Authors: Johanna Lindsey
“But why?” Gawain cried.
“Because of Libby Jameson,” Jamie said, his voice hoarse. “Libby,” he repeated.
“Aye.” Sheena sighed. Thank the Lord, Jamie had guessed right. “I knew he meant to hurt you, Jamie, through me, when he locked me in his tower.”
“Locked you?”
She grinned. “It was rescuing me you were doing, though you didna know it then. Sir William despises you. He tried to rape me, and when that failed, he lied to you about me. Anything to hurt you, because of his sister.”
“And why did you no’ tell me this ’afore?”
“You didna believe me about his lies, so how could I tell you the rest?”
She was right. There was nothing he could say.
He caught her to him and kissed her hard. “You’ll be here when I return?”
“I’ll be here.”
Black Gawain was already running for his horse.
I
n his eagerness to reach William Jameson, Black Gawain was riding far ahead of them. Jamie sympathized, but he knew the hothead would get himself killed if he arrived at Jameson’s tower alone. He tried to catch up with Gawain, leaving Colen and the others to follow as best they could. Jamie almost closed the breach completely when they crossed the river near Sir William’s land. There, as the two men raced up the bank toward a boundary tree, a crossbow stopped them short. Gawain’s horse was pierced, throwing Gawain, who rolled pell-mell down the bank, landing in the river. Jamie’s horse shied and just barely missed trampling Gawain as he passed. But before Jamie could even see where the arrow had come from, he took a quarrel in his chest. He fell, sliding a few feet, then lying still on the ground.
The man in the tree jumped to the ground and
warily approached Jamie’s still form, his crossbow at the ready. Part of a raiding party just returned, the man had been left to watch as a precaution, a precaution no one had taken very seriously. He had thought the task unnecessary. Why, the MacKinnions had never suspected a thing. It was a waste of his time to be left watching.
But there was the great yellow-haired one himself,
The
MacKinnion. And he had downed him! There was no movement, no breathing. The man wasn’t brave enough to touch The MacKinnion to see if he was turning cold. But surely no target had ever been struck more true. The square-headed arrow must have pierced the heart, for both jerkin and plaid were soaking red.
The other man, lying half in, half out of the water, was not worth bothering about. Jameson’s man was eager to tell his laird whom he had killed. Just to be sure, he shot another quarrel into The MacKinnion before hurrying away to the tower.
They decided to wake Sheena as Jamie’s body was being brought into their room, not before. Half asleep, she woke to all that blood. Screaming, she jumped from the bed just before Jamie was laid down on it. She screamed and screamed again, yanking at her hair until Daphne grabbed her, shaking her hard.
“He’s no’ dead, Sheena!” Daphne cried. “Listen to me now—he’s no’ dead!”
She tried to pull Sheena away from the bed, but Sheena resisted, staring at all that blood, at his pale face.
“But—”
“He’s only wounded, lass. Now come away so he can be tended. You’ll only be in the way.”
Finally, Sheena got hold of herself. “I’ll tend him,” she said adamantly.
Daphne argued, “You’re in no shape to be—”
“I said I’ll tend him.” Sheena’s voice was hard. “He’s my husband.”
Daphne fell silent. It was then that Aunt Lydia came into the room and, seeing Jamie, began screaming worse than Sheena had done. She ran from the chamber, her shrieks echoing though the stone hallway.
“You managed to calm me,” Sheena told Daphne quietly. “Go and calm your aunt. I’ll manage here, with some help.”
And she did. Despite the nausea that kept rising to her throat, despite the terror, she and the servants managed to get Jamie’s clothing removed and his wounds bathed and bandaged. The arrows had already been expertly removed. The position of one wound made her wonder why Jamie was still alive. Had that arrow struck a rib? It must have. It had just barely missed the heart. But he
was
still breathing,
was
still alive—just. The other wound was in his side, in both sides, the arrow having, horribly, gone right through him.
Daphne returned, but Sheena wouldn’t respond to her questions and there was nothing she could do, so she left and shooed the servants out, as well.
Alone, Sheena lay down beside Jamie, careful not to move the bed. Her eyes raked his face. She gently touched him. His skin was hot. His eyes remained closed. His breathing came hard. She touched his lips with a fingertip, then laid her cheek against his shoulder. She was consumed by emotions, and her tears fell on Jamie’s skin.
“You’re no’ to die, MacKinnion. Do you hear me?” She pinched his arm, furious because he was frightening her so. “Do you? You’re my husband. And I…I need you!” The words were torn from her, and she sobbed. “I love you, Jamie. You canna die! You canna!”
Much later, still sobbing, she fell asleep.
Dawn found her in a chair by the bed, watching Jamie. The heat of him had awakened her, and she’d spent the rest of the night bathing him with spring water. He was a little cooler.
“You’re no’ to pity him, you know.”
Sheena gasped. She turned to see Lydia standing at the foot of the bed, having entered silently.
The old woman was wearing just her sleeping shift and a woolen cloak over her shoulders. She looked terrible, her eyes darkly ringed, her hair unkempt. Aunt Lydia, who was always so fastidious.
She didn’t look at Sheena as she repeated, “You’re no’ to pity him. He doesna deserve it.”
Sheena frowned, bewildered. “But I dinna pity him.”
“Good. He did it himself, you see.”
“Did what?”
“Killed himself, of course.”
“Who did?” Sheena cried, suddenly alarmed.
“My father!” Lydia said, pointing a damning finger at Jamie.
“What is wrong?” Sheena asked sharply. “Do you no’ know your nephew?”
“Nephew? I have no nephew. My brother has no sons. Father would skelp him if he did, for Robbie’s too young.” Then Lydia frowned, uncertain suddenly. “But Father canna skelp him. He’s dead now. Is Father no’ dead?”
My God! “And how old are you, Lydia?”
“Eight,” the old woman replied, her eyes still riveted on Jamie.
Sheena gripped the sides of her chair. This wasn’t possible. And yet…hadn’t Jamie told her that Lydia had not been quite right since she was a child and had seen Niall Fergusson kill her parents? But that was not at all what Lydia was saying.
“You saw your father die, Lydia?” Sheena asked her, gently and very carefully. “Do you remember it?”
“How could I forget?” Lydia answered. “But he shouldna have done it. And The Fergusson shouldna have come. He was a fool to think he could have her.”
“Your mother?”
A single teardrop trickled down Lydia’s cheek. She didn’t appear to be hearing Sheena, and she looked so desolate. Sheena didn’t have the heart to press her. Yet Lydia continued talking without prompting.
“He was a handsome man, The Fergusson, with that dark red hair and eyes so bright blue. My Uncle Donald was so furious when he took The Fergusson away. He didna hurt him, did he? The Fergusson’s only fault was loving her.”
Didn’t Lydia know that her Uncle Donald had killed Niall Fergusson all those years ago—killed him brutally? It was becoming clear that Sheena’s grandfather Niall had loved Lydia’s mother and had come here to meet her—a lovers’ tryst? But Jamie had said Niall killed both his grandparents. How had that clandestine meeting turned into murder?
Lydia seemed to hear her thoughts. “My mother told me she was leaving. I wish she hadna, then I wouldna have followed her. But she didna want me to worry. She said she would send for me soon. They were going to France, she said. He had a family, too, that he was leaving. They couldna stay in Scotland after that.
“I cried, but she wouldna change her mind. I didna want her to go. I knew Father would be angry—and he was. He stopped them in the courtyard. ’Twas late. There was a bright moon, and I could see them from where I hid. They stood there arguing. Father was so angry—yet different. He didn’t seem…right, and…he…he…”
Lydia closed her eyes, awash with tears. She hugged herself, rocking, whimpering, seeing again what she had seen so long ago. Sheena visualized it, the husband confronting his wife and her lover, the rage and pain that must have consumed him if he’d loved her. Had he loved her? Or was she just a possession he wasn’t willing to part with? Was it only pride?
It was better not to let Lydia tell any more of it. She was so distraught, there was no telling what reliving it would do to her.
Sheena put her arm around the older woman. “Lydia, come, let me take you back to your room.”
“But I canna go. I must wait here. Mother will be coming back, now he’s found them. I must tell her no’ to worry. Father loves her. He will forgive her.”
“Of course he will,” Sheena encouraged, not knowing what else to say. “But you need to rest now, Lydia.”
“Nay!” Lydia pushed Sheena away with surprising strength, her eyes wild. “He’s drawn his dirk! The Fergusson has his own dirk. My mother’s crying. They’re fighting. The Fergusson drops his weapon…my father has it now…he’s putting his own dirk away, holding The Fergusson’s dirk, looking at it. He’s looking at my mother. Nay! He’s hitting her with it, he’s stabbing her! The Fergusson canna stop him! Father pushes him away.
“She falls…God, the blood—all over, blood. Father shouts the alarm, but The Fergusson doesna run. He’s staring at my mother. My father is staring
at her, too, and—nay! He’s buried the dirk in his own chest,
his own chest!
He’s taking it out, and the blood is…the blood—everywhere! The dirk falls at the Fergusson’s feet, but he doesna see it. Why does he no’ run? My uncle is coming….”
Sheena felt bile rise in her throat. That a young girl should have seen all that!
“Lydia, ’tis all right, ’tis over.”
“It isna over. My uncle thinks The Fergusson killed them. I told him the truth, but he hit me and hit me and called me a liar. He’ll no’ hurt The Fergusson, will he? I canna tell anyone else. If I tell again, my mother willna come back. I must wait till she comes back.”
Lydia was sobbing uncontrollably, and Sheena guided her gently from the room, soothing her as she would a child. Would Lydia ever be herself? Would the horror of that night stay with her now, or would she forget again?
Sheena saw Lydia to her room and helped the poor woman into bed, then called for one of Lydia’s servants to sit with her. Lydia moved between being distraught and being entranced by some vision only she could see. Sheena didn’t want to leave her like that, but Jamie came first. And Lydia’s servant, Colleen, was really more friend than servant, so the suffering woman was in good hands.
Lydia wholly occupied Sheena’s thoughts as she went back into the room she and Jamie shared, so it took her a moment to realize that something drastic had happened. Jamie’s eyes were open. His eyes
were open, and he was looking at her! Had he heard his aunt’s story? And if so, how much? Sheena’s mind raced. Would he ask her to tell him all of it, or did he understand everything? She returned his gaze, her breathing stopped, her heart pounding, and then, slowly, she began to relax. He wasn’t going to speak of it, not then, and she wouldn’t, either. They didn’t speak at all, just stared at each other, their thoughts the same. All the years of killing and hatred caused by the enraged passions of one man. The saddest part was that the truth wouldn’t make any difference now. People had been killed. The feud had happened. Nothing could change that. The horror could not be diminished.
The feud should never have begun, no matter whose fault it was, and after forty-seven years, it was time to put an end to it.
J
amie recovered nicely, taking full advantage of Sheena’s ministrations. Once he’d learned she had tended him from the start, he insisted she continue. Sheena didn’t mind, of course, even knowing that Jamie was well enough to leave his bed. It was a surprise when she entered one day and found him completely dressed, standing by the fire.
“You know, do you no’, that a new feud has begun—with Jamesons?”
Sheena nodded. Colen had told her what had happened after Jamie and Black Gawain were taken back to Castle Kinnion. Colen had attacked Jameson’s tower, but he couldn’t breach it, needing a bigger force than he had. Surprisingly, Jamie decided not to take the tower. True, there were deaths for Jameson to atone for, but Jamie didn’t want to wipe out a whole clan. The enemy was known. He could be dealt with in the customary fashion, with periodic raids. And he could no longer hide his activities.
Black Gawain had been furious. Having suffered a broken arm that day, he could do no fighting for a while. But he had sworn he would kill Jameson. He and Jamie had argued over it, and Gawain had left the castle in a rage. He had yet to return.
“You agree there’s reason for this new feud?” Jamie asked her, his meaning clear.
Sheena smiled at him. He seemed to need her approval, and she did agree, knowing Jamie was set against a bloody revenge.
“A Scotsman will always raid, whether enemy or—friend,” she replied lightly, then laughed. A scowl crossed Jamie’s face, for her father had just raided Jamie, lifting several of his prized horses right from under his nose. Dugald was demanding ransom, and a handsome ransom at that.
“You think it amusing, eh, your father’s catching me unawares?”
“I think he’ll be recouping all his losses from this past summer. ’Tis only fair, the breaking of the peace no’ being his fault.”
Jamie grunted. “I suppose you’d like to come along when I pay the ransom?”
“Can I?” she asked hopefully, her eyes sparkling.
He hesitated only a moment. “Aye, if you can see to it this doesna happen again.”
“I think I can manage that. But what of Black Gawain? You do see that what he did was intentional?”
“He’s gone, Sheena. Leaving the country, I’m told. His man just brought me the news.”
Sheena wasn’t really surprised. “He suspected
you’d take action against him sooner or later because of Iain?”
“I suppose. He sent a message for you. He asks you to forgive him—‘for all things.’ What does he mean by that?”
“We had several confrontations, he and I,” Sheena murmured evasively, feeling no need to elaborate. “He hated me when he learned who I was. That was only to be expected, Gawain thinking what he did about the feud and my family.”
Jamie was satisfied with that. “Will you be asking me to search him out?” he asked, worried.
“I dinna think so. He’s set his own punishment, banishing himself.”
“But will your father agree that ’tis enough?”
“He’s a fair man, Jamie. I think he’ll agree. Besides,” she added with a grin, “he’ll be so happy, gloating when he accepts your ransom, he’ll probably no’ even ask about Black Gawain.” Jamie gave her a sour look, but laughed despite himself.
Then an awkward silence fell between them. In all the days since he had been hurt, they had not once talked of themselves. Sheena wasn’t ready to. She was still getting used to the fact that she loved this man. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but it had. Only, he had never claimed the same feeling. Wanting her was all he had ever admitted to, and she knew that wouldn’t satisfy her.
The tension was broken by Daphne’s arrival. She was so pleased to see Jamie up and about that she teased him.
“Well, well, so that great hulking body wasna rotting after all!” She laughed at his look and said, “Now I’ve no excuse to stay longer. I’ll tell my Dobbin I’ll be leaving with him.”
“So soon?” Sheena asked.
Daphne laughed. “I’ve my own castle to be seeing to, you know. Though I canna say this visit hasna been interesting. ’Tis no’ every day my brother takes a wife he doesna know what to do with.”
Jamie actually blushed, and Sheena and Daphne grinned at each other, which caused him to glower. “When are you leaving?” he asked pointedly.
“Today, and we’ll be taking Jessie with us, you’ll be glad to know,” she added. “She’s overstayed her welcome, I do believe.”
“Indeed she has,” Sheena retorted.
Daphne grinned at her again before saying softly, “Jamie, you’ll be surprised to hear Aunt Lydia has expressed a wish to visit me. If you dinna object, she can come with us today.”
Had his sister gone mad? “Lydia—leave Castle Kinnion? But she has never left here in all these years!”
“I know. Is it no’ wonderful? She claims I do much more entertaining than you do, and ’tis time she met new people, time she found…a husband.”
“What?”
Daphne giggled. “Can you imagine our aunt wanting a husband at her age? High time, I guess.”
“’Tis absurd,” Jamie grumbled, but his sister rambled on.
“And I’ll be seeing she finds one, too, though I think she’ll manage on her own. These days there’s a peace about her that makes her glow.”
Sheena and Jamie smiled at each other. As Sheena had hoped, Jamie’s aunt didn’t remember any of her confession. But there was still a great difference in Lydia, as if the unburdening of the tragedy, even though she had blocked it out again, had brought her peace.
“Well, I dinna object,” Jamie said. “But ’twill seem strange with her gone, and no mistake.”
“I doubt you’ll be missing her
too
much,” Daphne replied knowingly. “And you’ve much to do, now you’re finally up and about. ’Tis no’ like you to pamper yourself. I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get out of bed.”
Jamie kept his voice deliberately casual. “I had a dream, you see, when I was recovering.”
“Did you now?” Daphne asked, exasperated by his mysteriousness.
He ignored her and continued, “I dreamed my wife said she loved me. Maybe I stayed abed so long hoping to have the dream repeated.”
Sheena flushed a glowing pink as Jamie’s eyes locked with hers. Could he really have heard her that night when the fever was on him? She couldn’t take her eyes from his.
“Och, well, I can see when I’m in the way,” Daphne said. “I’ll be going now. Take care of your precious jewel, laddie,” she warned her brother sternly.
She kissed them both and was quickly gone. With
the closing of the door, Sheena grew exceedingly uncomfortable. Jamie’s eyes were still on her, and she finally lowered her gaze.
“It was a lovely dream, Sheena.”
“Was it?” she asked, not knowing what else to say.
Jamie frowned. She was going to make this difficult. How could he ask her what he needed to know if she turned away from him like that? He shouldn’t have waited so long, he knew that.
He was not a man for tender words, nor did expressing his feelings come easy for him in any case. He had known for a very long time what was in his heart, but he hadn’t got the words out when he’d had the chance. Now there could be no more waiting. He had to know.
“Can you love me, Sheena?”
There. It was done.
Sheena didn’t know what to do. Should she tell him the truth? Tell him she already loved him? But she was afraid to make herself that vulnerable. This powerful feeling was new to her, and it was frightening. So instead of answering, she asked him the same question.
“Can you love me?”
He went to her and cupped her face in both of his large hands. His kiss was tender, yet so full of love, like the man she had come to know. Sheena was left breathless, clinging to him.
“Do I have to be telling you, Sheena? Did it ever really need saying?”
“Aye, it did,” she replied solemnly.
“Sweet Mary!” he sighed. “I love you. There! Now dinna expect me to say it again.” Then he inquired nervously, “And you?”
Sheena gave him a brilliant smile. “I love you, Jamie. I do.”
He laughed with relief and joy, holding her tightly. “Och, sweetheart, you canna know how happy you’ve made me.”
“I’m no’ feeling so poorly myself,” she teased him, as happy as she had ever been.