Sue-Ellen Welfonder - MacKenzie 07 (36 page)

Something so astonishing, she had to blink three times to be sure she was seeing it. The new tapestry was opening now and the gay woodland scene she'd come used to seeing every day had disappeared. Only the edges of the tapestry remained and as she stared they rippled and glowed, letting her peer deep into a new landscape that was slowly replacing the old one that had vanished.

Asa shimmied closer, wanting to see more.

"Aggggh!" She reeled backward, almost tripping on her luminous, flowing skirts when she saw her old home. It was Scalloway, there could be no mistake. The bright blue bay was there and her family castle, the stout keep's familiar walls bringing crystal tears to her eyes again.

Swiping at them, she kept staring at the tapestry, now noting the low rolling hills where she'd tumbled and played as a child. They were green with spring grasses and dotted with yellow buttercups and red and blue primroses as if whoever was making such magic knew that spring was her favorite time of year.

Do you think I'd forget?

The booming voice came again and this time she recognized it as her father's.

"O-o-oh!" She clapped her hands to her face, too frightened - and hopeful - to believe it.

Her heart, such as was left of it, beat fiercely. And although her tears were spilling badly now, she was shimmying too much to lift a hand to brush them away.

So that is how you greet me after all these years? With tears, girl? I'd at least expected you to run into my arms!

"O-o-oh!" Asa shimmied even more, the whole glittering length of her rippling uncontrollably. "Father! Oh, please, where are you?"

Here where I've always been - if you'd have had the sense to come home.

Asa saw him then. Big and bold as she remembered, he was inside the tapestry, standing beside his favorite deerskin-covered couch. The hall fire burned cheerily behind him and Asa couldn't imagine how he'd managed to come to her through the wall hanging, but he was there all the same.

And he was reaching for her, his powerful arms open wide and his eyes twinkling in welcome. Though, as Asa cried out and went to him, she saw as she drifted nearer that his eyes weren't twinkling after all.

They were bright with the sheen of tears, just like her own eyes.

"Oh, Father!" Her voice cracked on the words as she felt his arms band around her, pulling her tight against him. "I have missed you so!"

Still shimmying madly, Asa threw a look over her shoulder at the notch room. But it was no longer there. She turned back to her father and clung to him, holding fast to his strength as the tapestry closed around them, taking them home.

And then they were gone.

But the bleak little notch room would never be called bleak again.

The woodland tapestry would always glow with rich light and color when the sun caught it just so. And sometimes when Frang and Mina, who claimed the room for their own, stood peering hard at the fanciful hanging, there were some who claimed the tapestry didn't show a sylvan setting at all.

Those folk insisted the scene was Nordic, a seaside village in a distant place where the spring grass is especially green and buttercups and primroses thrive.

*

He crept inside, wishing the room let in more sunlight. Or, at the very least, that someone had left the night candle burning. But the heavy wax candle sat cold and unlit on the night table. And not one of the hanging cresset lamps or the wall torches burned. Even the hearth fire had dwindled to a softly glowing clump of blackened peat and gray ash. There wasn't the spark of a single orange-red ember.

Most annoying of all, the bed curtains were drawn tight.

He'd hoped to catch a glimpse of his sleeping lady, naked as was her wont and -

he couldn't deny - his greatest delight. Truth was he doubted he'd ever tire of gazing upon her.

It didn't matter if she was sleeping or awake.

He simply couldn't get enough of her.

Needing her now, he strode across the room and hooked his fingers in the bed's heavy brocade hangings. He waited a moment before drawing them, savoring the anticipation. With luck, he'd be treated to a tempting view of her naked breasts.

Or, if the saints were kind, he'd be able to feast his gaze on the sooty-black silken heat between her shapely thighs.

If her legs were parted enough, he might even lean down and drop a kiss right in the middle of her sweetness.

O-o-oh, the joys of a woman who slept unclothed!

Feeling blessed, he drew a deep breath and yanked back the bed curtains.

Arabella wasn't there.

Frowning, he started to turn away, but something caught his eye. He stepped closer, peering down at the mussed furs and linens. Nothing looked amiss, but he was sure he'd seen something.

Something glittery.

Perhaps it was Arabella's rock crystal and carnelian necklace. The one with the Thor hammer etched on the disc-shaped pendant. She loved the necklace, claiming it reminded her of their days - and nights - on Olaf Big Nose's isle.

Like as not, she didn't know the necklace was here and had gone searching for it.

Sure that was it, Darroc shoved back the bed curtains a bit more and started looking through the coverlets and beneath pillows.

He didn't have to look far.

What he'd seen rested smack in the center of the bed.

And it hit him like a hammer blow to the gut.

It was the Thunder Rod.

"Nae!" He stared at the hoary relic, his stomach heaving. "Nae!" he cried again, clutching his middle and bending double, the pain agonizing. "It canna be...."

But the truth winked up at him.

Brilliantly colored, glistening, and ripping the soul right out of him.

"Ach, God!" Darroc dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead against the edge of the bed. He dug his fingers into the mattress, sure he'd fall flat on his face if he didn't. The floor kept threatening to fly right up at him and he wasn't sure, but he'd almost swear someone had sucked all the air out of the room.

He knew there wasn't any left in his lungs.

Breathing was impossible.

And he couldn't see anything either.

Only the damnable shining piece of wood that Arabella had to have caressed in a dangerous way. He should have told her how the wretched relic works on women.

How its magic possesses them, filling them with insatiable desire; unquenchable lust for the first man to cross their path after they've touched the rod, fondling its length as they would a man.

Fury and bitterness welled up in Darroc, an agony so thick and damning he almost choked. Aye, he should have told her, warned her. But he'd never dreamed the relic would fall into her hands.

Now he knew why she'd capitulated so easily.

It wasn't him at all.

She didn't love him, either.

Their entire happiness was only the false passion conjured by the Thunder Rod.

And the knowledge gutted him. Burning emptiness flooded his heart, scalding his soul and snatching away every shred of hope, joy, and happiness he'd found with her. Wondrous beauty he should have known would not last. Perhaps even punishment for having fallen so deeply in love with a woman he should never have touched.

Darroc groaned, his world crumbling around him.

"Dear saints!" A light hand touched his shoulder. Arabella. "Are you ill? Tell me, what is it? I'll go back to the kitchens and - "

"Nae! I'm no' ill." Darroc sprang to his feet. "I am fine. I was - er... praying," he lied, unable to think of anything else. "Thanking the saints for bringing us safely back here. And" - he hated what he was about to say, but the sooner she was gone, the better for them both - "asking them to see you well to Kintail when you go."

She blinked. "But we're going together. You said - "

"A man says much when he's tempted by a beautiful woman." He shoved a hand through his hair, shamed to note that his fingers trembled. "What happened between us came about because of the excitement of the feast at Olaf's. It was wrong and I cannot take further advantage of you."

"Dear God - Darroc!" She blanched, her eyes round in her face. "What are you doing? Are you" - she glanced around the room - "drink-taken?"

"Nae." He shook his head. "I've ne'er been more by my wits."

And much as it pierced him, his honor did forbid him to take advantage of her.

He started pacing, almost wishing he were a man with lesser morals. But he'd spent his life struggling to rebuild his family's reputation and he just couldn't blacken the name MacConacher any further by keeping a woman at his side who'd only fallen in love with him because of a bespelled piece of wood.

It was absolutely unthinkable.

Beyond unfair to Arabella. She deserved a chance to marry a man she loved truly.

A husband chosen by a father who adored her and - despite his own feelings about the man and what she'd said of his stance against her suitors - would surely see her settled with a worthy consort she could come to care for deeply.

A man whose very name wouldn't cause a rift in her clan.

It was just a damned shame the notion made him want to wring the bastard's neck.

And it was an even greater tragedy that - despite everything - he still wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her fiercely, binding her to him. It would be so easy to let the wonder of her make him forget how wrong it was to love and keep her.

He had to let her go.

"Do you not care what I think of this?" She was staring at him, hurt all over her.

"What it will do to me?"

"I am thinking of you. Only you." He thrust a hand through his hair, wishing she didn't look so miserable. "It's for the best, lass."

"Whose best?" She came after him, two bright spots of red flaming on her cheeks.

Her eyes glittered hotly, sparking such fury that she looked like one of the Valkryies he always thought of her as.

She certainly looked as dangerous.

And he'd never seen her more beautiful than now, in such a temper.

"Tell me! Whose best?" She railed again, grabbing his arms. "Not mine, surely! I will die without you. Perish cold, alone, and bereft, aching for you - as I've told you often enough!"

"That's no' true." He broke away from her, needing distance. "You'll forget me once you're safely returned to Kintail. You deserve a good life with a man you love and who is worthy of - "

"I love you!" She flew at him, tears tracking her face. "There is no man more worthy. No man I want but you. Please" - she started to fall to her knees, but he caught her, pulling her up - "don't do this, I beg you."

"Sweet lass, you don't know what you're saying." Darroc couldn't believe his voice was so steady. But he had to fool her.

She'd never go if she knew the truth.

He turned away from her and went to stand at the window, keeping his back to her. "There will be another man you desire. A good one with no bad history between your families and who will - "

"No other man will have me now." She stayed across the room this time, her voice sounding oddly broken. "And I do not care. If I can't have you, I - "

Your passion for me isn't real!

It doesn't exist except inside that unholy piece of wood lying on the bed!

Darroc's heart screamed the words. But of course she didn't hear them.

He clenched his fists, hating that it'd come to this. "There is no man under the heavens who can resist you, Arabella." That much was true. "It will no' matter to your future husband that - "

"You are my husband!" She ran at him again, digging her fingers into his arms and yanking him around to face her. "You said so in the fisherman's hut, telling me the old ways were honored on Olaf's isle and that we were as good as wed. You said that you loved me.

"Are you telling me now that those were lies?"

Darroc closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath. The agony inside him was so great, so soul ripping, he wondered he was still standing.

His heart was broken.

"Answer me!" She shook him, her voice breaking on a sob. "You owe me the truth. Were you lying to me all along?"

Darroc opened his eyes and looked at her, immediately wishing he hadn't.

The misery on her face split him.

He couldn't bear it.

"Well?" Her nails sank into his arms, drawing blood. "What was true and what wasn't?"

"Ach, lass..." He heaved a great sigh, feeling suddenly ancient. "Everything I ever said to you was true. I've ne'er lied to you."

She stepped back, her eyes rounding again. "Then why?" She shook her head. "If you love me, then - "

"It is because I love you that I'm sending you away." He put his hands on her shoulders. He knew he shouldn't, but he was unable to see her pain without trying to offer her some small solace. "It will hurt me much more to see you sail away. And know this" - he spoke slowly, willing her to listen - "I will never love another. Indeed, I'm sure I'll never even look at another woman. My heart will always belong to you and I'll keep you with me in my memories."

"No-o-o!" She knocked his hands from her shoulders and spun away, pressing her fist against her lips. "I won't let you do this. I don't want to be a memory! I want -

"

You want something false.

The truth sliced through him again, cutting him off at the knees and - praise God

- giving him the strength to do what honor deemed he must.

Somehow he managed to walk past her to the door. "I'll have Geordie Dhu test the sea and weather. If the signs are propitious, you can be away on the morrow.

Conall will escort you. He - "

"No-o-o! Please...." Her sob slammed into him, breaking him.

"Someday you will thank me, Arabella." He spoke before the scalding thickness in his throat made speech impossible. "I wouldn't send you away otherwise."

The words spoken, he stepped from the room, closing the door behind him. But the look of horror on her face, her misery, followed him as he lurched away, almost stumbling down the stairs.

At the first landing, he paused to slump against the wall. Hot tears blinded him and he pressed a hand to his mouth, stifling an anguished roar.