Keeper of my Heart (29 page)

A piece of her heart quit beating. A part of her died with his words. “Aye, Iain. I expect you to believe me.”

“This is how you knew the Cochrans did not want war that day?”

“I felt their regret.”

“And Donald’s mother was dying?”

“I felt life leaving her already in the afternoon when I talked to her.”

“And Janet’s babe was a boy?”

“I felt her happiness when I touched her and knew how desperately she wanted a boy. I did na think she would feel such elation if she gave Lochlan a daughter first.”

“And. . .” His eyes opened wider. “By the saints, woman. You are telling me you are a… a…”

“A witch?” she answered, unable to even feel any longer. “You think you have married a witch?”

“Oh, what a fool I have been. And all the time Roderick pointed out how strange it was that you knew what no one else knew, and accused you of poisoning the ale, and putting a curse on me that caused the blinding pain in my head, I defended you. I said you were na capable of such witchcraft. Dear God! You are!”

The horrified expression on his face hurt her even more than his words. “I am not a witch, Iain. My gift is the same as my mother’s, and her mother’s before her. It will be the same as the gift I give to our first daughter.”

He looked at her as if he’d been slapped. “Never! Holy Mother of God! Never!”

A lead stone sank to the pit of her stomach. Her life would be no different than her mother’s. Her future no happier.

She wrapped her hands around her middle and squeezed, feeling the stone bracelet still in her pocket. “Did you give me this?” she said, holding it out for him to see.

His eyes opened in horrific disbelief. “By the saints! Where did you get that?”

“Did you leave it for me?”

“Nay! It is Adele’s. She was never without one of her bracelets of green stones. Why are you doing this? Get rid of it!”

Màiri stuck the bracelet back into her pocket and clasped her fingers around the stones. Who had left it on her pillow for her to find? Why did her gift not warn her of the violent reaction having it would cause?

Iain stared at the pocket where she’d put the trinket, then clutched his hand to his head and staggered against the bed. She knew he was not well. There had been many indications all day, but she had not been able to sense the source, except to know that Roderick was somehow behind it.

“Where does this leave us, Iain?” There was no life in her voice, no hope. She could not pretend there could be. This was the same rejection and betrayal she’d lived with her whole life.

“It leaves us right where your father intended us to be,” he said, his voice as lifeless as hers. “No wonder he was so desperate to rid himself of you.”

Her heart leaped to her throat as she fought the terror his words brought.

“Now I know why he jumped at the chance to pawn his cursed daughter off on his enemy. No doubt he is still laughing.”

She turned her head, not wanting him to see how his words hurt her.

“Is your MacBride hatred of me so strong you would kill me?” he said, his voice dripping with bitterness. “Was this your father’s intent all along? To destroy me without lifting a sword? Would to God I had let you escape behind the convent walls like you wanted.”

A low, agonizing moan echoed in the chamber. It came from Iain. Màiri could not tell for certain if it was a release from the pain in his head or a pain in his heart that was as great as hers. A part of her did not want to know. The leaden weight crushing her heart was almost too torturous to bear.

With eyes filled with hopelessness, he looked at her. “You want to know where this leaves us?” He stood, clutching his hand on the poster of the bed. “It leaves us as far apart as any husband and wife could possibly be in private, and the same as we were before in public. I am the laird of clan MacAlister and you are my wife. When we leave the confines of this room, we will act na differently than we did before.”

Màiri shook her head. “Nay, Iain. Do na do this to us. At least believe me when I say the dangers are still out there. Roderick is still—”

“Nay! Don’t you dare defame him. You will stop trying to make me believe my own brother wishes me harm. Stop trying to tear apart what I’ve struggled to keep ever since Adele nearly destroyed us.” He pushed away from the bed and took only two steps before he had to reach for something to support himself. “She was just like you, trying to cause a division between Roderick and me. Trying to…”

Before Màiri could reach him, Iain crumpled to his knees, clutching his head in his hands.

“Iain!”  She ran to him and tried to hold him.

“Leave me alone,” he said, pushing her away. “I do na need your help. You have done enough.”

He slowly pushed himself to his feet, then leaned against the wall until he was able to make it to the bed. With a loud moan, he collapsed on the covers and closed his eyes.

Màiri rinsed a cloth in cool water and placed it on his forehead. He raised his hand to push her away, but she held on, thankful he was too weak to stop her.

“What have you done to me? What curse is this that makes me weak as a babe and causes my head to ache as if it were being split in two?”

“Quiet,” she warned, searching through her belongings to find the powders she’d given him to ease his pain when she’d first found him.

She mixed the feverfew with ale she’d warmed and held it to his lips, letting him drink. If he worried that the liquid would do him more harm, he did not show it. Perhaps she had hurt him so much he no longer cared.

Màiri pulled the covers over him and waited at his bedside until he slept, then went over by the hearth and stared at the flames leaping upward. Hot, scalding tears trickled down her cheeks, falling as heavy droplets at her feet. She stepped back, pressing her back against the cool, stone wall and when the weight of holding back the hurt his words had caused was more than she could support, she slid downward. With her legs pulled tight against her chest, she wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face in the homespun material of her skirt. Soft, painful sobs wracked her body, uncontrollably shaking her shoulders.

In the quiet of her chamber, she wept until she had no more tears to weep. She ached until no more pain could hurt her. She died just enough to know a special, wonderful part of her life had been robbed from her.

Shadows lengthened across the smooth stone floor of their chamber before she rose to her feet, determined in what she had to do. Roderick would not win. Roderick would not destroy Iain so he could be laird.

When Iain was safe, she would do whatever she must to protect the babe she was carrying. She would not let her child grow up as unloved and lonely as she had been, nor would she spend the rest of her life waiting hopelessly for her husband to want her back.

She would not live her mother’s life all over again.

Iain swung his broadsword at Hector’s attack and barely stopped his opponent’s sword from hitting its mark. Either Hector had improved over the past months, or Ian’s illness had made him that much weaker.

Hector came at him again, then again, and each time Iain barely countered his charge. Even though his head did not ache as much today, the sun rising in the sky seemed so bright he wanted to shield his eyes. It was time to quit for the day. He resisted one more volley from Hector then laid his sword down for Gilchrist to take his place.

He rested his palms on his thighs and took in several deep breaths. When he lifted his head he saw her standing there. She was never far away from him. “You do na need to watch me so, wife. Or maybe you only want to stay close so you are nearby when I take the last breath from the curse you put on me.”

Her face blanched when his words struck their mark. He did not know why he’d said them. He took no pleasure from hurting her. Yet, he could not forget how she had deceived him.

“You are na well, Iain,” she said in a soft voice. “Stop pushing yourself so and go upstairs and rest.”

He ignored her concern and walked to the washing trough. He dunked his head first, then washed his upper body and legs before toweling dry. She held out a clean shirt for him to put on, which he took without any word of thanks.

Just when he put it over his head, he heard the first angry words coming from the practice area where Rauri and Murdoch were locked in an armed struggle.

“Halt!” Iain hollered, racing to stop the fight before the first punch was thrown. Donald ran from the opposite direction and grabbed Rauri while Iain pulled at Murdoch. “What is the meaning of this?” Iain yelled. “You both know there is to be no fighting. All disputes are to be settled peacefully.”

“There is na peaceful way to settle what he’s done,” Murdoch yelled. “He stole m’ claymore!”

“The one with the stone buried in the hilt?” Iain asked, remembering the unusual sword.

“Aye. He stole it,” Murdoch yelled, struggling to get out of Iain’s grasp.

“Donald, have the men search for the sword. We will wait here until you’ve found it.”

Donald nodded then ordered his men to make a complete search of the castle. It didn’t take long for Donald to return with the sword.

“Where did you find it, Donald?”

“Beneath the pallet where Rauri slept last night.”

“See,” Murdoch taunted, pointing at Rauri with an accusing finger. “I knew he took it.”

“Rauri did na take the sword, milord,” Donald interrupted, stepping aside for Lochlan to usher in a small, frightened kitchen lass. “This is Isabel, milord. She was just starting her work in the kitchen this morning when she saw something interesting.” Donald turned his gaze on the trembling lass. “Tell your laird what you saw, lass.”

Isabel opened her mouth to speak twice but nothing came out.

“Go on, lass,” Iain encouraged. “’Tis all right. Tell us what you saw.”

The third time Isabel finally found the courage to speak. “I saw him waiting behind the kitchen entrance to the keep,” she said, pointing at Murdoch. “He waited until everyone was gone then hid a real pretty sword beneath Rauri’s pallet.”

“Nay! She’s lying!”

Murdoch struggled against Iain’s grasp. If Conan would not have been there to stop his brother, Rauri would have attacked him.

“Are you lying, lass?” Iain demanded, keeping his hold of the struggling warrior.

“Nay, milord. I saw him. I did.”

Iain looked from Murdoch to Rauri to the lass claiming she’d seen Murdoch hide the sword and knew what decision he wanted to make. If only he knew for sure the girl was telling the truth. His gaze slowly turned to Màiri.

As much as he loathed the idea of giving credit to her curse, he needed her to tell him aye or nay. She’d known the Cochrans did not want war. She’d known the warriors had been mistaken when they saw the Cochrans near Devon MacAlister’s cottage. She’d known… He locked his gaze with hers.

She looked at the girl and nodded, telling him the girl was telling the truth.

Iain turned to the warrior Murdoch. “Out!” he said, pointing toward the direction of the gate. “Gather your belongings and leave my castle.”

“But—”

“Out!” he shouted, “while you still have hands to gather what is yours. Hector, go with him and make sure he takes only what belongs to him.”

Hector led the irate warrior away while the rest of those who had gathered went back to what they’d been doing. Iain turned away from Màiri, furious with himself that he had stooped to using her powers to decipher the truth. By the saints! The woman he’d married was no different than the witch Yseult.

Grabbing the broadsword he’d laid on the ground when he washed, he spun away from her. He could imagine the riotous celebrating in the MacBride keep. Ewan MacBride must be sick with laughter realizing that without lifting a sword he had brought the mighty MacAlister laird to his knees. That he had forever tarnished the MacAlister name. That he had passed off his cursed daughter as a peace offering, knowing she possessed a curse that would destroy him and every MacAlister with him. Yet…

He braced his arms against the gate away from the practice area. A fear such as he’d never experienced before coiled in the pit of his stomach. She was his wife. How could he protect her if her gift was ever discovered? He clutched his hand to his aching head. It would be hard enough to keep her safe if he could see. Impossible if he was blind.

“Iain?”

“Leave me be.”

“Let me help you. There is something wrong and I need to find out what is causing your illness.”

He cast her a glance, leveling her a look containing all the bitterness he felt. “Do you have a spell that can conjure the cause?” he asked, keeping his voice at a low whisper. “Or better yet, a magic potion that can cure what ails me?”

Her face turned pale yet she faced him proudly. “I canna conjure anything. I am not a witch! I can only—”

“Quiet! Good God, woman. Do you want everyone within hearing distance to know?”

“How long do you think we can hide my gift from them, laird?”

Iain looked around to see if anyone could have heard, then grabbed her by the arm and led her back to the keep. He walked with her to their chamber, then slammed the door behind them.