The Beast of Clan Kincaid (23 page)

“Do you know who killed my mother and father, and these Kincaids? Who murdered them? Which man—
specifically
, is responsible, all or one?”

“No, Kincaid,” Osgar answered quietly. “I was there, but in the melee and darkness, I did not see. They all held the sword, as far as we are concerned. The MacClaren. The Alwyn. And that king, all the way down in his lowland castle, whether he knew what would happen or no, because he emboldened them and then after, looked the other way.”

With that, Osgar backed away, and turning, rejoined his companions, who held vigil, watching from a distance in silence.

For the first time in his life, Niall found it difficult to stand. He had lived with the weight of what happened that night on his shoulders for so long, but being here … among the graves … made his loss infinitely more real. His grief for the loved ones he had lost—and the hatred for the men responsible—eclipsed every other thought. His heart—to whatever degree Elspeth had thawed it—now blackened completely, consumed by ice.

Kneeling, he pressed his hand on the cross that lay between his parents' graves, remembering their faces in his mind.

He whispered, “I am here.”

Deargh clasped a hand to his shoulder, and knelt beside him. “Aye, my laird. Do you see? At long last, your son has come home.”

*   *   *

That evening, Elspeth dressed carefully, wanting to look especially nice because she knew she would see Niall at the evening meal, and that even if they did not speak, they would at least see each other.

Today had been wonderful. She'd had the joy of her sisters' company, and all the women of the castle and village she adored so much. And then there had been Niall's surprising and passionate kiss underneath the waterfall that she would never, for as long as she lived, forget.

Because of those things, for a brief time the responsibilities her future held had faded to the back of her mind. But the day was over, and it seemed that with each beat of her heart, she was more and more aware of the bittersweet passing of time.

In just two days, the MacClaren caravan would leave Inverhaven for the Cearcal Festival. She had only these few nights left in which to spend time with Niall before she was betrothed, or even married to another man. It was possible she would not even return to Inverhaven from the festival, but be sent straightaway to her new home.

She was torn over what to do. Should she seek him out, for one last, farewell kiss? Should she tell him how much he meant to her? Or would she only be inflicting more pain on herself, and him, when they were forced to part?

In truth, she did not know how she felt about him. Everything had happened so quickly between them, she feared to confess any depth of feeling for him, even to herself. Did she love him? She did not know. How could she even consider the idea, when she was not free to do so?

Elspeth crossed to the window and looked out over the valley. Perhaps it would be better if she stayed away from him completely. Whenever they were alone their attraction got so quickly out of hand, and she had already come so close to losing her virtue to him. But wasn't it more than attraction between them?

As for actual words, he had not declared any feelings for her, other than those spoken in his quarters, which had seemed heartfelt and honest … but guarded. He had remained so cool and clearheaded about the forces that kept them apart. On one hand she understood that it must be very difficult for him to share his feelings easily, given the life of solitude he had lived. On the other, it was completely possible he did not feel as deeply for her as she did for him.

She sighed, turning back to the room, her heart aching and heavy. She felt such confusion. She did not know what to do. She only knew she missed him already, and fantasized every other moment about running away with him, promising her love and the rest of her life to him, though in her heart of hearts she knew that even if he asked her to do so, she would never abandon her duty to the family and clan she loved.

At least she told herself that. But what would she do if he told her he loved her? If he asked her to go with him? She did not know, because it had not happened. The difficult truth was that they had run out of time. There was nothing left to do but to say good-bye.

However, that night Niall did not come into the great hall as he normally did, though Deargh was there, sitting shoulder to shoulder among the MacClaren men. Later, alone in bed, she could not sleep, wondering where he had been and knowing his absence left her with just one last day, one night, to say good-bye.

She saw him nowhere the next day. Nor did he appear the next night.

“To be young again!” exclaimed Fiona, who at Elspeth's invitation had come up from the village to spend one last evening together. The meal had long since concluded, and though Elspeth had eaten her meal in the company of her father, Bridget, and the council, she now sat in the shadows along the wall, at a table with Fiona and Ina and her sisters. Nearby, the bard Murdoch sang about a vengeful ghost warrior who took the form of a wolf to slip into the camp of his sleeping enemy.

The old woman smiled, remembering. “I went to the Cearcal myself, to attend to you and your mother. It is an exciting time, with many handsome, very notable young men looking for suitable brides. I know God will lead you to the right choice.”

Fiona's hand closed over Elspeth's. The older woman had been kind and discreet enough not to ask her about Niall, and Elspeth hoped that none of her anxiety over him showed.

“Anyone is better than your original two choices,” Ina whispered, eyebrows raised.

They all three laughed—though Elspeth remained almost feverishly distracted by the lateness of the hour, and the understanding that Niall again would not appear.

Had he forgotten that she would leave tomorrow? What if she never saw him again? Was it that he did not care? Or was he too, trying to spare himself the pain of saying good-bye to her? The possibilities were so disparate that they were utterly maddening, when combined with the heartbreak of saying good-bye to her loved ones, including her father, who was ill, and her sisters, who would grow up and go their own ways. Things would never be the same again.

“Speaking of my age,” said Fiona. “It is time for me to give you a kiss, and return home.”

“I will walk you there,” Elspeth insisted, not wanting the woman who had been so much like a mother to her after her own mother's death, to be sent off alone into the night.

Perhaps she would also see Niall out in the courtyard, and be able to say a brief but satisfactory farewell there.

Yet Ina stood as well. “I will go with you.”

All the better, so that if she saw him, they would not be alone other than for a few words.

As they meandered through the crowded hall, Elspeth stopped to be kissed on the cheek and embraced by others wishing her the best in finding a match that would make her happy as well as advantage them all as a clan. When they neared the door, a voice called out to her. It was her father, who followed after her. He breathed heavily, as if the walk across the room had fatigued him.

“Child,” he looked at her steadily. “I could not help but notice that you were very quiet tonight.”

She nodded. “I am sad. I cannot help it. I will miss everyone.”

His gaze warmed. “I know this is a time of uncertainty for you. For us all. But I will do everything in my power to make sure you are at peace with your choice. I want you to be happy.”

“Thank you, Father.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I will return soon. Ina and I are seeing Fiona home.”

Conall appeared, strapping on his side arm. “I will accompany the ladies, to be certain everyone returns safely.” Looking at Elspeth he said, “If Magnus has heard you are traveling to the Cearcal, he might try to steal you away again. Let us not take any chances.”

Elspeth's heart fell. So they were a traveling party now. If she did cross paths with Niall, she would be too closely accompanied to be able to say anything at all to him.

Perhaps … perhaps it was all for the best, that things between them ended this way, in a less than spectacular manner.

“Sleep well, Father.”

“And you.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “We depart tomorrow morning at dawn.”

She summoned a smile. “I will be ready.”

A servant brought a plaid for her shoulders, and she gathered it around her head and shoulders, just as Fiona and Ina did theirs, while Conall pulled a woolen cap over his head and ears. Outside the air was colder than in days past. Autumn had arrived. In the bailey, the fires were bigger, and the villagers warmly dressed.

Though she searched the light and shadows for Niall, she did not see him. They continued, the three ladies talking and laughing about happy times remembered, as Conall followed behind, and when they reached Fiona's cottage, she and Elspeth made their tearful good-bye. Moments later they returned the same way they had come. Two MacClaren warriors stood at the gate, talking to the guards there. They fell into step with Conall, talking and laughing boisterously.

The moment Elspeth passed into the bailey, she froze—recognizing Niall in the flickering light of the bonfire, leaning against the castle wall. Only he wasn't alone. In his arms was a pretty, flame-haired young woman, her arms around his shoulders. Smiling, he bent his head for a kiss.

She blinked, disbelieving, going numb from head to toe. Misery spread through her heart, making it fall like a stone in her chest.

It was Isla, a young widow from the village. A beautiful young woman discussed often by the warriors at her father's hearth, who all the unmarried men desperately wished to court. Thus far she had not indicated a choice.

It appeared now, that she had.

Elspeth forced herself to keep walking, although she felt as if she would retch right there on the ground.

His kisses. The things they had done in his quarters. Why would he be with someone else tonight, mere days after he had touched her like that, if he cared for her at all? The answer was obvious to her. Because he did not care. His words … his gentle touch, had all been lies, but for what purpose? Merely to seduce her, or in hopes of marrying well himself?

She felt foolish. Naïve. Ashamed. Embarrassed. And furious. Heartbroken? No. She refused to allow herself to feel that.

She was not the only one to notice the couple, who continued to kiss passionately against the wall.

Conall chuckled, looking in their direction. “It appears that Niall and Isla have found one another.”

“Poor Isla,” she answered in a low voice—yet she shielded her face within the cowl of her plaid, afraid if anyone saw her expression they would see the truth written plainly across it. “She would do well to be more selective with her affections.”

“You question his sincerity?” he asked.

She shrugged. “As you yourself once told me, he is a mercenary. It comes as no surprise that he is just as dangerous with a woman's heart as he is with a weapon.”

Conall laughed, as did the warriors who walked alongside him.

To think she had feared that she had fallen in love with him.

Now she was
glad
to have seen him for what he truly was. Life would be much easier from this moment on.

*   *   *

Niall watched her go, every muscle in his body tensing, insisting that he go after her, to confess the truth of his actions, and to explain. Instead he remained where he was, holding a woman he cared nothing for, in case she turned back.

That afternoon, as he had knelt on his parents' graves, a powerful bloodlust had overtaken him. Only … in the midst of everything, he had seen Elspeth's face. Heard her voice in his head. Calming him. Soothing him.

It was something he could not allow.

In that moment it had become apparent that despite all his caution, despite the hate he carried in his chest, he had come to care too greatly for the pawn in his revenge. Elspeth's gentle nature and joyous spirit calmed the beast in him, so much so that in days prior he had tried to negotiate with his conscience how he could satisfy his need for revenge, while allowing the MacClaren to live, all for her sake.

But surrounded by those graves, filled with his parents and his clanspeople, he knew there could be no absolution granted to the MacClaren. The Kincaid clan's retribution would be brutal and swift, without compassion or remorse, and he as their laird would see that Elspeth's father paid with his life for what he had done.

Niall knew that if Elspeth were present to see the blood and violence he inflicted with his sword—it would destroy her. Kill her, just as certainly as if he cut her down with a sword to her himself.

He had known then what he must do, and that was to get her as far away from here as possible. That meant ensuring she departed tomorrow for the Cearcal, with no feelings for him, to wed someone else.

When he was certain Elspeth had gone inside the castle and would not return, he released Isla, who had pursued him relentlessly the past two nights here beside the bonfire.

“As much as I have enjoyed your company,” he said. “I am tired, and I must awaken very early.”

She leaned against him, her arms tight around him, refusing to let him go. “I could go with you.”

“I don't think so.” He smiled, and gently pried free her hands from his plaid. “I have heard more than once that you are looking for a husband, and I could never be that.”

She frowned prettily, stepping back. “A pity, that. Oh, go on with you then.” She teased, her smile returning. “What good are you to me? You know where I am if you change your mind.”

Turning from her, the smile dropped from his lips. With a cold wind sweeping around him, he strode down the darkened path toward his quarters, and once inside, barred the door. Laying back on the bed, he covered his face with his hands. He had never felt so dark inside. So miserable.