Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy) Page 24

  “Aye, she’s daft, for all I can tell,” James snapped.

  “And you proposed marriage to her?” Alexander asked to make certain.

  “Aye, to save her reputation.”

  “And she didn’t accept.”

  “Of course not,” James raged. “That was when she admitted it was all a lark.”

  “A lark?” Alexander repeated.

  “Aye,” he nearly shouted. “She was playing me for the fool.”

  “And what did you do?” Colin asked.

  “I bloody well lost my temper. What do you think?”

  “You didn’t kill anyone?” Alexander asked cautiously.

  “Nay. But Emily and her lackey Kester and all the rest of those bloody MacDougalls are lucky I’m not a violent man.”

  “And no one was hurt?” Alexander had to make certain.

  “Kester needed a lesson. But I left him with only a bleeding lip.”

  “The bastard deserved a beating,” Colin agreed. “But it’s probably a good thing you didn’t seriously hurt or kill him. That would certainly have added a complication between our clans—”

  “He’s fine,” James spat, sounding like he wished it were not so.

  “And then you ran for home,” Colin suggested. “I mean, you stole the man’s horse to teach him a lesson.”

  The murderous glare James sent their younger brother didn’t go unnoticed by Alexander. He guessed they weren’t being told the whole truth. The dark cloud hanging over the redheaded beast said James had been more than just a victim of a reprisal prank. He’d met Emily. She was a sensible young woman. And there’d certainly been something developing between her and James on the road. He’d seen that from the moment James pulled the hood from her head at the abbey.

  “Where is Emily now?” Alexander asked. “Did she go back to Craignock for her wedding?”

  “I have no idea where she is,” James hissed, moving to the window and staring out. “But she can burn in hell, for all I care.”

  Alexander and Colin exchanged a look as their brother whirled to face them.

  “And I don’t want to hear her bloody name ever again!”

  Robert’s interference didn’t work.

  The moment Magnus MacKay opened his door and she spied his sour visage, the fires of her anger ignited again. She remembered their last private meeting. The night before her wedding. A scared young woman reaching out to her father, hoping for help, guidance, assurance, some thread of hope to make her feel adequate in what she was embarking on. It had been a disaster.

  That was not even a year ago, but that woman was long gone.

  “I need a moment of your time,” she demanded, moving past him into the room.

  She didn’t see walls or furnishings or the view from the windows. The surroundings floated about her in a reddish haze.

  She whirled on her father. “Your behavior is reprehensible, and I’ve grown sick and tired of it.”

  “My behavior?” he growled. “You show great nerve coming in here and accusing me of anything.”

  “Lady Fiona told me of your latest underhanded interference in my life. I think you would have done just about anything to deliver me to Benmore.”

  “It needed to be done.” His hard stare hid whatever emotion brewed inside, if any. “It was time to put an end to your nonsense. The Macpherson laird agreed. And James was invaluable in taking charge of the arrangements. Alexander Macpherson could have requested an annulment. That would have put an end to everything I planned.”

  “You planned,” she repeated, tasting the bitterness in her mouth. “Aye, you told me, in no uncertain terms. Right before the wedding. For the good of the clan, you said. For the safety of your sons. Everything planned to make a better life for those you care about. And it didn’t matter that your plans included trading away a ‘woefully inadequate’ daughter before the buyer had a chance to discover the fraud she was.”

  “I recall that night. I was angry with you. Tired of your attitude. I said those things to motivate you, to wake you up to the real world.” He shrugged and turned away, moving to the window and looking out. “I am clan chief of the MacKays. I do as I see fit. It was not for you to be questioning my decisions. You wanted me to stop the wedding.”

  She’d been frightened. She’d gone to him, hoping against hope that her father had her well-being in mind, too.

  Kenna thought of Alexander and how much she loved him now. She thought of the warmth and welcome of the Macphersons. Staring at her father’s back, she thought of how loveless and indifferent he was. This man had shut her out, treated her more coldly than he would treat a stranger. And that wasn’t for a day, or a month, or a year. That had been for all the years after her mother’s death.

  Well, this was her home now. How different, how much better her life would be now. She had far more worthwhile things to do than waste even a moment trying to change his mind about her, or trying to win so much as an ounce of his affection.

  “Very well. You did it. I’m exactly where you intended me to be. And I am staying. Benmore Castle is my new home. The Macphersons are my new clan, my new family. And the surprising thing is, they want me here. When have I ever felt that before?”

  He half turned but did not look at her.

  “You’ve delivered on your part of the bargain. The articles of agreement on the contract have been met. The Macphersons will honor their part.”

  His gaze drifted to her, but his face showed no expression.

  “And I want you to go,” she said, trying desperately to hide the hurt and anger in her voice. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. “Now. Immediately. Before the clan gathering tonight. Before I am presented to my new people.”

  Her father said nothing.

  “Do you hear me? Let me make this clear. I no longer want you in my life. I want no visits from you. Go and leave me to live in peace.”

  His guarded expression revealed nothing. His voice was low when he spoke.

  “As you wish. I’ll be gone this afternoon.”

  The gaze returned to the window.

  She nodded and turned on her heel as her tears broke free. The door was only a few short steps away. She closed the distance. Her hand shook as she reached for the latch. She hesitated.

  This would be the last time she’d ever speak to him, Kenna promised herself.

  “One last thing before I go, before you’re out of my life forever. Tell me, at least, why you treat me like this. What have I done that you should harbor such resentment?”

  “There’s no resentment.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” she cried, turning around. “At least have the decency to tell the truth this once. I’m your only daughter!”

  He was watching her from the window. “Let it go. Best not wake the sleeping hound.”

  “Wake him! I need an answer. There once was a time in my life when I was loved by a mother and a father. I recall a time when I was the jewel of your eyes, the center of your attention, the child you doted on. I want to know what I did to turn your affection into loathing.”

  “What you want? Must it always be what you want?” He shook his head. “I have nothing more to say, Kenna. Enough.”

  “It’s not enough,” she cried. “Don’t you see? You buried your love for me the day you buried my mother. But why? Why? Someday, God willing, I will bring a child of my own into this world. For the sake of that child, tell me what a little girl can possibly do to destroy the love of a father.”

  Through the blur of tears, Kenna couldn’t see his eyes. All she could see was an aging Highlander who threw up a shield between them whenever she was near.

  “Please, Father.”

  He had no answer, offered no explanation.

  She turned once more to the door, but her fingers froze at the sound of his voice.

  “I hold you responsible for your mother’s death.”

  The tinker’s eyes opened wide as Maxwell and his men strode out of the darkness into his camp. In the fi
relight, the Lowlander saw the look of fear the man immediately tried to hide.

  “Welcome, friends,” the man said, rising slowly and struggling to straighten his old back. “I’ve naught but some bannock cake, but yer welcome to share it ’round.”

  Maxwell waved him off and gestured to one of his men. “Bring our new friend some of that beef we had for our supper.”

  The tinker raised an eyebrow as he received a slab of roasted meat. “Why, thank ye. The laird of these parts, a mean fellow to his very bones, ain’t usually so generous with his cattle.”

  “So right you are,” Maxwell replied, sitting by the man’s fire. “But since the man wasn’t about, we didn’t think he’d mind us helping ourselves.”

  Maxwell’s men lurked on the edges of the darkness rimming the camp. The tinker had seen them in the distance earlier in the day. He’d pretended not to notice them and turned his ox-drawn cart to the west, but Maxwell wasn’t fooled.

  “Well, a fine job ye did with this meat, I’m thinking.”

  Maxwell drew his dagger and pressed the point into the soft ground in front of him. “But you’ll not be telling tales on us, I hope.”

  “Devil take me, if I do. I’m just an ’umble journeyman. And I don’t mind telling ye that the MacKays north of here are not the most welcoming of strangers like you and me.”

  “So you’re not a MacKay?”

  “Damn me and my pap’s kilted arse if I am. I’m a Sutherland, through and through.”

  “A Sutherland, traveling in MacKay land.”

  “Och, this was all Sutherland land up to a dozen years ago or so. For now, the MacKays hold it, but not for long, they say.”

  They sat for a few moments, the silence broken only by the sound of the crackling fire and the tinker chewing.

  “So,” the craftsman said. “Would ye be in need of some polishing of yer swords? Ye wouldn’t want to be seen at a disadvantage by the lassies at the festival.”

  Maxwell drew his dagger from the ground and looked at it. The polished metal gleamed in the firelight. He looked up at his men. Their faces glowed red in the darkness.

  “You hear that, lads? A festival . . . and lasses.” A murmur of approval came from the men. “And what festival is that?”

  “Why, in these parts, it’s the grandest festival of all. I’m going there now. Five days of feasting and revelry. At the Abbey of the Oak. Just beyond the glen away to the west of here.”

  “And folk travel from all about here to go to the festival?”

  “Aye, everyone. And from far off, across the sea, even. Pilgrims. The abbey ain’t much to speak of, anymore. Only two or three monks left. But they have the third finger of Saint Brigid’s right hand!”

  This could be the chance they were waiting for, Maxwell thought. During the hunting each morning, the two MacKay boys were being watched over like a pair of matched pearls, and he was starting to think they might need to take them by force. But if they went to the festival—and they very likely would go—then he could either snatch them there or surprise them on the road somewhere.

  “And do you think strangers like us would be welcome?”

  “Aye, I’m certain of it, if—begging yer pardon—ye have money in yer purse. Why, last year they had pilgrims from as far as Inverness and Belfast even. Quite the festival, it is.”

  Maxwell considered his options and decided. Some of his men would go as pilgrims. They could use some salvation, and Saint Brigid’s finger was sure to do the trick. He turned and slapped the man on the shoulder.

  “You’ve convinced me. We’re going. And as for polishing weapons . . .” he began and then paused.

  His dagger flashed in the light and the blade disappeared into the chest of the tinker. The man stared down at Maxwell’s fist on the hilt, tried to turn his head, and slumped over.

  “That’s all the polishing my weapons need.”

  Chapter 27

  Yea, and I will weep a while longer.

  How? she thought. How could I possibly be responsible?

  Kenna’s mind raced, and then as if stepping out of a fog, years peeled away. She was in the room with her mother, clutching her hand, refusing to be taken away, as Sine’s voice faltered. She moaned in pain. The twins were born the night before. Kenna only saw them in passing.

  “Teach her. Tell her what to do.”

  Her father’s voice rang in the room. Kenna didn’t know what he meant and who needed to be taught. Women crowded around the bed, fussing, seeing after the patient. Kenna gazed into her mother’s eyes while fighting the tears. She kissed the weak fingers, desperate to show her love, as words would not claw out of her throat.

  “Please, Sine. Do it now.”

  Her mother’s lips moved. She squeezed Kenna’s hand and mouthed the words. “Go . . . you go now. See your brothers.”

  Kenna shook her head. She wasn’t leaving her mother’s bed.

  Sine’s gaze drifted over Kenna’s shoulders where Magnus MacKay stood. “Take her.”

  Her father paused before taking hold of her arms. Kenna sobbed. She wouldn’t let go. She didn’t want to leave the room. Her cries for her mother rang in the bedchamber when he finally was able to carry her out.

  In the shadows of the solemn Great Hall, he put her down.

  “Listen to me, Kenna. Go see your brothers but then come back,” he told her. “I want you to tell your mother that you are ready. That she has to let you try. It is your right. Your duty.”

  It is your right. She has to let you try. You are ready. The words continued to repeat in her head.

  The next time Kenna saw her mother, it was too late.

  She now understood. She had the power to cure any injury, to save a life from the very edge of the abyss. She had been there, holding her mother’s hand, as Sine lay on her deathbed.

  He’d been trying to tell her what to do back then.

  She looked up at her father and a dark curtain was torn asunder. He knew. Her mother had entrusted him with the knowledge of her gift.

  “You’re talking about the stone,” she said. “The tablet. The fragment that belonged to my mother.”

  “Aye, the healing stone,” he replied, letting out a weary breath. “So you know what it is and what it can do.”

  “I only just discovered the power of it. When Alexander was badly injured, when we were on the road, I was certain he’d die. There was nothing humanly possible I could have done to save him. And then I reached for the stone.”

  He nodded, leaning against the wall, as if he’d delivered a weight and now he was allowed to rest. “How did you know what to do?”

  “I didn’t know. The stone showed me. I remembered seeing it on Mother. It was with my wedding dress and other things she left for me. I held it . . . and it worked. It came alive in my hand and guided me. I was able to heal him.”

  He sank onto a bench by the window. His elbows rested on his knees, his head hanging.

  “This is exactly as she said it would be.” His voice sounded as if it were coming up from a deep well. “She told me it needed to happen this way.”

  The memory was back. She remembered his face that day. The tearful eyes when he told her to come back. He was hurting and she didn’t know what to do—how to make him better.

  “I remember your words. I recall what you told me to do. But I didn’t know what they meant. I had no idea of what I could do or I would have never left my mother’s side.”

  Large hands covered his face. She knew he was reliving the same moments.

  “You hold me responsible. But I didn’t even have the stone until six months ago,” she said softly. “Why? Why would you punish me? What did I do wrong?”

  Silence hung in the room.

  “She didn’t want me to see her die. She had you take me away because she loved me.” Kenna couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice. She was way past holding back her emotions. “You loved her. But how could you blame me . . . the daughter she loved . . . your daughter . . .”


  “I was desperate for someone to blame.”

  He ran a hand down his face and she saw the tears he batted away. “I’ve never moved past the grief I still have at losing her.”

  “And the same goes for me,” she reminded him. “She was my light, my air, the sunshine, my happiness. Losing her was the end of my childhood.”

  His eyes welled with tears when he met hers. “Kenna, it’s not you. It’s she, your mother, that I’ve never forgiven.”

  Kenna could no longer be a distant observer. She moved to his side, sat on the bench beside him. This close, his pain became hers—her sorrow gripped by him.

  “It was a terrible thing, a difficult birth. After the boys finally came, there was nothing the midwife could do to stop the bleeding. I asked Sine . . . I begged her to give you the stone. If she had done it, you could have saved her life.”

  “And why didn’t she?” Kenna asked, having no control over the tears that blanketed her face.

  “She said you were just a child. She said the stone brought great responsibility and immense danger. The relic was both a gift and a curse. She told me you were not ready.”

  “So you blamed me because I wasn’t older? And you think I wouldn’t have taken it that day?”

  “I know. But I needed someone to blame. I told myself that if you’d only come back in, told her that you were ready, convinced her somehow, that maybe . . .”

  “But I didn’t have any idea!”

  “I know. I . . . I’ve been a fool, Kenna. A blind, angry fool.”

  She reached over and took his hand. His other hand, rough and calloused, covered hers.

  “I loved her. More than a man should, perhaps. I couldn’t accept that she chose death over me. Over us.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “She worried about your safety. But I told her I would protect you as I protected her. But she wouldn’t have it. She wouldn’t listen to anything I said. She’d made up her mind, and I had no say in the decision. She just wouldn’t listen to reason. I was frustrated. Angry. That’s why I tried to tell you . . . make you ask for it . . . make you talk her into giving it to you. But then she was gone.”