Highlander Unchained (41 page)

When she saw Lachlan ride out with his men to free his brother, she knew her opportunity had arrived. Although he’d never rescinded his order to his men to allow her to leave at any time, she did not want to take the chance that they would try to stop her. She needed help. So she’d turned to the one person who wanted her gone almost as badly as she wanted to leave—Seonaid.

At first, the healer was reluctant to interfere, but once Flora explained the circumstances and that Lachlan had married her only to free his brother from prison, it hadn’t taken much to convince her to help. The prospect of resuming their relationship where they’d left off before Flora’s arrival was too sweet a temptation to refuse. It was a prospect that caused Flora more agony than she wanted to acknowledge. The thought of Lachlan with another woman made the dull ache in her chest quicken and throb with something akin to panic.

Thanks to Seonaid, escape from Drimnin had proved much easier the second time around. Hidden in the shadows with a dark cloak covering her from head to toe, she’d waited, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. Then, while Seonaid distracted the guards, she made her escape through the landward gate. Once safely outside, she hesitated, experiencing a moment of nearly overwhelming sadness—sadness that crashed over her like a lead blanket with a heaviness that made her knees buckle. She’d never thought she’d be leaving like this again. How could everything have changed so quickly?

She thought of waking up that morning with the sun streaming through her tower chamber and how happy she’d been. It felt as though she’d had everything. She’d
trusted
him. But he’d taken that trust and shattered it into a thousand tiny pieces. Steeling herself from the memories, she retraced her steps to the beach, refusing to look back. But as the castle slipped into the darkness behind her, it felt as if her heart were being ripped in two. Part of her, she knew, she’d left behind.

Hector had not disappointed. She’d barely slipped onto the rocky path before she found herself surrounded by her brother’s men, including the friendly face of Aonghus, which somehow made her want to cry.

“We’d nearly given up hope, my lady,” he said. “Your brother will be pleased to see you.”

Overwhelmed by what she’d just done, she could manage only a nod.

They’d ridden north a short while and then boarded a
birlinn
that had brought them to Coll. She should feel relieved, but instead she felt cold and empty—not to mention exhausted. Now that she’d actually done it, the reality had set in. She’d left her husband, the man she’d given her heart and body. It should have been her wedding night; instead of a night filled with passion and tenderness, she was fleeing in the darkness with men she barely knew. It felt…wrong.

She shook off the twinge of doubt. She’d made the right decision. She couldn’t live with a man who’d lied to her, betrayed her trust, and tricked her into marrying him. A man who’d broken her heart. And after that scene in her room, her own weaknesses had been blatantly pointed out.

If only it didn’t hurt so much. God, she missed him. And it had been only a few hours. The long days stretched out before her like an insurmountable mountain. How was she ever going to make it through?

How could it all have come to this? She’d actually thought she’d found a man who could love her for herself, who didn’t want anything from her. She should have known better. But she’d disregarded the lessons of her mother’s lifetime for a dream—that was all it was, a foolish girl’s dream. She’d been right in the beginning. Not about Lord Murray in particular, but about choosing a husband with cold practicality and not allowing herself to be used as a pawn—making her own decisions.

If Lachlan had used a knife, his betrayal could not have cut more exactingly. If only her memories could be excised so precisely.

And now, in the clear light of day as her eyes roamed the windswept vistas of Coll, Flora felt an acute sense of longing for what might have been.

As she made her way up the beach, she saw a large man sitting atop a fine horse and realized her brother had come to greet her. Her step faltered as she drew nearer. Dear God, though a good ten years older than Lachlan, he reminded her of him. Not in his features, but in his build, stance, and fierce expression. They were both hard, forbidding warriors—men who looked as rough and rugged as the landscape that surrounded them.

Though nowhere near as outrageously handsome as Rory, her Maclean brother was also an attractive man. Unlike Rory, however, he did not bear as obvious a resemblance to her. Nor, strangely, did she feel the instant bond of familial connection.

He dismounted and walked toward her with the same determined stride that Lachlan used. Stopping before her, he crossed his arms and gave her a long, hard look. “You’ve come. Good. I feared you would disappoint me.”

She felt a kernel of disappointment herself, which she quickly brushed aside. His greeting was nothing like Rory’s. Most men weren’t demonstrative, she reminded herself, which was why Rory’s exuberant hug had surprised her. Perhaps she should have given Rory the benefit of the doubt.
No
. She couldn’t have risked it. Even if he wasn’t involved in their bargain, his ties to Argyll certainly trumped the feelings of a sister he barely knew.

Still, despite the cool welcome, after her long journey, lack of sleep, and the traumatic events of yesterday, she felt tears of relief swell in her eyes. “It’s good to see you, brother.”

He must have realized how close she was to falling apart, because his eyes softened. He held out his hand. “Come. You must be exhausted. We will talk when you’ve had a chance to rest.”

Grateful for his kindness, Flora took his hand and allowed her brother to lead her to her husband’s castle. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.

She was a pretty little thing, his sister. Hector had actually felt sorry for her. When she’d arrived, she’d looked ready to collapse.

In a show of unusual magnanimity, he’d given her a few hours to rest before they talked. Unless he was mistaken, Coll would be hard on her heels. He’d have to raise men first, though, which would give Hector a bit of time to prepare.

He still couldn’t decide how to best use her to his advantage.

Flora wasn’t the willful, headstrong chit he’d expected. Coll had broken her. Hector supposed he should thank him for that; it would make whatever he planned much easier.

It was a shame. Under other circumstances, he might have warmed to the idea of having a sister around again.

But Coll had to interfere.

And now that Hector held Flora, he finally held the means to put an end to the feud that had been waged between them for too long.

Soon it would be done.

Flora woke to the sound of a knock. For a moment, awash in drowsy confusion, she stretched languidly with a wide smile on her face, thinking she was back at Drimnin. But the swell of happiness evaporated when the unfamiliar maidservant entered with a jug of fresh water. The morose woman made the crotchety old Morag seem like a young girl on May Day. The aura of misery was contagious, and all that had happened came rushing back to her.

“The chief wishes for you to join him for the midday meal,” the woman said somberly.

Flora nodded, realizing she’d slept only a few hours. “Thank you…”

“Mairi.”

“Thank you, Mairi,” she said, but the woman seemed disinclined to talk further and assiduously avoided her gaze.

Flora had removed her gown to lie down, and Mairi helped her put it on again. Though wrinkled and splattered with mud from her journey, it would have to do until her clothes could be sent for. She drowned the reflexive wave of sadness with a splash of cold water on her face. The pain would lessen, she told herself—in time. She hoped.

She smoothed her hair in the looking glass beside the bed and left the room feeling if not refreshed, then at least no longer liable to collapse.

As she was led to the great hall to join her brother, Flora couldn’t help but notice Mairi’s strange behavior. She flinched when Flora spoke to her, almost as if she were frightened by her.

“Have you been here a long time, Mairi?”

She nodded.

“Then you did not come from Duart with my brother?”

“No!”

The vehemence in her voice and the spark of hatred in her dark eyes startled Flora.

Of course it must be difficult, she realized. Hector had taken the castle by force, and the woman was still obviously loyal to Lachlan. Flora was Hector’s half-sister, so of course the woman would assume Flora would side with Hector.

She started to assure her otherwise but stopped. What could she say? That she was married to the laird but had left him? She hardly thought that would endear her to the woman. By coming here, she
had
chosen Hector over Lachlan and forsaken her duty to her husband. The realization took her aback. Lachlan’s accusation that she had no concept of duty and responsibility that had originally fallen on deaf ears, she now acknowledged might hold some truth. For the first time, she felt a shadow of doubt about leaving her husband.

Mairi had turned her gaze, but there was something in the woman’s expression that bothered her. She wore the look of a beaten dog backed into a corner, wounded but ready to bite to defend herself. And what was more, it was clear she perceived Flora as a threat. The animosity she felt toward Hector had obviously spread to his sister.

Instead of trying to make further conversation, Flora studied her surroundings. The place was deathly quiet. Almost like a tomb. A stark contrast to the bustling liveliness and happy countenances of Drimnin. The few servants they did encounter cast their eyes down as soon as they saw her. Almost as if they were scared.

It was unsettling.

As was the state of the keep itself. Much like Drimnin, Breacachadh was a simple tower house construction with a turnpike stair on the southeast corner overlooking the sea. But there the similarities ended. Breacachadh was of much sturdier construction, with thick stone walls, a substantial curtain wall, and a parapet for added defense.

Moreover, she could tell that at one point Breacachadh would have been a very fine home. The rooms were large and richly appointed. Fine carpets were strewn across the wood floors, though mud and muck had turned portions black. The furnishings were much richer as well, carved chairs with velvet cushions, large wooden tables, and cabinets. Tapestries and paintings lined the walls, and fine iron sconces lit the corridors.

It had been easy to make excuses for the signs of destruction along the countryside as they’d ridden to Breacachadh Castle to the south, blaming it on weather, but the woebegone faces of the castle inhabitants—and the condition of the castle itself—were not so easily dismissed.

She knew Lachlan too well to believe he would do this, which left only one person who could be responsible for the pall that seemed to hang over the place.

Hector was already eating when she arrived, having not bothered to wait for her. She turned to thank Mairi, but she’d already disappeared. Flora took the seat beside him and had barely sat down before he started to question her.

“You slept well?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said.

She felt his eyes on her face. “You don’t look much like her.”

“Mother?”

He nodded.

“No.” A faint smile played upon her lips as she thought of her reaction upon seeing Rory. She studied Hector a little closer, noticing for the first time the dark green of his eyes and the shape of his mouth. Though his hair was mostly gray, she could still see the familiar streaks of dark brown. “But you do.” And a little of her unease faded with the realization. After her initial impression of the castle and the servants, the connection with her mother seemed somehow reassuring. Hector was her brother.

He seemed surprised by the observation and then shrugged. “Perhaps. Though I hadn’t seen her in years.”

“What happened to cause the rift between you?”

He eyed her carefully over the rim of his goblet. “She never told you?”

Flora shook her head.

“Not long after my father died, she married a man whom I despised.”

Like Lachlan,
she realized with a flicker of apprehension. Flora recalled what she knew of her mother’s husbands. Only one made sense. “John MacIan of Ardnamurchan?”

Hector’s gaze flared. “Yes.”

“But he was murdered,” she blurted. Something she’d overheard once as a child but hadn’t understood at the time came back to her. “Most foully,” she finished.

Hector’s face grew dark, and he looked at her sharply. “He was an enemy to Duart. An ally of the MacDonalds. Even after the marriage he refused to join us against them. He got what he deserved.”

The flash of earlier warmth for her brother vanished, and her unease returned full force. “You killed him?”

His own mother’s husband? Surely there had to be an explanation.

“He overstepped his bounds, thinking to marry my mother. And she wanted to soil the Macleans with MacIan blood—I couldn’t let that happen. So when the opportunity arose, when I had him in my power, I took advantage of the situation.”

He seemed to want her to understand. Hiding the revulsion she was feeling, she asked, “What opportunity?”

“Their wedding. It was at Torlusk, one of my houses on Mull.”

This time, she could not hide her reaction. By seizing MacIan at Torlusk, Hector had violated one of the most sacred tenets of Highland life—Highland hospitality.

Her poor mother. Flora’s heart went out to her. No wonder she’d so rarely seen Hector. Why hadn’t her mother told her?

And more disturbing, what kind of man could do such a thing? Lachlan’s warning about her brother came back to her.

She forced her pulse to calm. “But you eventually apologized and reconciled?”

“Apologized?” He laughed. “Why would I do that? It was her fault. No, Mother came to me about the time of Argyll’s wedding.”

Flora blanched, realizing why.
Because of me
. She’d been bemoaning the fact that she never saw her brothers and sisters and had never met Hector. Her mother had reconciled because of her. How her mother must have loved her to be able to forgive her son’s betrayal. She’d put aside her own feelings for her daughter. That was love. Should she have done as much for Lachlan? The thought disturbed her.