Keeper of my Heart (18 page)

“We must also find out who is responsible for them,” Iain said. “Whoever it is, their intent in is on causing a war between the Cochrans and the MacAlisters. I fear it will na be long before the damage is more serious than cottages that can be repaired.”

Roderick nodded his agreement. As if he suddenly realized she was still there, he focused his gaze on her.

“I hope you did na find what we said too distressing?” Roderick said. “I am sure there is nothing to fear.”

Lies. Another lie.

Màiri thought she would be ill. The deceit she heard sickened her. The danger she sensed intensified with every breath she took. How could she ever find the courage to tell Iain his brother meant him harm?

She lifted her chin and kept her gaze focused on Roderick. “Unrest is always distressing. Especially when peace is so important, not only to your laird, but to all of us.”

Roderick nodded in acquiescence. “I will do my utmost, then, to see that your laird’s fondest ambitions are achieved.” He graced her with a blazing smile, then looked at Iain before he turned toward the door. “I will leave again in a few days. Mayhaps I have been looking in the wrong direction. Is it possible that the MacBrides are responsible? Perhaps they are even the ones responsible for trying to kill you?”

Every muscle in her body stiffened. She fisted her hands in her lap and willed herself to remain silent. The turmoil roiling through her body harbored a deeper warning than before. Roderick would shift the blame in another innocent direction. Oh, would that she could be as ignorant of the dark side of Roderick’s nature as Iain.

“It is unlikely that the MacBrides would have tried to kill me when they supported the marriage,” Iain defended. “Ewen MacBride wanted the land I offered too much. He would never have jeopardized getting it before our marriage took place.” Iain raked his fingers through his hair, the look on his face desperately seeking some peaceful solution. “Hopefully, Charles and Dunslaf will find proof of my attackers, for there is too much at stake.

Roderick smiled at her, the soft look of compassion and concern back in place.

“See what you have done, Iain?” he said. “Look at the concern on your wife’s face. Your last skirmish with death has left your lovely bride fearful she may lose you yet. You should alleviate her fears as quickly as possible. It is na good to worry your young wife so.”

Iain cast her a look of concern, then walked over to stand beside her. The warmth of his body through the loose linen shirt he wore blanketed her beneath a cover of safety she hadn’t felt since Roderick had walked into the room.

“Màiri knows there is nothing over which to worry,” he said, placing his arm around her shoulder and gently rubbing the soft flesh of her arm. She could not stop the shiver that coursed through her body.

Roderick smiled. “Then I will leave, so you can resume the discussion I so rudely interrupted.”

With a broad grin, he strode from the room, taking with him the threat of danger, and leaving behind only the intense premonition that something worse was about to happen.

. . .

The noise from Hector’s wedding celebration was deafening. Iain waited until Màiri was occupied talking to Agnes and Magda and Janet and some of the other women, then quietly left, hoping no one noticed his absence. He had to escape to where it was quiet.

He made his way to the keep, having to halt until the earth stopped shifting beneath him twice before he could continue. The keep was uninhabited, as everyone had gone to join in the festivities to wish the happy bride and groom well, and Iain was glad. He needed time to himself, time to hide until the worst was over.

With one hand clenched against his forehead, he staggered against the cold stones on his way up the stairs then leaned against the thick oak door before he was steady enough to make it into his chambers.

He sank down on the bed and pressed his fists against his head, praying the intense pain would ease soon. It already felt like someone had embedded a broadaxe in his skull.

He reached for a cup of ale on the table but there was none there. With an agonizing moan, he staggered across the room and reached behind his dressing screen. This was his private area where he washed each day as, since he rose before Màiri, he did not want to dirty the water where she washed. Since he had returned, there had been a fresh goblet of ale on the wash stand nearly each evening, probably a thoughtful gesture his wife had begun.

He lifted the cup to his mouth and downed it, wishing there were more. He needed something to dull the excruciating pain. Something to keep the earth from spinning beneath his feet.

Twice in the month since his return, he’d felt like this: a blinding pain in his head, the earth moving beneath him, a hazy cast to everything, unclear vision. This time, though, was worse. Even the brightness of the sun seemed to dim.

By the saints. He thought he had healed from the attack. What if his blindness returned? Iain tried to keep the panic at bay.

“Iain? Are you here?”

He looked up to find Màiri rushing toward him. There was worry on her face, and for her sake, he tried to smile. “I am here.”

“What is wrong? I could na find you and one of the lads said he saw you walking toward the keep. Are you all right?”

“Ah, Màiri, my Màiri,” he sighed, letting her help him to the bed. “My head is being rent in two.”

“Here, sit down.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and lowered his head to his hands and stayed very still. What if he lost his sight like before? “I thought I was healed from the attack, but. . .”

“Shh. Just lay down. I will put a cool cloth on your forehead and fix you a mixture of feverfew. It will ease the pain.”

He looked into her face when she placed the cloth on his forehead. How could he be a husband his wife would be proud to have if he had to be led around like an animal on a leash? How could he achieve peace for his people if his weakness made the MacAlisters a target for every greedy band of Scots who wanted more land?

A weight as heavy as lead sat in the middle of his chest. How could he be laird if he could not see?

He lay on the bed until the sun sank beneath the last Scottish hilltop and the pain in his head lessened to a dull throbbing. This attack was more severe than the one before and had lasted a little longer, but it was still tolerable. Iain was afraid the day would come when the pain would be more than he could stand.

He opened his eyes and saw her still sitting quietly beside his bed. “Come, lass. We will go back to the celebration.”

“Do you feel well enough?”

“Aye.”

He stood and walked across the room to go back to the celebration. He would hide his illness until he had no other choice, then he would decide.

If only Roderick shared his passion for peace. If only…

Màiri stood in the solitude of her chambers, watching little Roby play in the bailey below with a group of other youngsters the same age. Each swung a wooden sword in their hands, practicing with the same fervor as the adult warriors they idolized. She’d hoped watching them would create a diversion from the fear and turmoil eating at her, but it did not.

Iain was ill, and Roderick was a bigger threat than Iain could fight if he were not well. Every time Roderick was near, her gift warned her of the jealousy and hatred he harbored for Iain. Every time he spoke, her gift screamed that his words were lies. Every time he assured Iain that he wanted only to do what was best for clan MacAlister, and that he would fight at Iain’s side to achieve the peace that was so important to Iain, her gift made it obvious that he wanted the opposite. That he wanted Iain dead.

The threats her gift warned her about grew more intense. It was only a matter of time until Roderick put his plan in motion, and then it would be too late. Because step one of any scheme Roderick was capable of planning would include Iain’s death.

For the last three days she hadn’t been able to eat or sleep or even rest because of the lies that continued to spill from Roderick’s mouth. Lies rolled off his tongue as easily as the truth, and deceit was as much a part of him as the smooth smile on his face. She’d give anything if her gift had not shown her Roderick’s evil side, but it had. How could she ever convince Iain of the threat he presented? She’d give the world not to have to. But she could not ignore her gift if it threatened her husband.

She lifted her shoulders and filled her lungs with air. How could she live with herself if she said nothing? How could she go with Iain to comfort another grieving family, knowing she could have prevented their loved one’s death? How could she chance that the next one to lose his life might be Iain?

She could not deny her gift. She could not ignore the warnings.

The door opened and Iain crossed the room. “Ah, lass,” he said, coming up behind her, “here you are.” His voice was soft and comforting, filled with concern. “Is something wrong? You have na been yourself for three days. Are you ill?”

Màiri breathed a deep sigh. She had no choice. She had to at least plant the seed. Had to at least
warn
him about his brother.

“I have been watching your warriors train, Iain. I have watched them every day from the time I came here as your wife. From early morning to when the sun sets, there is never a moment when you or Roderick or Donald are na out there training them to become fiercer warriors. Are you sure peace is really that important to you?”

“My warriors train so they will always have the strength to live in peace. The moment I allow them to become weak, that is when they become vulnerable to outside forces that want to dominate them. Their might ensures they will be able to enjoy the peace I wish for them.”

“Are you sure the Cochrans want peace as much as you?”

“Aye. Angus Cochran came to me first in good faith to express his desire for peace between our two clans. He wants peace even more than I, because he knows the MacAlisters are the stronger and in a war would be the victors.”

She turned around and looked him in the eyes. “If not the Cochrans, who else would benefit from strife between the Cochrans and the MacAlisters?”

He stared at her with a confused look on his face. “I don’t understand what you are saying. Instead of trying to accept what I am trying to do, you sound as filled with doubt as Roderick.”

The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened. “Please, Iain. Answer my question. Who else would benefit from strife between you and the Cochrans?”

“Only the MacBrides. But I canna believe it is them. The trouble began long before we were wed, and your father had nothing to gain by causing war until he had possession of the land I offered for your hand.”

The long, slow breath she released shuddered. She could not make it stop. She searched for a way to say the words but could find none. Her worst nightmares loomed before her eyes. Rejection. Confinement. Exclusion. God help her. She did not want to risk losing the happiness she’d found here.

“If you do na think it could be the Cochrans or the MacBrides, then who else is left?”

“No one,” he denied harshly. “There is no one left who could possibly want to see the Cochrans and MacAlisters destroy each other.”

“Except perhaps one of your own.”

Iain looked at her as if she’d just spoken heresy. “Nay. You do na know what you’re saying.”

She turned her head away from the shock and disbelief in his gaze. “I do, Iain. Is it possible that you could have someone here who does na want there to be peace?”

“How can you believe such a thing?”

Another wave of trepidation washed over her.
How could she believe such a thing? How could she deny what her gift told her? How could she risk Iain’s safety?
“Perhaps it is because I can look at what is going on around you from a different vantage point. Although I have come to love your people as much as you, I am still enough of a stranger that I can see problems that are impossible for you to see.”

“And what do you see that I canna? Do you know which MacAlisters would hate me enough to incite a war?”

Màiri put her hand on the poster of the bed to steady herself. What if her whole world tumbled down around her? “Perhaps it is na hatred that drives them to do what they are doing, but a fear of peace. A fear that living in peace will make them weak.”

He slammed his fist against the back of the chair that sat beside the bed, causing it to topple backwards. “How can you say it is na hatred? God’s teeth, woman. They tried to kill me!”

She could not argue with him. She could only stand by while he released the fury building within him. Every word she’d spoken had caused him pain, but she could not take any of them back. Many lives were at risk, including his.

He paced from one side of the room to the other, the muscle in his jaw clenching in anger, his hands fisting at his side as if he wanted to strangle something—someone.

“And in your infinite wisdom, do you also know the traitor’s identity? Do you know who hates me enough to want me dead?”

A cold gust of regret sucked the air from her chest. Why couldn’t things be as simple as they’d been at first? Why did she have to know that Roderick would not stop until lives had been lost? Why did she have to know that he would not stop until Iain was dead so he could be laird of clan MacAlister?