Keeper of my Heart (30 page)

“You will never speak of your
gift
, ever again, Màiri. Do you understand? No one can ever discover the powers you have.”

She shook her head. “It is you who do na understand, Iain. You are just like my father. He thought he could hide the gift from the MacBrides just like you, but he could na. My mother could detect every lie that came from his mouth, feel the deceit that accompanied his every word, and sense the hatred that lived in his heart. Do you know what he finally did to rid himself of a wife from whom he could hide nothing?”

“I do na care,” he bellowed, even though the words were lies. He looked into her eyes, waiting to see if she recognized his lie. She had no reaction.

“He locked her away in a far tower in his keep and gave his people strict instructions to never go near his mad wife.”

Her voice wavered and he looked away, unable to look at the desolation in her gaze.

“I was born in that tower, behind that locked door. I can still remember the first time my mother took me beyond the rooms that were our prison. The first time I ran barefoot through an open meadow or felt grass between my toes or the wind blowing through my hair.” She spun around and glared at him. “I was nearly five years old! My mother woke me in the middle of a warm summer night when no one else was about to see me. I played outside in the meadow like I’d seen the other children play. Even though there was no sun to shine on my face and no one else with whom I could play, I was… free.” Her voice broke.

A leaden rock fell to the pit of his stomach. “I canna believe—”

“Believe what you wish, Iain MacAlister. Just know this. I lived the first nineteen years of my life locked in a cage like an animal, without enough wood for a fire to keep me warm in the winter or enough food to ward away the pangs of hunger. I watched my mother die of neglect and a broken heart, waiting for my father to forgive her for having the gift, and love her as she loved him. I’ll na make the same mistake as she. I’ll na let you lock me away. I’ll na wait for you to… I’ll not.”

She fisted her hands at her side and he watched as her knuckles turned white. The haunted look in her eyes became more determined. He’d known there had been no love between her and her father but he couldn’t believe the bastard would lock his own wife and daughter away.

“You think I would lock you away?”

“Nay,” she said, the deadly serious tone of her voice almost a surprise. “Because I will na let you.”

A long silence stretched between them. He raked his fingers through his hair as another wave of painful frustration pounded in his head. “Do you know what will happen if your gift is discovered?”

She turned away from him.

He paced the length of the room, fighting to keep his temper under control. “Why? Why did you na tell me from the start?”

“Tell you! I did everything in my power to stop you from marrying me. It is your fault I did na get behind the convent walls in time. It is your fault I was forced to be your bride. You played right into my father’s hands when you took me. You knew I did na want to marry you.”

“I thought you did na want to marry because you intended to give yourself to the church. How was I to know you were a w—”

He stopped just before the last word left his mouth but it was already too late. She pulled back as if she had been slapped, all color gone from her already too-pale complexion. With her hand against the stone wall to steady her, she made her way to the opening that overlooked the courtyard below and stared up at the cloudless sky. She lifted her chin with regal pride and held her shoulders rigid and tall, keeping her back as straight as an archer’s arrow. For a long time she said nothing. When she turned to face him, the air left his lungs. Her face was void of all expression, the look in her eyes lacking any warmth or life. His words had stolen much from her.

“It is too late to keep my gift hidden from all, milord,” she said, her voice as lifeless as the look in her eyes. “Roderick knows.”

“Roderick is my brother. He will na—”

“Roderick wants to be laird and will destroy you to get what he wants.”

“Nay!”

“Heed my words, Iain. Roderick’s hatred for you is great. He must have loved the lass Adele very much because her death eats away at him like a sickness that has na cure.”

He couldn’t let himself believe her. “Does your gift tell you this?”

“Nay. Roderick said the words himself.”

Iain thought he would be ill. Màiri had to be lying. “Roderick did na say such a thing. He would not.”

“Believe what you wish. I am telling you the truth. Roderick thinks my death will be as great a tragedy to you as Adele’s was to him. When that is accomplished, he will destroy you.”

“Nay!” Iain stumbled to the door on legs that barely supported him. He had to leave this room. He had to separate himself from her accusations. How could he believe her? How could he take her word over Roderick’s? How could he believe his own brother guilty of such betrayal?

He reached for the latch, wondering if her gift told her how much her words had hurt him. Before he left the room, he turned back to her. “You said once your gift canna read what I am feeling. Was that the truth?”

She nodded. “You are the first one ever my gift has failed to open to me.”

“Then your gift does na tell you my thoughts right now?”

“I do na need a gift to see your pain. Nor do I need a gift to know how much you regret the path your life has traveled.”

He could not argue with her. There was more confusion inside him than he ever thought he could feel. Holy Mother of God. If Màiri was not lying, that meant Roderick had tried to kill him all those months ago when he’d gone to the MacBrides to get his betrothed. That he had tried again when he poisoned the ale that had killed Ferquhar.

He stumbled down the stairs, clutching a hand to his head. There was nothing he could do to ease the painful pounding he thought might bring him to his knees. Just as there was nothing he could do to ease the pain tearing inside his chest.

. . .

Màiri sat behind the curtained wall jutting out from the kitchen entrance and watched as Iain and Roderick and Donald discussed another minor dispute with the Cochrans. So far she was hidden to the men, save Donald, who had seen her when she’d entered. She did not want Iain to realize she was there, nor did she want Roderick to know how closely she watched him.

Roderick reported what had happened and Iain listened to each word, the expression on his face void of any emotion. Her gift told her every word Roderick spoke was false and she prayed at least Donald could see through his lies. Iain, it was plain, did not want to look for any untruths. She wished her gift could tell her his thoughts. More than anything, she needed to know.

She put a hand to her stomach and held it there. She’d been sick again this morning, but since Iain had not come to their bed last night, she’d been able to keep any suspicions from him. She did not know what she would do if he suspected she might be carrying his child. She feared more what Roderick would do.

She looked up when she heard movement. Iain and Roderick had finished their discussion and were walking out of the room with Donald following at a distance. Donald stopped and moved toward where she sat.

“Stay here, mistress,” Donald whispered, after Roderick and Iain had walked through the door. “I will watch our laird. Rest for a little while until we return.”

She shook her head. “I must watch over him, Donald.”

“Rest for a little while. It is obvious from the color of your face you are na well. Just stay here until we return. He will be safe.”

“Watch him close, Donald.”

“Aye, milady. Lochlan and Conan are watching from outside and Rauri and Hector are near if they are needed.”

“Do na let Iain eat or drink anything Roderick gives him.”

The look on Donald’s face told his shock at her words.

“Roderick has failed twice already,” she added. “He will not be so careless again.”

Donald shook his head, then walked out of the keep to stay at his laird’s side. He would do as she asked because he had sworn his allegiance, but he still did not believe her. She could see it on his face and hear it in his voice. There was little more she could do to convince him. She sat in the empty corner a little while longer, then went up to her chambers to lie down for a moment before Iain returned and she would have to keep her vigil to protect him.

She closed the door behind her and looked across the room at the huge bed. Her marriage bed. The bed in which Iain had first made love to her. Her body warmed at the thought of his mouth on hers and his hands touching her flesh. Her throat ached when she thought of the distance that separated them now. From the time he’d discovered her gift, he’d slept with his back to her, pulling as far away from her as possible so there was no chance he would touch her. Less chance he would desire her. Except for last night. Then he had not come to her at all.

For the first time in her life, she wished she had never heard of the gift. For all the good it did, the truth it sought, the joy it found, the total of all its goodness added together was not worth the pain and hurt she felt now. She’d been positive she could make a life as Iain’s wife, a life where she was loved and cherished and accepted. Now she knew it would never happen. Iain would not accept her gift. He’d no more want her as his wife than her father had wanted her mother. He’d be no more able to love the babe their love had created than her father had been able to love her.

How could she ever think to be accepted by the MacAlister clan if their laird could not accept her?

How could she stay, knowing Iain would never love her? She’d not make the same mistake as her mother. She’d not wait for something that would never happen.

She sat on the edge of the bed, remembering the last time Iain had made love to her. Remembering the last time he’d held her in his arms.

Without warning, her gift shot a painful piercing from her head to her toes. A threat so violent that the air from her chest burst inside her, leaving her clutching her chest as she gasped for breath. She could not breathe. A pressing weight clamped over her mouth and her nose, stopping the air. She felt herself sinking beneath a watery surface, pulled along by a force stronger than she could fight. She surfaced, gasping for air, fighting to fill her lungs.

Invisible tentacles pulled her under again and no matter how hard she struggled, she lost the battle with every effort. Her gift let her experience the watery grave that would soon be a prison of death for someone dear to her.

“Iain!” she screamed, running from the chamber, lifting her skirt as she raced down the stairs. Dear God. Don’t let it be Iain.

She nearly ran into one of the serving maids as she headed for the door, and elderly Margaret pressed her back against the wall as Màiri sped past her.

“He’s drowning. Oh, God, he’s drowning!”

The crowded bailey bustled with MacAlister warriors just returning from a hunt. “Where is he?” she screamed, praying they’d seen him. “Where is your laird?”

They gaped at her. “We just rode in. Is something wrong, mistress?”

She didn’t wait to answer, but ran toward a gathering of women, Frances and Dianna and Isabel and Ardis. “Have you seen your laird,” she gasped again. “Have you seen him?”

“Nay, milady,” they answered, shaking their heads. The women stared at her with confusion in their eyes and fear on their faces, giving her the last answer she wanted to hear.

“Iain!” A panic unlike anything she’d ever felt before consumed every fiber of her being, filling her with a debilitating fear that grasped her and would not let go. Tears blurred her vision as she ran across the bailey toward the practice area. She could not lose him now. She could not. She stumbled once, barely catching herself before she fell to the ground, then continued on, ignoring the growing crowd following her.

“Iain!”

“Màiri!” The answer came back to her from the other side of the courtyard, from the stables where the horses were kept.

She turned at his voice, desperately searching to find him, then saw him running toward her, the sight of him well the most wonderful sight she’d ever seen in her life. He was safe. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she swallowed hard to get past the lump in her throat.

“The stream… Go to…the stream.” She struggled to be understood as each gasping word rasped out its urgency. “Someone’s drowning.”

“Who?”

“I do na know. Iain, hurry. Dear God, hurry!”

Iain raced through the opening at the rear of the curtain wall with a gathering of warriors at his side. Women and children and even some of the elderly followed to help, but Màiri feared they would not be in time. The struggles her gift showed her slowed, the fight to survive ebbed weaker. A pain shot through her when all went still and calm, the effort to live faltered.

Strong arms caught her as she sank to her knees, holding her secure. She looked up, staring into Rauri’s startling blue eyes.

“It is all right, mistress. The laird will do what he can.”

For the first time, Màiri looked behind her, staring into the wide-eyed gazes of the growing crowd of MacAlister men and women who had stayed behind. Their confusion was obvious. Not one word passed between them as they looked from her to the open gate, waiting for their laird to return to tell them what tragedy had occurred. What tragedy only their mistress knew had happened.