a new beginning, though she did not feel she had ended this part of her life well.

Leaving Symon and his clan had been the hardest thing she had ever done. Leaving without warning or explanation chafed her. The MacLachlans had taken her in when she was in need, and allowed her amongst them even these last few days. She owed them so much more than to simply disappear into the early morning mists.

And yet it was the best thing she could do to repay their kindness. She could not let Dougal hurt them further. She would not be the cause of more suffering for them. Dougal would never give up until he had her back. A shudder ran down her spine. He would have to at least give up harassing the MacLachlans when he discovered she was no longer with them. She would have to keep moving until she was sure he was no longer looking for her, keep moving so as not to endanger anyone else.

Elena tried not to think about Symon when he awoke to find her gone. She tried not to imagine the depth of
betrayal he would be feeling, the loss, the hurt. She had to remember why she was doing this, and keep going.