Lyon's Gift (33 page)

“
Come now!” Iona directed. “We
haven’t time for farewells!”

“
I shall be fine, Meghan!” Alison
swore, but she didn’t understand! Meghan didn’t want to
go!

Iona dragged Meghan away, clutching her by her good
arm, and led her away down the stairs perforce.

“
Do me one favor,” Alison called
softly after them.

“
Anything!” Meghan exclaimed and
halted, shrugging free of Iona’s grip and turning back up the
stairs. “I knew this would frighten you,” she told Alison. “You
dinna have to do this!”

“
I want to!” Alison asserted. “I
simply want you to tell your brother that not only will I wed him,
but I will wed him with all my heart!”

“
Colin?” Meghan said in surprise.
“You mean Colin?”

“
Nay, Meghan Brodie,” Alison
corrected. “Leith. Go and carry him my message, now, and tell him
to please tell my da where I am.”

Meghan stood there upon the steps in stunned
disbelief.

“
Leith?”

“
Aye,” Alison answered, and Meghan
could spy her brilliant smile even in the darkness.

And this time when Iona dragged her away, she was
entirely too dumbfounded to protest.

CHAPTER 25

Weary to his bones, Lyon climbed the stairs
to his bedchamber, eager to see Meghan, yet anxious to discover
whether she had worsened during his absence.

While he’d taken the potion from her this
morn, there was no guarantee that what she had ingested already
would not cause further damage, for she’d been consuming it for
days now.

He only hoped he was not too late.

He’d not found the old witch, and neither
had MacKinnon or any of his kinfolk ever heard of her. Glenna, of
MacKinnon’s own clan, was the only midwife his people knew. It was
as though, given the old witch’s sudden appearance and
disappearance that eve, she was formed of mist and to mist she had
returned. They had encountered no woodland hut, and there was not
even a name he had to go by to search for her.

Carrying a taper before him to light the
way, he entered his chamber, quietly lest he should wake her if she
slept. At this late hour, it was entirely likely that she did.

He spied her lithe form upon the bed and
went to the bedside, impatient to see her, but she was lying upon
her belly, as she was so oft inclined to sleep, and her face was
hidden from his view. He couldn’t help but note, however, that she
was wearing a wimple, and his heart sank to see it. He had not told
her of the changes that had come over her face, and so she must
have discovered them for herself.

His heart ached for her.

He wondered how she’d learned, and wished he
could have been there with her to ease her distress. He should have
told her himself, by damn, but he was a craven bastard—and he’d
dared to accuse his own men of such a thing!

God’s teeth, it was a simple matter to face
the enemy with a blade in his hand, but another entirely to look
Meghan in the eyes and face his own truth—that he was a greedy
bastard who would stop at little to have his own way. He’d fought
his battles for his own personal gain—for mere gold, he’d thought,
would buy contentment.

But gold, he’d discovered all too soon, was
a cold bedfellow.

Disgusted with himself, he turned away from
Meghan’s sleeping form, and made his way about the bed to the
little desk. Setting the candle down upon it, he sat within his
chair to contemplate the day.

He’d ridden into MacKinnon’s home only to
find every damned thing he’d ever wanted staring him right in the
face.

Far from discovering a man in mourning or
bitter in his ale, he’d interrupted a wedding celebration of the
sort he could hardly imagine sharing with Meghan.

Nay, if he were to wed Meghan now, it would
be perforce, and what satisfaction was he going to gain from that?
Did he truly want her, even unwilling?

Or did he want her smiling beauteously... as
MacKinnon’s bride had done with her husband... with such adoration
in her eyes to make a grown man weep.

Lyon had paid his respects and drank a toast
to the new bride and groom, and another, and another, and all the
while his heart had been heavy with guilt for the woman he had
locked away within his chamber.

He had stolen Meghan and brought her home
perforce—as though she were some beast without a will of its
own.

What honor was there in that?

And he had turned her brothers away when
they had come to see only that she was well. All they had asked of
him was simply to set eyes upon the sister they adored.

And Lyon had refused them.

Why?

Because he was afraid she would leave
him.

He’d heard tell, time and again, at
MacKinnon’s wedding, how Iain MacKinnon had set out to mend his
wife’s broken wings, shielding her all along from the knowledge
that her father had repudiated her—and then had been willing to let
her go when her father had come after her at last. Knowing how much
it had meant to her, he had given her a choice. He loved her enough
to set her free.

It was a heroic tale, and despite that he
and MacKinnon were destined to have differences between them, Lyon
had to respect the man for his integrity.

He had much to learn from the man, in
truth.

His gaze fell to the manuscript upon his
desk, and he flipped absently through the pages, considering his
options.

Meghan’s neat script
caught his immediate attention and he began to read her entries one
by one. Her first observation was within the first essay, written
cleanly beside the paragraph where he’d first bespoken his love of
academia. Beside where he had so carefully explained his reasons
for abandoning it—his rationalizations and justifications—was
written merely
First instance.

He lifted a brow.

What that meant, he didn’t know.

Drawing the taper closer,
he turned the page, reading the places where she had marked
Second instance
and
Third
.

All of them were times in his life when he
had expressed some regret, some departure from his convictions.

Turning the pages he found many more, and
read them all. Dozens of them! One after another.

He was beginning to see the point.

On the last page, he found
her final observation. In her careful script was written:
What profited a man if he shall gain the whole
world and lose his own soul?

It was a biblical passage, one he was
surprised she knew.

He looked up, staring at her, his heart
pounding, at the sight of the woman lying so serenely within his
bed.

She was incredible.

Through her eyes, he saw everything so
clearly now.

She was bloody brilliant, and he was an arse
and an imbecile!

The answer was so obvious, and yet like a
blind man he had not seen it when it had been there before his very
eyes all along!

All his life, he had been searching for
something beyond himself when he should have simply returned to
that place within himself he had abandoned so long ago.

He wasn’t going to
find
contentment.

It had been there all along for the taking,
and he had simply to accept it. Every time he had compromised
himself—every instance he had gone against his own convictions—had
taken him yet another turn down a long and winding road toward
discontent. And the further down the road he had traveled, the
harder he had searched, even going so far as to put his words upon
paper to study and mull over. His manuscript had been at times
naught more than a journal he’d kept simply to remind himself of
every turn he’d made in the proverbial road—because at times it
seemed he’d taken so many, he no longer recalled which he’d
traveled and which he had not. He had grasped at every prospect for
gratification, and explored every inclination in search of it.

And he had ended up empty-handed.

Until now.

Rising from the desk, he abandoned the
manuscript and went to sit upon the bed, swallowing hard at what he
knew he must do.

And he had to do it now, before he changed
his mind.

Because he could not.

This woman was a gift.

His gift.

Lyon no longer knew for certain if there was
a God, but if there was, he had seen fit to favor him with this
last chance to save himself.

He felt it way down deep in his bones.

In forcing her to wed with him, in keeping
her from her brothers, he compromised himself one last time.

And if he forced her to wed with him, she’d
suffer the consequences along with him.

And he would watch her suffer, and slowly
die.

He couldn’t bear that.

He reached out, wanting to run his fingers
through her beautiful hair, but didn’t dare. They hovered above her
head, as though to caress her, but he was afraid to touch her
yet.

He could see her... see himself years from
now... if he forced her... She would resent him. And her brothers
would too. And by virtue of the fact that he would be her husband,
he would be forcing her to choose between them.

He couldn’t do it.

Now was the time to let her go.

Now before he planted his child within her
belly.

Now before she no longer had a choice.

If she would choose him... it would have to
be of her own free will.

Aye, Meghan Brodie was his gift all
right.

And now he was going to give her one in
return: her freedom of choice.

He laid his hand upon her head. “Meghan,” he
whispered and shook her gently. “Meghan!”

She turned to look up at him, sleepily, and
his heart jolted.

He had to blink at what he saw.

Christ, though her face was covered with a
wimple, he no longer recognized it. Aye, the hair and eyes were the
same, but her beautiful eyes crossed as she peered up at him. She
didn’t seem able to focus, or mayhap it was his imagination, a
trick of the candlelight, as he seemed to recall her bruise being
upon the other cheek, as well. The swelling had diminished but the
bruise had darkened, and the bruises upon the rest of her face had
darkened, as well.

He stared at her face, incredulous at the
changes that had come over her, disgusted with himself for the way
it repelled him.

It was his fault, he reminded himself.

“
Meghan?” he whispered,
his voice uncertain and shaky.

“
Aye,” she answered
softly, almost too softly to be heard, and he shook his
head.

“
I... I...” But he could
scarcely find his voice to speak. How could he send her away after
what he’d done to her?

And then again, how could he not offer her
her freedom? She had the right to live her own life.

“
I... I’ve come to a
decision,” he managed at last.

She cocked her head up at him, looking
confused, and Lyon’s brow furrowed at the skewed way in which she
looked at him. His stomach turned.

“
I... I’ve decided to send
you home.”

Her eyes widened incredulously. “You
have!”

“
Aye! But get up! You have
to go now,” he told her firmly. “This instant, before I change my
mind.” And he bounded from the bed, intending to fetch Baldwin
before he could chance to settle in to sleep. He couldn’t take her
himself, couldn’t look upon her any longer, couldn’t look into her
eyes, filled as he was with shame.

Never had a walk home through the forest
felt so depressive—nay, for this had been Meghan’s and Fia’s place
and she knew and loved it well.

And now, more than ever, she wished Fia were
here to keep her company rather than stone-faced Angus. The man had
spoken nary a word since they’d left Lyon’s manor, and the silence
was beginning to grate upon Meghan’s nerves.

Neither did she know what she was going to
say to her brothers when she faced them.

Och, not only had she given her body to
their enemy, but she’d given her heart as well!

God’s truth, with every step she took, every
twig she snapped beneath her feet, even knowing that leaving was
the right thing to do, she wanted to turn about and fly back to
him.

Was he home yet?

And was he lying now within the bed with a
horrified Alison?

Meghan knew how much Alison disliked him.
She could scarcely believe her friend was doing this for her,
scarcely believe how difficult it was to take each and every step
away from Montgomerie land. To think, only a short time ago, she
had gone kicking and screeching in the opposite direction.

So much had happened since that day.

It was as though a lifetime had passed
since, and Meghan only wanted to be once more within Lyon
Montgomerie’s arms.

There were so many things she hadn’t said to
him—she wanted him to know that he was not so bad, in truth, as he
thought himself, wanted him to know that she admired the way he had
been so brutally honest within his papers.

She wanted him to know...

That she was in love with him.

That he had, indeed, managed to steal her
heart.

She wanted him to know that for the first
time in her life she didn’t look at herself in the mirror and
loathe the woman she saw. She wanted him to know that she loved
seeing herself through his eyes, and that she loved the way he held
her... touched her... lay with her... loved her.

Och, but her heart felt near to bursting
with anguish, and with every faltering step she took, it felt all
the more burdened.