The Striker (29 page)

He reached for her, but she flinched away. “I hoped for a glimpse of you, but I can't take you with me. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

She didn't expect an answer, and he didn't give her one. “It wouldn't be safe. I shouldn't even be here right now. You can tell no one of my presence.”

“You are planning something, aren't you? That's why you are here.”

He betrayed nothing by his expression, but his voice intensified. “I mean it, Maggie,
no one
. Under any circumstances. I'm trusting you with this. My life and the lives of others depend on it. As soon as it is safe, I will have Fin send his men to bring you back to Gylen.”

“No.”

The flatness of her voice seemed to take him aback. “What do you mean no?”

“I will not go back to Gylen—especially with Fin. Aren't you curious about why I left? Your foster brother attacked me, Eoin. He kissed me, and I believe he would have tried to force me, if I hadn't managed to get away.”

Eoin looked absolutely stunned. “Jesus, Maggie. Are you sure? Maybe there was some kind of misunderstanding? He's married to Marjory now.”

“Of course I am sure, and there is no misunderstanding. Your sister saw everything, although she convinced herself that I kissed him.”

He didn't say anything, but for one moment—one fraction of an instant—she saw the question in his eyes, and it felt as if he'd stabbed her with a dagger, so sharp and piercing was the blow.

She stared at him in disbelief. How could he claim to love her and believe that of her—even for an instant?

It seemed the final blow. She was tired of jealousy, tired of suspicion, tired of the distrust, but most of all she was tired of being alone. He had never really committed to her or to their marriage.

“Go to hell, Eoin. And don't bother coming back.”

His frown turned fierce and angry. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I'm done waiting for you to trust me. I'm done trying to prove myself to you. How could you think for one moment . . . ?” She stopped, taking a deep breath through the ball of hurt burning in her chest. “I will no longer defend myself to you or anyone else. I won't be half a wife. I won't be a dirty little secret to hide away in some castle for you to swive whenever the urge strikes. This was a mistake.”

There was a note of finality in her voice that must have alerted him. “That isn't how it is, Margaret. If you would just try to see things from my perspective. I've made vows. I have a duty.”

“What about your vows and duty to me? You say you love me, but this isn't love, Eoin. This is loneliness, secrets, and suspicion interspersed with moments of physical pleasure.”

He stared at her. The helplessness in his eyes tore at her, but she held firm.

“I'm doing the best I can, Maggie. I know this has been difficult, but please try to be a little more patient.”

“No,” she said, and then repeated more firmly, “No. I'm done being patient. I want all of you. If you leave now without me, don't bother coming back.”

She knew he didn't like ultimatums, but she would not back down. Not this time. They couldn't go on like this. There would be nothing left.

Maybe there was already nothing left. His expression had turned to ice, cold and hard. “Is that what you really want?”

Her insides knotted. “Aye.”

She wanted to call the word back as soon as she said it, but she knew it had to be said. He had to choose.

She just didn't think he'd choose to leave her.

M
ARGARET LOST
sense of time. She didn't know how long she sat at the base of the tree sobbing. A minute? Two? Ten? But suddenly Brigid was there.

“Maggie! Thank goodness, here you are! Didn't you hear me calling you?”

Margaret lifted her head and met her friend's gaze in the moonlight.

Brigid paled, her eyes widening in horror. She raced forward to kneel beside her. “Dear God in heaven, what has happened?”

Margaret blinked through the tears of her swollen eyes and shook her head, her throat too tight to respond.

“Did Tristan do this to you?” Brigid said. “I was worried when I saw him come back to the castle without you in such a temper. Oh God, please tell me my brother didn't force you?”

Only then did Margaret realize the state of her clothes. She hadn't tied the laces of her gown where Eoin had loosened them, and she probably bore his mark where he'd ravaged her mouth and throat with his kiss. Following the direction of Brigid's gaze, she looked down and saw the scratch low on her bodice that must have been from his beard.

She shook her head. “N-not T-Tristan.”

Margaret could see the relief on her friend's face, before it hardened into steel. “Then who? Who did this to you? We must get back to the castle to tell your father.”

Margaret grasped at her to prevent her from standing. “No,” she said. “No, you mustn't.”

“Of course we must. The fiend might still be in the area.”

“No, Brigid. I mean it. You can't,” she said frantically. “It isn't what you think. They can't know . . .”

Margaret stopped, not wanting to say too much. Eoin might have broken her heart, but that didn't mean she wanted him to die for it.

She forced herself to stand, though her legs wobbled, and tried to compose herself. Her friend watched her every move, as Margaret did what she could with her appearance.

“It was him, wasn't it?” Brigid asked. “Your husband. He's the one who did this to you. He's the one you are trying to protect.”

Margaret tried to deny it, but she was a horrible liar, and Brigid knew her too well. In the end she was forced to admit it, or Brigid swore she would go right to Margaret's father. “But you must swear to say nothing, Brigid—not to anyone. It might be over, but I still love him.” Hot tears filled her eyes again. “It's over, Brige. It's really over.”

Her friend enfolded her in her embrace and did her best to console her. But Brigid could not put back together what had been shattered.

“Are you sure?” Brigid asked.

There was something in her friend's gaze that Margaret didn't understand. An intensity—a vehemence—with which she asked her question.

Margaret nodded. “Aye. I'm sure.” Her voice caught with a sob. “He doesn't want me.”

Once again she was enfolded in her friend's arms. Brigid squeezed and rocked her back and forth. “Then he's a fool, Maggie Beag, and he doesn't deserve you. Maybe . . . maybe a definitive end will be best.”

It almost sounded like a question, but Margaret was too devastated to heed the warning.

Margaret didn't realize her mistake until the following morning, when she rose after a sleepless night and tried to open her bedchamber door. Perhaps the only benefit of being the sole female in the family was that she'd been given a small, private solar on the second floor of the tower house.

She pulled a few times on the handle, but it had been barred from the outside. At first she thought it was a mistake and knocked loudly, calling for someone's attention. But when one of her father's soldiers brought her food to break her fast, she realized it wasn't a mistake.

She barraged him with questions, which went unanswered, and demanded to be released, which he uncomfortably refused. When it was clear she would get nowhere with him, she asked to see her father.

Over the long hours that her father kept her waiting, she was forced to consider the possibility that her best friend had betrayed her.

A fact that was confirmed for her a few minutes after Dugald MacDowell strode into the room. He looked like a cat who'd just eaten a big fat mouse as he took off his helm, slammed it on the table, and collapsed in her favorite chair before the brazier.

She stood in front of him practically shaking in frustration. “What is the meaning of this, Father? Why have I been locked in my chamber all day?”

His eyes narrowed just a little at her tone, and maybe on another day he would have chastised her, but today he was too pleased with himself. “It's for your own protection.”

“For my
what
?”

His smile turned just a tad cold. “I wouldn't want your duty to become confused.”

Then he told her just how horribly she'd been betrayed. Brigid had told him—actually she'd told Dougal— everything. She stared at her father in numb disbelief. “But why? Why would Brigid do this?”

He shrugged indifferently. “Why should I care? But I suspect it's some silly lass's infatuation with your brother. She has always mooned after him.”

She had? How could Margaret not have noticed? But it still didn't make any sense.

“Would that it had been my own daughter who brought me news of the rebel's presence instead.”

She didn't miss the none-too-subtle reproach. But even her father could not deny that she owed Eoin her loyalty. “He's my husband, Father.”

“Not for much longer.”

His certainty sent a chill into her heart. “Please, Father, you must believe that I have no idea where he is. I'm sure Eoin is long gone by now.”

“I'm sure he's nothing of the sort. We've been expecting an attack, and your husband's presence in the area has all but confirmed it. Loch Ryan is the perfect place to safely land a significant number of ships. Have you not noticed all the men I've been mobilizing in the area for the past month? I've spread them out among the nearby castles trying to prevent the rebels from knowing our strength. We'll have a wonderful surprise waiting for them. Tonight, I'd wager.”

Oh God . . . no. Margaret dropped to the bed, no longer able to stand. The room seemed to be spinning. Her head was pounding with his words: “
Tell no one of my presence
.”

She hadn't meant to. But Brigid had guessed, and she'd thought she was protecting him by confirming it. She'd thought she could trust her. She'd never imagined her friend would do something like this.

But it didn't matter. Unwittingly or not, Margaret had revealed his presence here, and in doing so, betrayed him. But she couldn't let her mistake cost him his life.

“Please, Father, you misunderstand. He came to see me, that is all. W-we argued. He saw me with Tristan and misunderstood.”

Her father stood, his gaze hardened. “I wondered why he'd be fool enough to chance a meeting with you. Undone by jealousy.” He laughed, shaking his head. “If you are telling the truth, you have nothing to worry about. But if you are lying . . .” His mouth fell in a flat line. “If you are lying, nothing will save him anyway, because nothing will stop me from exacting vengeance on the men who killed my kinsman. And if this is Bruce's ‘glorious' return to retake his kingdom, we will finally get the recognition our clan deserves. Can you imagine how Edward will reward the man who brings him the head of the murderous traitor King Hood?”

Margaret pleaded her case, but she knew it was to no avail. Her father had set his course, and her happiness was a small price to pay for vengeance and ambition.

Her mistaken attempt to protect her husband could well end up costing him his life. He'd warned her. “
Tell no one . . . Under any circumstances
.” Oh God, how could she not have listened to him?

She had to do something.