Keeper of my Heart (9 page)

Iain ignored her words, knowing they were just the thoughts of a willful lass angry because she’d been forced to comply with her father’s demands. Things would seem different on the morrow.

Lifting the dagger from the belt at his waist, he slit the sleeve of her gown from her wrist to her elbow. The material fell away, exposing the long, ragged wound. “Do na look,” he said, placing his finger on her chin and turning her head.

“Is it that bad?”

“Nay. But a wound always looks worse before ’tis washed and bound.”

Iain tore a strip of material from her muslin undergarment and rinsed it in the stream. She sucked in her breath when he placed the cool cloth against her skin and he angled his back to her so she couldn’t see when he cleaned away the blood.

“Do you think it will need to be sewn?” she asked, her soft voice bearing a great deal of trepidation.

“Aye.”

Kenneth came with the three horses and tethered them beside the stream, then walked over to her. The look on his face held a wealth of concern. “I did na protect you well, milady,” he said, kneeling beside her. “I swear it is the last time I will let your father harm you.”

“It was na your fault, Kenneth. It was foolish of me to try to battle him. I should have known better. I have never come out the victor.”

Kenneth smiled. “You are more warrior than half the MacBrides with him. ’Tis a pity he will never see it.”

She smiled, but her smile soon faded. It was obvious her arm pained her more with every minute gone by.

“Kenneth,” Iain said, still cleaning the wound as best he could, “go to the abbey and bring back some thread and a needle, the smallest they have. And some clean cloths and a poultice of stonecrop. Even some catnip and some tea if they have it.”

“Aye, milord,” Kenneth said, rising to his feet and heading toward the abbey at a run.

“Would you rather Kenneth did the sewing?” he said when they were alone.

“Will the pricks going through my skin hurt less if Kenneth holds the needle?”

“Nay, but. . .”

“Then I will have you do it. Besides, if the scar is not so very pretty when you finish, I will display it when I have need to remind you of your ungainly talents and torment you into submission to grant my every wish. Isn’t that what a wife would do to get her way?”

He laughed. “It is good you can joke at such a time. I ken I’ll be likin’ that particular trait.”

She chuckled. “I must be overly tired. I am usually quite successful convincing people that I do na have a pleasing humor at all. I can see I have erred with you already.”

Her upturned lips gave her pale face a beautiful glow. “You have a pretty smile, milady.”

She lowered her gaze, her cheeks coloring to a rosy pink. “I think not. You are only trying to soften my opinion of you for later when you cause me undo pain.”

“I have been found out.”

“Aye.” She breathed in a heavy sigh through her clenched teeth. “I wish Kenneth would hurry. I would like to have this finished before you discover what a weak coward I truly am.”

“You are hardly a coward, milady.”

She wiped at her eyes with her fingers and Iain suddenly wanted to hold her and comfort her. “I wish we were already at MacAlister Castle where you could rest in a warm chamber with a nice, soft bed.”

“I will dream of such comforts when you begin your sewing.” She started to smile but instead caught her breath and stifled the moan that wanted to escape.

“It will na be long now, Màiri. Kenneth is coming.”

Kenneth handed Iain the needle and thread, then knelt beside his mistress with a cup in his hands. “The sisters said to drink this first. It’s Sister Magda Martha’s own special potion and she promised it would take away the worst of the pain.”

Iain checked the wound again while she drank the wine laced with the secret potion. At first her hand shook and a bit of the wine spilled on the ground, but after the third or fourth sip, her grip seemed much steadier.

“Are you ready, lass?” Iain asked when the cup was empty.

“Aye. I hardly feel anything now. I must remember to tell Sister Magda Martha she has a real talent for brewing wine. No wonder the sisters remain so content confined behind those walls. A glass of this every day would give even the shyest of the sisters the courage to serve a hall filled with drunken warriors.”

Iain laughed again. “Your mistress has been quite successful at keeping her humorous remarks well hidden until today, Kenneth. Did you know she possessed such wit?”

“Aye, milord,” Kenneth answered. “She has at times shown herself a joy to be around. Rare though those times may be, shall I say.”

“I will na forget you said that, Kenneth,” she answered, her words slurring slightly.

Iain shared a smile with Kenneth, then a warning glance before he took the first stitch through her flesh.

Iain heard a small gasp and was thankful Kenneth supported her by the shoulders and held tight.

“You play unfairly,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “You did na warn me you were about to begin.”

“A thousand pardons, milady,” he said, taking another stitch, then another. “I thought it best to surprise you.”

She bravely kept her injured arm held out for Iain to sew while she clung to Kenneth with the other. Before Iain was half finished, her grip relaxed and she slumped in Kenneth’s arms.

“Finish quickly, milord,” Kenneth said. “Before she awakens again.”

Iain sewed as quickly and carefully as he could, then applied the poultice and wrapped her arm. When he finished, he picked her up and carried her over to the place where they would make camp.

“Gather wood for a fire, Kenneth. The weather will cool once the sun goes down. I do na want her getting chilled.”

“Will she be all right?”

“Aye. She will feel much better in the morning, even though her arm will always bear a reminder of this day.”

Iain pushed a strand of her dark hair from her forehead. He knew her so well and yet so little. He looked at Kenneth. “You said earlier you would never let the MacBride hurt her again. Is today not the first time she has come to harm because of him?”

Kenneth opened his mouth, then closed it. “That would be for the mistress to answer. I’d best gather the wood before it gets dark,” he said then walked away.

Iain watched as Kenneth headed for a small grove of trees before he pulled the tartan beneath her chin and sat beside the lass he’d taken as his wife. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to make her dread marriage so and yearn for a life cloistered behind convent walls. He prepared himself to accept whatever had happened to her, and promised to guard her so no harm would come to her ever again. He would never give her opportunity to regret she’d been forced to marry him.

He remembered how fiercely she’d fought her father, prepared to die rather than marry. He knew it was not the touch of a man she feared. Her kiss had told him that much. It was something else. Whatever it was, it was important no longer. Nothing was important enough that he could have allowed her to step foot inside the convent gate.

Their marriage was the answer to every trouble threatening his people. Not only would their marriage bring about harmony between the MacAlisters and the MacBrides, but it would also create a reprieve from the constant fighting with her father. This would give him time to convince the Cochrans who lived on the other side that the MacAlisters were not the ones behind the midnight raids and the senseless destruction and burning of their crops.

And now that he had a wife, perhaps there would again be a closeness between him and his brother Roderick. Perhaps the past could be buried and forgotten and the bond uniting the two brothers could again be as strong as it had been when they were young.

Before Adele had nearly destroyed them both.

His thoughts invoked an image of Roderick’s wife. Even from the grave, her demented madness had the power to reach out and destroy them.

. . .

Màiri opened her eyes and stared up into the star-filled night. The moon was full and bright, bathing the Scottish countryside in luminous shades of muted brightness. It was the same magical moon she’d described to the Scot. The same beams beneath which he’d kissed her.

She could still feel his lips pressed against hers, feel his arms wrapped around her. And now he was her husband. God help them both.

If only she had been brave enough to step within the convent walls. If only she had not yielded to his demand that they marry. She did not know how she could ever be his wife.

She tucked her injured arm against her middle and sat up. The throbbing had eased a little. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as earlier but it would be days before she didn’t know it was there. She glanced at the Scot who had taken care of her and pushed away the confusion she felt.

Tonight was her wedding night. She was no longer free but bound to a man as her mother had been bound to her father. A cold chill raced down her spine and she fought the panic raging within her.

Soft sighs filled the quiet night as Kenneth and her husband slept peacefully beside the dimming fire. She quietly stood and crept away from their camp, taking refuge in the solitude of the open meadow. She needed time to herself. Time to consider the ramifications of being married to the Scot.

She knew the only reason her father had betrothed her to Iain was because he hated the MacAlisters almost as much as he hated her. Although she didn’t know how the feud had started or why, it was fueled by a hatred that went back more years than she had been alive. Pillaging and stealing and destroying what belonged to the MacAlisters came second nature to her father, and the inborn jealousy and hatred he harbored for every MacAlister in Scotland was second only to the hatred he’d harbored for his wife and daughter. She knew exactly why he’d tricked the MacAlister laird into believing he wanted peace.

Through marriage he could accomplish what his superstitious nature could never allow him to do. He could rid himself of his accursed daughter and give her curse to the hated MacAlisters at the same time. Oh, how he must be laughing right now. He had rid himself of her as thoroughly as if she were dead.

She made her way across the open meadow, needing to get away, yet knowing it was too late for her to run. She picked up her step as her mother’s dying words echoed in her head. The truth of what she’d said caused as much pain as the wound in her arm.

Do na ever give yourself to a man, Màiri. Marriage is impossible for anyone with our gift. I wish I would have known before I married. Your only chance for happiness is with the sisters at the convent. Make your life only with them.

She crossed the meadow. She would be safe until Iain found out about her gift. When he realized she was different, her fate would be the same as her mother’s. She would be feared and shunned and finally locked away for fear others would find out and think she was a witch.

She walked a few steps more. She didn’t have the strength to go further and there was nowhere left for her to run. Nowhere safe except. . .

She stopped and looked around. Her gaze rested on the gray stones of the convent. She was so close. All she had to do was step through the portal and he could not come after her. Once the church granted her sanctuary, she would be safe for all time.

She took another step.

Safe for all time.

She stepped closer.

“Màiri?”

She stopped. Her weary legs seemed barely strong enough to support her. She’d almost made it. She’d almost left him alone on the outside and saved herself from the hatred she would yet see in his eyes. She’d almost escaped him before he wished her dead like her father had wished his wife dead, without the courage to do the deed himself.

She’d almost. But not quite.

Now she had no choice but to hide her gift from him forever.

Màiri rode toward MacAlister Castle with her head high and her heart pounding in her throat. Each step of the horses’ hooves took her further from the secure refuge only the convent could offer and closer to the same nightmare she’d watched her mother endure her whole life. Each word of her mother’s desperate warnings came back to haunt her. Her only chance for happiness would be lost once she stepped foot through the castle gates. How could she have fooled herself into thinking she could live as the MacAlister’s wife?

She braved a look at the Scot riding at her side. He had not said a word to her since last night, his silence magnifying his disappointment. He knew how close she’d come to entering the convent, how tempted she’d been to seek refuge there, regardless of how her actions might have affected him. The furrows on his face showed his anger, the dark glare in his eyes his mistrust.

Why had she been such a coward when he’d held his sword to Kenneth’s throat? Surely he wouldn’t have killed him? Surely…? But she had not been sure.

Even though she’d seen a kind side to his nature the weeks she’d cared for him, yesterday she’d witnessed a ruthless side equally as powerful. If only her gift could sense the truth from him. But it could not. Where he was concerned, it still failed her at every turn.