"Can you tell me what happened?"
She shuddered. The breath that filled her lungs was deep and racking. I went
below to fetch herbs and spices for the cook. In the passageway I heard
footsteps."
"Someone followed you?"
"Aye. But when I turned there was no one there."
Ian’s mind worked furiously. Why would someone follow her?
She had seen the pucker of his frown. "What!" she cried out in outrage. "You
do not believe me? Begone, then, damn you! I—I do not need you, Ian! Do you
hear? I need nothing from you!"
She lurched upward and would have darted away but he caught her by the
shoulders and brought her near.
"I will not leave you, Sabrina, not when the demons of the dark haunt you
still. But there is only one way in—and one way out." He searched her
face. "Are you sure you saw nothing?"
"There was someone there, I tell you… I was struck from behind… and I saw
booted feet before I was pitched within that horrid room!"
It was strange. Very strange. In truth, he did not doubt her, but he would
not feed her fright any further, for her fear was very real. To be locked in
that room would have been frightening for anyone. To Sabrina, alone in the
dark—dear God, it must have been a nightmare.
And indeed, she was shivering again almost violently.
"I believe you," he said quietly. Turning her palms upward, he kissed them in
turn. He saw the tears that sprang to her eyes, saw the way she swallowed.
Quickly he eased her clothing from her, relieved himself of his, and lifted her
into bed.
He slipped in beside her, heaping a mound of covers over them both. There he
drew her against his length and warmed her with the heat of his flesh. Yet even
when her skin burned warm as his, she shook and shook. It came to him then that
this was a chill that came from within.
His arms tightened. "Shhh," he whispered. "You are safe now, Sabrina."
She made a faint, choked sound. "It was horrible, Ian”—her voice
quavered—"just like before, when Papa locked me away and I feared he would never
let me out.
Just like before
.”
“I know." His throat grew achingly tight. "But I’ll let no harm come to you,
sweet. This I promise. By God, this I vow."
"Don't leave me, Ian. Don't leave me."
Her plea tore at his heart. "I won't leave you, sweet. I’m here." He laced
his fingers through hers and brought their joined hands to his lips.
He knew she was still half-frightened out of her. He held her close, willing
his strength into her. In time, her shivering ceased. She retreated into the
only place she could find sanctuary… the haven of sleep.
Not so with Ian. Sabrina was right. This was no accident. Someone had been
there. Someone had locked her in that room. It could have been anyone, anyone
who knew the castle. Servants. Kinsmen.
Yet why would anyone harm her? Or wish to frighten her? Was there evil afoot
at Castle MacGregor?
His blood ran cold at the thought.
His resolve hardened. He'd sworn he would protect her, and so he would.
If need be, with his very life.
It was not a restful sleep that Sabrina fell into. Nay, for her sleep was
plagued with dreams. Visions that came and went, sneaking like the shadowed moon
behind the clouds.
She saw herself, running down the passageway again, reliving that instant
when she'd been pitched headlong into darkness. And she remembered the moment
when the door had been thrown open. Did the darkness play tricks with her mind?
Or had she conjured up his image out of desperate longing?
Nay. It was Ian's voice. Ian's touch. Ian's hands. A terrifying notion
uncurled within her… Ian. Her savior? Or her tormentor?
Alasdair's voice whispered anew.
It was Ian who found Fionna.
And it was Ian who had found Margaret's cloak. Ian who had found
her.
…
Was it he who had locked her inside?
In her dream, clouds shifted and cleared. He was there again. Her husband.
Her lover. He extended his hands and grasped her own, lifting her. Only there
was blood on his hands, dark and crimson. Blood that even now mingled with hers.
She screamed and screamed and sought to run past him. But he was there, his
footsteps pounding after her. And his hands were upon her, staining her with
blood…
"Sabrina!"
She woke with a start, a scream curdled in her throat. For a long time she
lay there gasping, wrestling with the tumult that churned inside her. And all
the while she felt the heat of his lips on her brow, and then his hands,
smoothing away damp tendrils of hair. The glow of the fire revealed his features
as he leaned over her, etched with concern. There was no blood, only warmth and
a tenderness that made her ache inside.
She lay very still, listening to the throb of his heart, steady and
reassuring, beneath her ear. Despite the storm that blustered and brewed within
her, she took comfort from the sheltering protection of his embrace.
"Ian," she whispered.
His fingers traced the shell-like shape of her ear, a wispy caress. "What,
love?"
Love
. Her heart squeezed. Was she his love? If only she knew. If
only…
The question spilled from her lips before she could stop it. "Who killed
Fionna?"
He stiffened. She felt his displeasure, like a spear through the breast.
His tone was cold as a wintry morn. "I did not kill her. I thought we'd
settled that."
She swallowed. "I—I know that. But—"
"Good." He cut her off abruptly. "Now if you please, it’s a subject I
prefer not to discuss again."
He still held her, but there was a difference now. Though his manner was not
harsh, his warmth was gone. A hollow emptiness welled up inside her. Chastened
and subdued, her mind twisted and turned where it would, with no hope of
stopping it. There was no ease for her troubled soul, no respite from the
unknown.
But Ian knew. He
knew
who killed Fionna. She sensed it with all that
she possessed. Yet why would he refuse to tell her unless he had something to
hide?
He was a man of secrets—secrets he refused to share with her. And he alone
knew her fear of the dark. God help her, she was falling in love with him. Were
his arms a haven… or was he a murderer?
She feared him—what he might very well be.
But foolishly, she loved him far more.
Sabrina woke feeling incredibly drained, utterly weary. It was all she could
do to rise and bathe. Mary eyed her oddly. It flitted across her mind that
mayhap the little maid had guessed her condition, but Mary said nothing.
Below-stairs, the hall was nearly deserted. Glancing outside towards the
bailey, she noted it seemed much more quiet than usual.
Uncle Malcolm was sitting near the fire, his plaid draped over his shoulders
to warm him.
"Good morning, Uncle," she greeted. His eyes, so like Ian's, were clear this
morn.
"And good morning to you, Sabrina." He hailed her with a smile.
"Have you seen Ian this morning, Uncle?"
"Aye, lass. Word came that several farms in the next valley were attacked
last eve."
"Attacked! By whom?"
He shook his head. "I know not, lass."
Sabrina bit her lip. Her mind sped straight to Jamie. “Was anyone hurt?"
"I know very little, lass. But Fraser seems to think 'twas done by those tied
to the Comyns."
Sabrina's eyes clouded over. On impulse she knelt down before him. "You've
seen the passage of many years, Uncle," she murmured. "What rightful ruler do
you believe belongs on Scotland's throne?"
Gnarled fingers smoothed the folds of his kilt. "I do not know the Bruce—I
know only what Ian has told me of him. Ian believes that the Bruce can bring
peace to this land, while I believe my nephew possesses a wisdom that far
exceeds his youth." He sighed. "But we cannot continue to fight amongst our own.
We must seek peace lest all Scotland be torn apart. That will never happen
unless we stand behind one man."
"And you believe that man is the Bruce." It was a statement, not a
question.
Malcolm nodded. "Aye, lass. I do."
His words stayed with her throughout the morn. For the first time, Sabrina
began to truly understand the tumult that swept over the land like a pestilence.
More and more she had begun to think she'd been wrong to judge so hastily, for
of late she had heard much talk of the Bruce. Indeed, it seemed he was not the
selfish tyrant she'd thought.
But the Scots were a proud breed, and none would give in so easily. Men would
die; their women would weep, their children would grow up fatherless. What would
be gained by fighting against each other? All that would be left behind was a
legacy of pain and hatred, passed on from father to son.
Her mind thus engaged, she almost did not see the little girl who approached
her. She smiled absently at the child, then realized she knew her.
"Deanna!" she exclaimed. "How are you, lass?"
Deanna beamed up at her, then beckoned her close. Sabrina obligingly bent
over.
"The man bid me come to you again, mistress. He said that he must see you. He
said to ask that you go to the same place."
Sabrina's heart leaped. Jamie. She meant Jamie.
She squeezed the child's shoulder. "Thank you, sweeting."
When the girl had left, she cast a quick glance around to make certain she
was unobserved. Then she strode through the gates toward the spring.
He was standing near the oak tree when she approached. A wide smile lit up
his features as he saw her.
"Sabrina! You came! I knew you would!"
Though her heart was glad he had remained safe and unharmed, she could not
share the warmth reflected in his eyes. "Jamie, you should not be here! ‘Tis
dangerous!"
His gaze roved over her face. "I would brave Satan self for just the sight of
you, Sabrina."
Sabrina made a sound of frustration. "Jamie, I beg , do not say such things!
Need I remind you I am married to Ian?"
His smile withered. "He still lives? I heard he was wounded."
"Aye, he still lives." She drew a sharp breath. “How did you know of the
attack on him?"
He did not want to tell her. She could see it in the way he refused to meet
her gaze head-on.
“Tell me, Jamie."
“My cousin was among those who attacked his men" he said at last. "He was one
of the few who escaped."
Sabrina was horrified. "Jamie! A village was burned to the ground! Was
he part of that, too?"
"Aye." His tone was grudging.
Her lips tightened. "There were men killed! And young boys, too! Many were
left without homes!"
His gaze flickered. "I regret that there must be bloodshed. But there is no
other way, Sabrina. The Bruce cannot be allowed to rule Scotland." His lip
curled. "Indeed, he is a coward, for he has yet to show his face again."
"Perhaps he is dead."
"He is not; " Jamie declared flatly. “We have spies who know he is not." His
eyes darkened. "But I would not argue with you over this, Sabrina. I must be
off. But I was near and—and I had to see you and know that you are well."
She took a deep breath. "I—I am." Her heart was aching inside. She had not
seen it before, but… they were alike, Jamie and Ian. Both were unswerving in
their loyalty—their beliefs, as staunch as ever.
She had changed, she realized almost sadly. She still cared deeply about
Jamie. Indeed, there was a part of her that would always love him, the sweet
promise of youth they had shared. Her heart twisted in her breast, for she was
torn as never before, as she prayed she would never be torn again.
She could not tell him that she loved Ian. She could not hurt him. But now it
was time to stand behind her husband. For she had her child to think of…
their
child.
Lightly she touched his arm. "You will continue your fight, won't you?"
A glimmer of a smile touched his lips. "To the death," he said softly.
A tremor went through her. "Then I must ask you something, Jamie. I—I would
ask that should you ever encounter Ian, you will not raise your blade against
him."
"You ask much," he said quietly.
She drew a tremulous breath. "I ask what I must."
Something flared in his eyes, something that nearly made her cry out. 'Twas
as if he saw into her very soul… saw and knew…
"I will not."
Her throat ached so that she could scarcely speak. "Do you swear?"
"Aye," he said, his tone very low. "I swear."
Tears flooded her eyes. Her voice caught on a half-sob. "Jamie," she
whispered. "Please do not hate me."
"Hate you?" For the space of a heartbeat, the carefree youth she had fallen
in love with was back. Laughter lit his eyes to a brilliant blue. He smiled,
that crooked half-smile that never failed to seize hold of her heart.
He shook his head. "How could I hate you?" His tone was soft, almost
whimsical. He stepped close, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "I
love you, Sabrina. I love you."
'Twas a declaration more breath than sound. Time stood still as she was drawn
into his arms for one last, fleeting kiss.
W hen she opened her eyes, he was gone.
"Good-bye, Jamie," she whispered.
An awful despair rode heavy on her heart as she returned to the castle. But
all else was forgotten when she saw that Ian and his men had returned. She
found him in their chamber, freshly bathed and just pulling his shirt over his
head. She paused, drinking in the sight of him, for deep within her had been the
unnamed fear that, like before, he might return wounded.
He turned when he spied her standing there. "Sabrina, there you are!" He
crossed to her, taking both her hands in his.
"I wanted to be here when you awoke, but I could not."
"I know," she said quickly. "Uncle Malcolm told me where you were.
He gazed at her solemnly. "How are you?"
She flushed, touched by his concern. "I am fine."
He squeezed her fingers. "That is good." He turned to where a tray of food
rested on the table. Reaching for ale, he drank deeply, then set it aside.
"I thought you would be here when we returned,” he remarked. "Where were
you?"
Panic flared, swift and merciless. Did he know she'd been with Jamie? Nay. He
couldn’t possibly. "I was restless," she returned breathlessly. "I walked to the
spring and back."
He frowned. "You should not walk alone, Sabrina. 'Tis not safe, especially
now."
Her gaze sharpened. "Why? You’ve yet to tell me what happened. Has there been
more bloodshed?"
"Not this time." His tone turned grim. "But it was just as before. Raiders
who came in the name of the Comyns. They burned a dozen huts but no one was
hurt."
"Praise God,” she breathed.
Ian made no answer. Instead he moved to stand near the lire. Strong hands
clasped behind his back, he stared into the dancing flames.
Puzzled, she stepped behind him. "Ian?" she queried. "Is something troubling
you?"
"I think you do not wish to know." He spoke without looking at her.
Sabrina stared at the broad lines of his back. His shoulders were ramrod
straight. A tingle of unease trickled up her spine. His manner had cooled, and
she could not stifle a pinprick of hurt.
"Of course I do," she murmured.
"Very well. Several of the raiders were MacDougalls."
Jamie
. Mother of Christ, it had to be! Oh, but she should have
known… !
Ian had turned to face her, and now that he had, she wished he had not!
Nervously she wet her lips. "Are you certain?"
"Oh, there is no mistake." His voice took on a degree of coldness. "Indeed,
when we ran to ground the men who attacked Kildurn, we learned there were
several who had only just fled. I am given to wonder if one of them chanced to
be Jamie MacDougall—"
"No," she said.
Three strides brought him before her. "No?" he repeated.
Sabrina clasped her hands together before her to still their trembling. She
gazed down at the floor, feeling the stab of his eyes on her profile.
"Sabrina," he said tightly. "What did you mean by that?"
Somehow she managed to raise her head. "I mean only this. Jamie could not
have been one of the men that fled Kildurn that morn."
Ian's eyes narrowed. "How?" he demanded. "How can you know this?"
Her mouth grew dry. "Because he was here"—there was a stinging rush of
silence—"with me."
The words fell between them with the weight of a boulder.
The silence which followed was brutal. Indeed, she almost thought he hadn't
heard… But then he cursed, a curse so blistering she nearly clapped her hands
over her ears that she might not hear. But far more frightening was the rigid
cast of his features.
"Here at Castle MacGregor?"
His voice was almost deadly quiet. He stared so accusingly she longed to
shrivel up and fade away. "Aye,” she said quickly. "But it was not what you
think—“
"Lady, you do not begin to know what I think!"
A saving anger flowed into her veins. "Oh, but I do. You think I betrayed
you—as Fionna betrayed your father. But it was not like that at all. He'd heard
of our marriage and came to—to see if it was true. I met him at—at the
spring.”
She could almost see the doubt that crowded his being.
"You met him. And did you attend him with the same wifely vigor that you
attend me?"
She stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"Did you lay with him?"
She gasped. "I did not! You profess to know me," she challenged indignantly,
"but you know me not at all if that is what you believe!"
"And what about now? You saw him again, didn't you? This very day. That's
where you were when I returned—with him!"
All at once Sabrina was outraged, so outraged she was shaking with it. "What
is this, Ian? You would have me trust in you—believe that you did not kill
Fionna—when in turn you have no faith in me?"
His jaw clamped shut. "And what reason have I to believe you? You had no wish
to marry me—indeed, you fled the very prospect! You shun me at every turn.”
Their eyes locked in what was surely the longest moment of her life. All the
fight drained from her as suddenly as it had erupted.
The breath she drew was deep and racking. "Once. Once I did. But not now,
Ian.
Not now
." She spoke with the fervency of a prayer. She gazed at
him, caring naught that all she felt lay naked in her eyes.
But he refused to listen. He refused to see…
His condemning silence was brutal, his posture inflexible. But in the instant
before he spun around, she glimpsed in his eyes an implacable purpose that
chilled her to the bone. He was abrim with a rage darker than any she'd ever
known.
Flying after him, she caught his hand and fell to her knees. "Ian, no! You
cannot go after him. You cannot kill him! For if you do, you will kill a part of
me, too."
His lip curled. "You appeal so bountifully, Sabrina. Do you love him so much
then?"
"I—I do not love him, I swear!" Her voice caught painfully. "But still I—I
could never forgive you, Ian."
She could feel the tightly leashed tension that constricted his body.
Fighting a mounting despair, she waited. Waited endlessly for what the moment
would bring…
He jerked his hand away. But there was that in his tone which was terrible to
hear. "I will not seek him out, Sabrina. I will not kill him. Not now. But
should I find him on my lands again I make no promises."
He left her then, slamming the door behind him.
Sabrina at last gave in to the burning rush of tears.
She didn't go down to supper that night. It was late when Ian finally sought
their bed. He neither spoke nor touched her, and 'twas like a dagger in the
heart, for never had she craved his touch more! A wave of sheer desolation swept
over her. She longed desperately to mend this breach between them, but she
feared he would only set her aside.
And that was the one thing she could not endure right now.
It was near dawn before she was able to sleep. It seemed she had just closed
her eyes when a hand on her shoulder shook her awake.
"Sabrina."
Her mind dull and sleep-fogged, she opened her eyes. It was a moment before
she realized Ian towered over her. His expression was rigidly controlled, his
eyes icily distant. Her heart plunged. He was still angry.