Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy) (24 page)

His guarded expression revealed nothing. His voice was low when he spoke.

“As you wish. I’ll be gone this afternoon.”

The gaze returned to the window.

She nodded and turned on her heel as her tears broke free. The door was only a few short steps away. She closed the distance. Her hand shook as she reached for the latch. She hesitated.

This would be the last time she’d ever speak to him, Kenna promised herself.

“One last thing before I go, before you’re out of my life forever. Tell me, at least, why you treat me like this. What have I done that you should harbor such resentment?”

“There’s no resentment.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she cried, turning around. “At least have the decency to tell the truth this once. I’m your only daughter!”

He was watching her from the window. “Let it go. Best not wake the sleeping hound.”

“Wake him! I need an answer. There once was a time in my life when I was loved by a mother
and
a father. I recall a time when I was the jewel of your eyes, the center of your attention, the child you doted on. I want to know what I did to turn your affection into loathing.”

“What
you
want? Must it always be what you want?” He shook his head. “I have nothing more to say, Kenna. Enough.”

“It’s not enough,” she cried. “Don’t you see? You buried your love for me the day you buried my mother. But why? Why? Someday, God willing, I will bring a child of my own into this world. For the sake of that child, tell me what a little girl can possibly do to destroy the love of a father.”

Through the blur of tears, Kenna couldn’t see his eyes. All she could see was an aging Highlander who threw up a shield between them whenever she was near.

“Please, Father.”

He had no answer, offered no explanation.

She turned once more to the door, but her fingers froze at the sound of his voice.

“I hold you responsible for your mother’s death.”

The tinker’s eyes opened wide as Maxwell and his men strode out of the darkness into his camp. In the firelight, the Lowlander saw the look of fear the man immediately tried to hide.

“Welcome, friends,” the man said, rising slowly and struggling to straighten his old back. “I’ve naught but some bannock cake, but yer welcome to share it
’
round.”

Maxwell waved him off and gestured to one of his men. “Bring our new friend some of that beef we had for our supper.”

The tinker raised an eyebrow as he received a slab of roasted meat. “Why, thank ye. The laird of these parts, a mean fellow to his very bones, ain’t usually so generous with his cattle.”

“So right you are,” Maxwell replied, sitting by the man’s fire. “But since the man wasn’t about, we didn’t think he’d mind us helping ourselves.”

Maxwell’s men lurked on the edges of the darkness rimming the camp. The tinker had seen them in the distance earlier in the day. He’d pretended not to notice them and turned his ox-drawn cart to the west, but Maxwell wasn’t fooled.

“Well, a fine job ye did with this meat, I’m thinking.”

Maxwell drew his dagger and pressed the point into the soft ground in front of him. “But you’ll not be telling tales on us, I hope.”

“Devil take me, if I do. I’m just an
’
umble journeyman. And I don’t mind telling ye that the MacKays north of here are not the most welcoming of strangers like you and me.”

“So you’re not a MacKay?”

“Damn me and my pap’s kilted arse if I am. I’m a Sutherland, through and through.”

“A Sutherland, traveling in MacKay land.”

“Och, this was all Sutherland land up to a dozen years ago or so. For now, the MacKays hold it, but not for long, they say.”

They sat for a few moments, the silence broken only by the sound of the crackling fire and the tinker chewing.

“So,” the craftsman said. “Would ye be in need of some polishing of yer swords? Ye wouldn’t want to be seen at a disadvantage by the lassies at the festival.”

Maxwell drew his dagger from the ground and looked at it. The polished metal gleamed in the firelight. He looked up at his men. Their faces glowed red in the darkness.

“You hear that, lads? A festival
. . .
and lasses.” A murmur of approval came from the men. “And what festival is that?”

“Why, in these parts, it’s the grandest festival of all.
I’m going there now.
Five days of feasting and revelry. At the Abbey of the Oak. Just beyond the glen away to the west of here.”

“And folk travel from all about here to go to the festival?”

“Aye, everyone. And from far off, across the sea, even. Pilgrims. The abbey ain’t much to speak of, anymore. Only two or three monks left. But they have the third finger of S
aint
Brigid’s right hand!”

This could be the chance they were waiting for, Maxwell thought. During the hunting
each morning
, the two MacKay boys
were being
watched over like a pair of matched pearls, and he was starting to think they might need to take them by force. But if they went to the festival—and they very likely would go—then he could either snatch them there or surprise them on the road somewhere.

“And do you think strangers like us would be welcome?”

“Aye, I’m certain of it, if—begging yer pardon—ye have money in yer purse. Why, last year they had pilgrims from as far as Inverness and Belfast even. Quite the festival, it is.”

Maxwell considered his options and decided. Some of his men would go as pilgrims. They could use some salvation, and S
aint
Brigid’s finger was sure to do the trick. He turned and slapped the man on the shoulder.

“You’ve convinced me. We’re going. And as for polishing weapons
. . .”
he began and then paused.

His dagger flashed in the light and the blade disappeared into the chest of the tinker. The man stared down at Maxwell’s fist on the hilt, tried to turn his head, and slumped over.

“That’s all the polishing my weapons need.”

Yea, and I will weep a while longer.

How?
she thought.
How could
I
possibly be responsible?

Kenna’s mind raced, and then as if stepping out of a fog, years peeled away. She was in the room with her mother, clutching her hand, refusing to be taken away, as Sine’s voice faltered. She moaned in pain. The twins were born the night before. Kenna only saw them in passing.

“Teach her. Tell her what to do.”

Her father’s voice rang in the room. Kenna didn’t know what he meant and who needed to be taught. Women crowded around the bed, fussing, seeing after the patient. Kenna gazed into her mother’s eyes while fighting the tears. She kissed the weak fingers, desperate to show her love, as words would not claw out of her throat.

“Please, Sine. Do it now.”

Her mother’s lips moved. She squeezed Kenna’s hand and mouthed the words. “Go . . . you go now. See your brothers.”

Kenna shook her head. She wasn’t leaving her mother’s bed.

Sine’s gaze drifted over Kenna’s shoulders where Magnus MacKay stood. “Take her.”

Her father paused before taking hold of her arms. Kenna sobbed. She wouldn’t let go. She didn’t want to leave the room. Her cries for her mother rang in the bedchamber when he finally was able to carry her out.

In the shadows of the solemn Great Hall, he put her down.

“Listen to me, Kenna. Go see your brothers but then come back,” he told her. “I want you to tell your mother that you are ready. That she has to let you try. It is your right. Your duty.”

It is your right. She has to let you try. You are ready.
The words continued to repeat in her head.

The next time Kenna saw her mother, it was too late.

She now understood. She had the power to cure any injury, to save a life from the very edge of the abyss. She had been there, holding her mother’s hand, as Sine lay on her deathbed.

He’d been trying to tell her what to do back then.

She looked up at her father and a dark curtain was torn asunder. He knew. Her mother had entrusted him with the knowledge of her gift.

“You’re talking about the stone,” she said. “The tablet. The fragment that belonged to my mother.”

“Aye, the healing stone,” he replied, letting out a weary breath. “So you know what it is and what it can do.”

“I only just discovered the power of it. When Alexander was badly injured, when we were on the road, I was certain he’d die. There was nothing humanly possible I could have done to save him. And then I reached for the stone.”

He nodded, leaning against the wall, as if he’d delivered a weight and now he was allowed to rest. “How did you know what to do?”

“I didn’t know. The stone showed me. I remembered seeing it on Mother. It was with my wedding dress and other things she left for me. I held it . . . and it worked. It came alive in my hand and guided me. I was able to heal him.”

He sank onto a bench by the window. His elbows rested on his knees, his head hanging.

“This is exactly as she said it would be.” His voice sounded as if it were coming up from a deep well. “She told me it needed to happen this way.”

The memory was back. She remembered his face that day. The tearful eyes when he told her to come back. He was hurting and she didn’t know what to do—how to make him better.

“I remember your words. I recall what you told me to do. But I didn’t know what they meant. I had no idea of what I could do or I would have never left my mother’s side.”

Large hands covered his face. She knew he was reliving the same moments.

“You hold me responsible. But I didn’t even have the stone until six months ago,” she said softly. “Why? Why would you punish me? What did I do wrong?”

Silence hung in the room.

“She didn’t want me to see her die. She had you take me away because she loved me.” Kenna couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice. She was way past holding back her emotions. “You loved her. But how could you blame me . . . the daughter she loved . . . your daughter . . .”

“I was desperate for someone to blame.”

He ran a hand down his face and she saw the tears he batted away. “I’ve never moved past the grief I still have at losing her.”

“And the same goes for me,” she reminded him. “She was my light, my air, the sunshine, my happiness. Losing her was the end of my childhood.”

His eyes welled with tears when he met hers. “Kenna, it’s not you. It’s
she
,
your mother, that I’ve never forgiven.”

Kenna could no longer be a distant observer. She moved to his side, sat on the bench beside him. This close, his pain became hers—her sorrow gripped by him.

“It was a terrible thing, a difficult birth. After the boys finally came, there was nothing the midwife could do to stop the bleeding. I asked Sine . . . I begged her to give you the stone. If she had done it, you could have saved her life.”

“And why didn’t she?” Kenna asked, having no control over the tears that blanketed her face.

“She said you were just a child. She said the stone brought great responsibility and immense danger. The relic was both a gift and a curse. She told me you were not ready.”

“So you blamed me because I wasn’t older? And you think I wouldn’t have taken it that day?”

“I know. But I needed someone to blame. I told myself that if you’d only come back in, told her that you were ready, convinced her somehow, that maybe . . .”

“But I didn’t have any idea!”

“I know. I . . . I’ve been a fool, Kenna. A blind, angry fool.”

She reached over and took his hand. His other hand, rough and calloused, covered hers.

“I loved her. More than a man should, perhaps. I couldn’t accept that she chose death over me. Over us.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “She worried about your safety. But I told her I would protect you as I protected her. But she wouldn’t have it. She wouldn’t listen to anything I said. She’d made up her mind, and I had no say in the decision. She just wouldn’t listen to reason. I was frustrated. Angry. That’s why I tried to tell you . . . make you ask for it . . . make you talk her into giving it to you. But then she was gone.”

Kenna tried to imagine how Alexander would suffer watching her die when there was a way to keep her alive. Kenna tried to understand her mother’s decision. A gift and a curse. Would she pass such a responsibility on to a child of hers to save her own life? Would she rob her own offspring of a childhood? Moreover, was there more to the curse that Kenna still didn’t know?

She wiped the tears from her face. She felt at peace, sitting here with her father. Still, there was a great deal that they hadn’t talked about yet.

“Do you know how she came to have the stone?”

“From her mother. She inherited it on her wedding day, too,” he told her. “And like you, she had no one to show her what to do. Her mother had been dead for years. And yet she knew how to use it. When she needed it, the stone came alive for her.”

Kenna looked up into his face. For years, she’d suffered from his coldness, his lack of affection. Now she wanted answers.

“You can say what you will about blame,” she said. “But it was your heart that spoke loudest. You took out your anger on me. Why?”

“Because you have been a constant reminder of her,” he said. “The way you look, your manners, your independence, your reckless courage. From that day to this, every time I’ve seen you, I could not help but think of Sine. And I couldn’t get past the belief that she should have still been a part of our lives.”

Many told her that she was a mirror image of her mother.

“And you could have handled the stone. You had the strength, even then. You had a spirit in you that was so much older than your years. But then it was too late.”

She was surprised when he brushed the fresh tears off her face. Such a simple act, and yet how many years since he’d last shown her any affection? He stood up and walked across the room.

“And in time, my anger and frustration turned to bitterness. I see that. I suppose I thought by holding back my affection from you, I could punish her. As if she would look down and understand how much pain I still felt.” He began to pace. “Your mother loved you. She loved you more than me. She loved you more than those newborn twins, I think. She loved you more than life itself.”

Kenna dabbed at the tears that wouldn’t stop.

“All the instructions on her deathbed were about you. All her worries were about what would become of you.”

Kenna hugged her middle. Her grief over the loss of her mother was as fresh a wound today as the day it happened.

“To her last breaths,” he said, turning to her, “she was consumed by what I needed to know, what I needed to do for you. I must choose a worthy husband for you. One with enough power and position to protect you and the responsibility you would be burdened with. She made me promise that the stone would be kept for you until you married. But even then, I was not to speak a word of it unless you asked. She told me, ‘The stone will show her the way. It will teach her what she needs to know.’ She said, ‘It would become one with her, in body and soul.’”

And it had, Kenna thought. Her mother knew. And she also foresaw the dangers. Today, she had Evers and Maxwell chasing her. Tomorrow, it would be someone else.

Kenna closed her eyes and wiped her face again. When she opened them, she found her father on one knee before her.

“I never thought I would say this,” he said, taking her hand. “But it breaks my heart to see you and know I’ve failed in my promise to her. So lost in my own grief, I see now—though I suppose I’ve known it for a long time—that I’ve failed you as a father.”

She couldn’t find her voice.

“I do love you, daughter. And when you ask me, tell me, that you no longer want me in your life . . . this is death for me. Once again, I know I’m losing a piece of my heart.”

She looked into his tearstained face. Her heart nearly broke to see him like this.

“Tell me, Kenna. Tell me where we go from here.”

One more minute and Alexander would have taken down the door.

But when Kenna appeared, he took one look at her tearstained face and started past her to shove open the door again.

“I’ll kill the bastard.”

“Nay. Don’t. All is well.” She held his arm and turned him around. “All is
very
well. We talked, Alexander. We’ve settled our differences.”

He drew her to him, holding her so tight that there wasn’t a breath of space between them. A year ago, six months ago, he didn’t think such a thing was possible. But he knew it now. His love for her ran deeper than the waters of Loch Ness, deeper than the western ocean itself. Just seeing her troubled made him want to tear something down. Only the smile on her lips calmed him, made him want to rebuild it again.

“But what are you doing here?” she asked, pulling back far enough until she could look up into his face. “What happened to Robert?”

“He came after me as soon as you went inside. He was terrified that he’d put you at a disadvantage somehow. He kept jabbering on about hotheadedness and knives and reputation.”

She smiled. “He thought my father might stab me?”

“He must think you inherit your temper from somewhere.” He kissed her brow, her damp cheeks, her lips. “Enough about Robert. What happened in there, and when is he leaving?”

They started down the hallway.

“He’s not leaving. Not right away. I told him I wanted him to go, and he agreed that he would. But then, after we talked, I asked him to stay.”

“You want him here? Truly?”

“Let’s go back to our chamber where we can talk privately.”

He nodded.

“Wait, you’re not going to lead me on a merry chase around the castle like Robert, are you?”

“No chance.” He smiled. “But going back to the Roundtower Room is out of the question. My mother has an army of dressmakers and servants waiting for you there.”

He ducked under a low archway and took her up a narrow, airless stairwell. He didn’t want them to see or be seen by anyone.

“Is this one of those private spaces you warned me about?”

“It could be.”

“Seriously, where are we going?”

“To the chamber I slept in before my mother made other plans for us.”

“Why?”

Alexander knew his father wanted to meet and welcome Kenna personally before the festivities tonight. His mother had threatened him to not detain her; the dressmakers were waiting. Tess was insisting on helping Kenna prepare so she could tell her what to expect. Colin was probably already off somewhere planning some mischief. And James . . . well, James wasn’t a problem. He just looked miserable and wanted to be left alone.

Alexander knew he was being greedy with her time, and he felt no guilt whatsoever.

“I want you all to myself.”

With her hand in his, they ran up the curving stone stairs. Coming out into the hallway near the rooms, they nearly barreled into Robert, who looked tremendously relieved at the sight of them.

“She’s alive, praise the Lord,” the steward exclaimed. “And I knew this would be where you’d bring her.”

“Did you do as I told you?”

“Aye. When have you known me to fail you? Why, I—”

“Listen to me, you old rattle,” Alexander threatened. “You didn’t see us. You didn’t speak with us. You have no idea where we are. Is that clear?”

The lanky steward considered his order.

“I telling you, if you let on to anyone Kenna is here with me, I’ll nail your carcass to the stable door.”

Robert turned to Kenna. “He always talks to me this way, mistress. I’m sorry you have to hear such nonsense. He’s actually quite—”

“Robert,” Alexander drawled threateningly.

“Very well. I never saw you. You’ll not be disturbed.” He began to turn away.

“Wait.” Kenna put out her hand, palm up to the steward. The two eyed each other for a lengthy moment.

“He’ll be safe with me,” she told Robert.

With an amused shake of his head, the steward handed over the weapon. “I do believe you two deserve each other.”

Once the door was closed behind them, Alexander could wait no longer. Pushing her up against the door, he kissed her hard. He explored ravenously, and her enthusiasm matched his own.