Wings of Morning (16 page)

“I only wish ye hadn’t mentioned that ye’d fired both yer pistols that night,” Niall muttered. “It lends further credence to the possibility that one of them was used against MacLaren.”

“Even if they were both fired earlier, when we first engaged them?” Iain gave a sharp laugh. “Well, I refuse to lie. Besides, everyone knows the likelihood of me having time to reload is next to impossible. And if Seton’s smart, he’ll now know to inquire at Strathyre for any men who may have received gunshot wounds that night.”

“And what if ye missed both times ye fired? It was verra dark. Ye said that yerself.”

“Then mayhap we both should lift a wee prayer that the Lord guided my aim that night.” He sighed and shook his head. “I said what I did, and I’m at peace with it. Let it be, Niall.”

“Fine. I suppose it
is
pointless, repeatedly revisiting that night.” His cousin leaned on the waist-high wall enclosing the roof. “Will ye at least consider returning to Balloch with Seton then?”

Iain couldn’t help a smile. “Nay. Just as ye didn’t think it fair to permit Regan to return to Strathyre, just in case she’d try to manipulate the evidence, it’s no more fair for me to be at Balloch during Seton’s investigation.”

Niall fell silent for several seconds. Finally, though, he turned to Iain. “If ye imagine she’s finally playing fair, ye’re mistaken. Even now, she continues to scheme behind yer back.”

He shot his cousin a sharp look. “What are ye saying?”

“She’s had some sort of contact outside Kilchurn, with someone it appears she has been communicating with, if not secretly meeting.” Niall smiled, but the smile never quite reached his eyes. “I’ve had her watched since the day she accused ye. Yesterday, she apparently paid one of the stable boys to deliver a message to someone in Dalmally. Unfortunately, my man lost the lad in the market crowds. By the time we found the boy back at the stables, learned where he had been in Dalmally, and returned there, the man was gone.”

“Could the lad at least give ye the man’s name?”

Niall shook his head. “Nay. Regan was too clever for that. She only told the boy to deliver the message to the man lodging at the town butcher’s home. And, not surprisingly, the butcher didn’t know his guest’s name either. Whoever he was, he was a clever one, and no mistake.”

With heavy heart, Iain turned back to gaze out over Loch Awe. It was a gloomy day, with ominous clouds building in the west. Trees swayed to and fro in the gusting winds, and choppy waves rippled in endless succession across the lake. A storm was on the way.

He felt as unsettled as the day, pulled to and fro by wild, chaotic emotions. On one hand, there was the still raw wound of Regan’s sudden change of heart, of her not only rejecting him but also all but naming him a murderer. And, on the other, there was that stubborn hope that, beneath it all, somehow she still loved him. He had seen
something
in her eyes that day they had stood before Mary. Sadness, remorse, even a look of entreaty. It hurt, and hurt badly, that she hadn’t trusted him enough to come to him and tell him the truth. But he knew, as well, that she was as much a victim in this sad, sorry mess as was he.

Or, leastwise, he tried to believe that. But now . . . now to learn Regan had been in communication with someone outside Kilchurn was almost more than Iain could bear. Had Niall been right all along? Had Regan planned all of this—even her loss of memory—from the start? And had she always had an accomplice?

“There can be several explanations for the presence of that man in Dalmally,” Iain replied at last. “Indeed, the man, whoever he is, could’ve been the one to plant the seeds of doubt about me. Mayhap he even had a hand in her husband’s murder.”

“By mountain and sea!” Niall threw up his hands. “Do ye hear yerself? That woman all but has her ring in yer nose, and ye convinced that she can do no wrong, no matter how many times she stabs ye in the back and then twists the knife deeper!” He grabbed Iain by the arm. “Does yer mither realize how besotted ye are with this woman? Does Anne?”

Fury exploded in Iain. He jerked away. “Keep them out of this, Niall! It’s bad enough ye’re so involved. And I’m not so besotted that I can’t think straight.”

“Ye are when it comes to Regan!”

Iain shook his head, the pained bewilderment swamping him yet again. “It’s almost as if, of a sudden, she’s two different women. Yet still I see, hidden deep within this woman whom she has apparently always been, the woman I first came to know. I see the inherent goodness in her, buried as it now seems to be beneath years of hurt, confusion, and life’s cruel vagaries.”

“The way she was before she lost her memory—if she truly did—is how she really is, cousin. Ye must face that, or set yerself down the road to yer own destruction. Even more importantly, even if she finally does accept yer innocence, can ye ever fully trust her again?”

“I don’t know. The Lord admonishes us to forgive our trespassers.”

“Aye, that He does, but does forgiveness also entail having once more to trust that person? To my way of thinking, forgiving doesn’t require us also to become fools.”

“Mayhap not.” Iain straightened. “Ye’ve given me a lot to consider. And consider it I will. Now, if ye’ll excuse me, I think I need to spend some time in the chapel.”

Niall smiled. “Aye, that
is
the best place to find answers, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “It is.” With that, Iain turned and headed for the stairs.

No one was in the chapel, which didn’t surprise him considering it was well into the afternoon. With a warm sense of having come home, Iain slipped into one of the pews midway down from the altar. He clasped his hands, lowered his head, and closed his eyes.

Just then, the door opened and closed behind him. Normally, he wouldn’t have turned but instead given the visitor his privacy. But some instinct, some sense of a special someone, told him to turn. His gaze locked with Regan’s.

For a long, wordless moment, they stared at each other. Shock, anguish, then tears filled her eyes. He half rose, opened his mouth to beckon her to him, when she wheeled about, wrenched the door back open, and fled down the hall.

From her bedchamber window, Regan watched Lord Seton and an escort of armed Campbells ride out the next morn, headed, she well knew, to Balloch Castle. From that same window, eight days later, she also saw him return. Allowing for two days hard riding to and from Balloch, she knew he had spent a total of four days there.

Whether or not that had allowed him sufficient time to thoroughly question all who might have accompanied Iain the night of Roddy’s death, Regan didn’t know. She hoped so. In the end, she knew she’d have to trust in Seton’s word that it had. So much of this was, and had always been, out of her hands. That realization frustrated her. Frustrated her greatly.

At least Iain hadn’t accompanied Lord Seton back to Balloch. She had almost suspected he would, or if not him, Niall. But both men had remained at Kilchurn. Perhaps they had done so in the cause of fairness. Or perhaps they knew the verdict even before the investigation had barely commenced. Who’d choose, after all, to believe a woman from some minor clan over the Campbell chief and his tanist?

A knock came at her door. Since no one in the past week and a half had demanded to see her, Regan supposed it was just Jane bringing in some fresh linens or another pile of wood for the fireplace.

“Enter,” she called out, not even bothering to turn to greet the maidservant. There was no point at any rate. Nowadays, Jane spoke only when spoken to, and the rest of the time she was tight-lipped and averted her gaze.

The door opened, then closed. Leather-clad feet crossed the bedchamber and came to stand behind her.

Regan sighed. “Aye, what is it now, Jane?”

“It’s not Jane, Regan. It’s Anne.”

With a gasp, Regan wheeled around. Niall’s auburn-haired wife stood there, gazing solemnly back at her.

“I-I beg pardon, m’lady,” Regan choked out, rising to her feet. “If I’d known it was ye, I would’ve answered the door. But aside from Jane, I’ve not been receiving visitors of late.”

“Ye’ve never been confined to yer room, Regan,” Anne gently replied. “And I
have
tried to visit ye, several times in fact, but ye never answered until today.”

“I-I didn’t know it was ye.” She lowered her gaze. “But then, I didn’t wish to speak with anyone, even through the door. Especially if it were Niall or Iain.” Realizing how her words might be construed, Regan looked up. “Och, I didn’t mean aught against yer husband, m’lady,” she hurried to explain, “this being his home and all. There was just naught more to be said that wouldn’t have been hurtful, and I’ve caused enough pain as it is.”

“Aye, and I’d wager ye’ve tasted yer fair measure of that pain as well.” Anne paused. “I’d like to stay a time and speak with ye, if ye’d be willing. There are yet some unanswered questions that still gnaw at me.”

The last person—well,
almost
the last anyway—Regan wanted to speak with was Anne. Anything she told her would go straight back to Niall, and perhaps even Iain. Yet Regan wouldn’t lie.

She indicated the chair she had been sitting in. “Ye may sit there if ye wish, and I can bring over a stool. But I tell ye true, there’s not much more to be said. Leastwise, naught I’d care for others to know.”

“If ye don’t wish me to tell Niall what we speak of, I won’t. I just can’t bear to think of ye up here all alone and bereft of anyone to talk to. Indeed, if ye want, we can just speak of other things entirely, like two friends.”

Regan’s gaze narrowed. Did she dare believe her, or was Anne pretending concern so as to lull her into revealing something that might be of use to Iain? Still, aside from speaking about Walter’s involvement, there wasn’t anything else she could inadvertently reveal that wasn’t already known.

“Have it yer way then.” Regan headed across the bedchamber to retrieve the stool, which she then placed across from Anne’s chair. “Sit, if ye will,” she then said, indicating the chair.

They sat there for a time in silence, Regan not having any idea what to say next. Finally, Anne spoke up.

“I think my wee bairn moved yesterday.”

Regan couldn’t help a smile. “Indeed? And how did it feel?”

With a dreamy look in her eyes, Anne looked out the window and into the distance. “Like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. It was so swift and so slight, the first time I didn’t think aught of it.

But then it came again, deep within my belly, and I knew. Knew it was my bairn.”

Such a simple, commonplace, happy event, Regan thought, a mother’s first sense of new life within her. And perhaps even more so for Anne, who had struggled for the past two years to conceive the children and heirs her husband so deeply desired. Niall had already endured the loss of one bairn and wife in childbirth. Anne didn’t want him to suffer, on top of that loss, with a barren second wife.

But no more. The Lord had finally blessed their union with the first conception of what they hoped would be many children. Their happiness—and life—would soon be complete.

For a long, anguished moment, Regan was overcome by such an intense yearning to have
her
old life back, to just have things the way they once were, that she thought she’d cry out from the pain. Anything was better than what she had now, which was nothing but a huge, gaping hole where once had beat her heart. Her heart . . . Iain . . . Mathilda . . . Balloch Castle . . . and the friends she had made.

She blinked back tears. “I’m verra happy all goes well with ye and yer bairn. Truly, I am.”

“I know ye are, my friend.” Anne reached down and laid a hand on Regan’s cheek. “I know.”

At the gentle, caring touch, something disintegrated in Regan. Walls crumbled, floodgates opened, and tears, long held in check, burst through. She began to weep, and try as she might to call back the tears, she couldn’t. Cradling her arms about her head, Regan buried her face in her lap and sobbed uncontrollably.

With a soft sound of compassion, Anne was on the floor beside her, gathering her into her arms to hold her close. Which only made Regan weep the harder, so starved had she been in the past week for kindness and human companionship. Weep until all that remained were body-wracking, hiccupping sobs that finally dissipated into renewed silence.

“Och, lass, lass,” Anne crooned as she tenderly stroked Regan’s head. “I’m so sorry. So verra, verra sorry all this has happened to ye. It tears my heart out to see ye in such a way. As it does Iain, who’s equally worried about ye.”

At the mention of his name, Regan tensed. She drew in a deep, steadying breath, then pushed Anne’s hands away and sat up. “Is that why ye came here, then? To find some way to speak to me of Iain?”

“I care about ye both, and hate to see the two of ye in such pain over this matter.”

Regan gave a harsh laugh. “The only pain
he
feels is the fear he might yet be found guilty. One way or another, though, Iain’s washed his hands of me. If he feels aught for me now, it’s hatred.”

“And do ye care? If he hates ye now?”

She blinked in surprise. “What does it matter what I care? I knew the consequences of accusing him. But I had to, Anne. I’ve never admitted this to anyone, but I drove Roddy away on our wedding night, when he came to me drunk and tried to take me in a less than gentle way. I hid from him, and when he couldn’t find me, he rode out to reive some cattle for a bridal gift. In the hopes of making it all up to me.” Suddenly, the shame was too much to bear, and the tears began to flow again. “He’d be alive to this day, he would, if I hadn’t refused, in my pride and stubbornness, to go to him when he called for me.”