Keeper of my Heart (19 page)

Tears stung the back of her eyes as she prepared to say the words that would change her life forever. Words that would pierce him as if they were finely honed daggers aimed at his heart. She would give anything to be able to keep them to herself and not reveal what her gift told her.

But she could not stop the words from leaving her mouth. Just as she could not turn her back on the responsibility that went along with her gift.

She pinned him with her gaze. “It would have to be someone cunning, someone who could hide what he truly feels inside his heart.”

“Name him.”

“A man close to his laird. One who professes loyalty while he plots to betray him.”

A muscle knotted in Iain’s jaw. “Name him, wife.”

“A man with enough influence to persuade weak-minded men to follow him.”

Iain strode forward and clasped her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up. “Name him!”

She took a deep breath. “Do you know where Roderick was when the MacAlister cottages were burned?”

“Roderick! Holy Mother of God, Màiri. Do you know what you are saying?”

She lifted her chin. “I know, Iain. I would give anything not to feel as I do, but I canna help it.”

He stepped away from her as if she’d burned him. “Nay! Roderick had nothing to do with the burned fields and cottages. He is my brother.”

“Is it possible that—”

“Nay!” With fire in his eyes, he spun around and grabbed her by the shoulders, squeezing the flesh on her arms. “Why are you doing this? Why do you want to destroy Roderick?”

“I don’t, Iain. I just see—”

“Nay! You don’t see anything.” As if he could not stand to touch her, he jerked his hands from her and stepped back.

“I do na mean to hurt you, Iain,” she whispered, staring into the pain and the disappointment in his eyes. “I would give anything not to tell you this, but—”

“My God! You are na different than Adele. We’re cursed. Both Roderick and I. Cursed to love women intent on destroying us.”

Iain turned around and stormed toward the door. Each long, angry stride carried him further away from her, every muscle in his body bunching as it stretched taut with pain. When he reached the other side, he spun back, and leveled her with a glare that contained the hurt her words had inflicted.

“Why, Màiri? What has Roderick done to make you hate him so?”

She shook her head, struggling to find the right words to make him understand.

There were none.

Iain turned his back on her and the door crashed behind him as he left her alone with the hurt she had caused.

On legs that threatened to crumple beneath her, she made her way to the side of the bed and sat quietly until darkness surrounded her.

Was this the beginning? Had she caused a chasm of mistrust and divergence to separate Iain and herself that neither of them could bridge? Oh, why couldn’t she have ignored the warnings of her gift and let Roderick and Iain and the Cochrans and MacAlisters travel their destined paths without any interference from her?

She understood the bond that connected Iain to his brother, but there was more. Why had Iain accused her of being no different than Adele? The hold Roderick had over Iain seemed impossible to break, and somehow that hold had something to do with Roderick’s dead wife, Adele.

She knew it was difficult for Iain to believe anything bad of his brother. But, she could not stop until Iain recognized that Roderick was a dangerous threat.

Roderick wanted to be laird. He had been the one who had tried to kill Iain before and had failed. He would not give up until he succeeded.

The thought of Iain hurt or dying sent an icy shiver down her spine. She knew she had no choice at all.

. . .

At evening meal, Màiri changed her clothes and forced herself to go down to eat with her husband as usual. She would not hide in her chamber. She would not allow herself to regret exposing the dangers revealed to her.

She walked down the wide, stone steps, shutting out the din of noise from the great hall.

All had gathered for their evening repast. She was not sure if Roderick had left yet. He had told Iain he intended to leave today or tomorrow. She hoped he’d already left. Her heart pounded when she thought of sitting near him and listening to more of his lies.

Her heart pounded harder when she thought of facing Iain. Her gift still failed her where he was concerned. She would not know his true feelings.

She walked through the large opening leading to the hall and scanned the room.

Iain stood to the side, talking with Hector and Rauri. He lifted his gaze toward the doorway as if he’d been watching for her and stopped talking when he noticed her.

She held her head high and faced him proudly. She cared for him too much to ignore the evil in Roderick and risk losing him.

“I was na sure you would come down to eat,” he said when she reached him. “Janet tells me you have na left your chamber all day.”

She locked her gaze with his. “I canna take the words back, Iain. As sorry as I am I had to say them, I canna take them back.”

She heard the hiss of his breath before he took her hand. “It matters not. It is too late to wish for them back, wife, but you will never speak such words again. Do you hear?”

Màiri pulled her hand from his and swallowed hard. “Ah, Iain.” She glanced around the room, searching for Roderick.

“Roderick is na here,” he said as if he knew what she was looking for. “He is resting so he can leave again at sunrise to see the Cochrans. He is convinced he can yet achieve peace.”

She ignored the barb in his tone and sat in her seat beside him. She filled her platter with food she would never have the stomach to eat, and listened to the conversations around her, reminding herself to smile upon occasion. Her appetite failed her, and she noticed the food on Iain’s platter remained untouched too. His tremendous thirst more than made up for the food he left. Màiri did not try to stop him. It would do no good to remind him that no amount of ale would erase the accusations he wished she had never said.

Màiri stayed at his side as long as she could manage, until the distance he kept from her was more than she could bear. She took her leave with the excuse that she did not feel well and needed to rest. Iain grabbed her wrist when she stood and would not let go.

“Am I still welcome in your bed, my Màiri?”

His eyes glazed from the effects of too much ale and his words slurred when he spoke, but the tone of his voice cut through her as deadly as honed steel. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach but she lifted her chin.

“On our wedding night, milord, I made you three promises. I promised I would make a home for you and our children, that there would always be food on your tables, and I would warm your bed each night. I do not intend to be the one to break my vows.”

He held her gaze for a long moment before he dropped her hand to let her go. She slowly turned and made her way through the long rows of trestle tables, praying she could keep the hurt at bay until she reached the privacy of her chambers.

. . .

The candles had long since burned away before the door opened and Iain staggered into the room. He closed the door with a loud thud, and on his way across the room, he knocked a chair to the floor and stumbled over the chest against the wall. A string of muffled curses followed his clumsiness as he rubbed his shins where he’d banged them into the furniture.

The MacAlister brooch clattered to the floor followed by the soft swish of his clothing, then the mattress sagged beneath his heavy weight when he fell into bed next to her. Màiri waited for him to reach for her.

Her arms ached to hold him close, even though it was doubtful he would remember her gentle caresses in the morning. She wanted him to cradle his head against her breast so she could thread her fingers through his hair and pretend today had never happened. She wanted to run her hands across the tense muscles along his shoulders and back, and soothe the hurt she’d caused him today.

She reached out to touch him, but he turned his back to her and with a loud sigh, fell asleep.

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks that she didn’t bother to wipe away. She would do everything in her power to keep him safe. Even if it meant losing him.

. . .

Iain crawled out of bed early the next morning, clutching his aching head in one hand and the poster of the bed with the other. He felt like hell. He deserved to. He hadn’t consumed that much ale since he’d been a green lad who hadn’t known better.

He did not turn around to see if Màiri was awake. He was not ready to face her. He was not ready to confront her accusations again today.

Do you know where Roderick was when the MacAlister cottages were burned?

An icy chill shook his body, pitching his stomach with such violence he feared he would be ill. He shoved away the anger that ate at him. Anger that made him want to lash out at her. Why did she want to blame Roderick for what had happened? How could she think he could want to harm the MacAlisters? How could she think he could undermine Iain’s authority and destroy any chance the MacAlisters had to live in peace?

She didn’t understand. She didn’t know he and Roderick were bound by more than blood. She didn’t realize Iain had been both mother and father to Roderick, that Iain had raised him from a lad. And she didn’t understand the hell Adele had put Roderick through, the betrayal, the loss. Or the part Iain had played in the tragedy.

They had been through too much together, survived too much. Roderick would never do what Màiri accused him of doing. It was impossible. If he had, it meant Roderick wanted to destroy everything Iain held dear. It meant Roderick hated him so much he wanted him dead.

Iain wiped the sheen of perspiration from his forehead as he pushed Màiri’s words far away. He would forget she’d ever made such accusations and make sure she never had such thoughts again. He would not let her destroy what Roderick and he shared the way Adele had done. He would find out who was behind the burned fields and stolen cattle to prove Roderick’s innocence.

He pulled on the same loose shirt he’d worn the night before, picked up his boots, and carried the rest of his clothes with him as he went outside to wash in the trough of water beside the practice area. His head ached like every mammoth war-horse in all of Scotland and England were charging into battle behind his eyeballs. But he welcomed this pain. It was not the same mind-numbing torture that had gripped him the other times. At least he could blame overindulgence for the way he felt this morn.

He was not sure how much time he had. Each attack seemed to last a little longer and the throbbing pain a little worse. The sun had even dimmed the last time, and Iain feared the day would come when he was as blind as when Màiri had first found him.

He dunked his head into the icy water and held his breath as long as he could. Panic washed over him, filling his chest until he feared it would burst. He had to find out who was behind the trouble and the raids while he could still see. He had to prove to Màiri that Roderick could not possibly want to harm him.

He had to prepare Roderick to be the next laird of clan MacAlister before his sight left him forever.

Màiri followed the path that led her away from the castle walls, across a meadow lush with summer flowers, and toward the bubbling stream where Iain had taken her when she’d first come. She reveled in the peace she found there. The solitude that let her forget the hurt she’d caused by telling Iain the danger Roderick presented.

How was it possible for Roderick to seem so unwaveringly loyal and devoted on the outside, yet be filled with such deceit and hatred on the inside? As she watched and listened to him, it seemed easier to doubt her gift than doubt his loyalty. Easier to accept him the way he appeared than cause such a division. No wonder Iain could not believe her.

It had been a fortnight since she’d spoken her warning and had lived that time with the attitude Iain had chosen to adopt. He’d decided to pretend the words had never been spoken.

He’d crawled out of bed the next morning with a head she knew ached from too much ale, and before the sun was barely above the horizon, was out to train with his men. By mid-morning, there was not a warrior left standing who had not felt the brunt of his laird’s frustration. But when he came in for his noon meal, it was as if their conversation the day before had never taken place. That she had never accused Roderick of lying—and worse. That there was no cause for contention between them.

Now it was plain. She could not make Iain believe Roderick was evil. She could not convince Iain that he was in danger. Without proof, he would never believe her warnings. His refusal to accept what she’d said was obvious from the way he punished his body with long hours of brutal training each day. And from the desperation in his lovemaking each night. She’d spoken the warning, but Iain was determined to forget her words.

She walked a little closer to the stream and sat on a rock near the water’s edge. Kenneth leaned his shoulder against a tree close by and studied the surrounding area. Although there was no reason to believe she was not safe with the MacAlisters, he never let her venture out without going with her. Even when she was with Iain, she noticed Kenneth always followed a discrete distance behind. Perhaps he sensed her trepidation.