Keeper of my Heart (21 page)

She turned back to watch Kenneth ride away, trying to concentrate on something besides how much she wanted to be held in Iain’s arms. She never felt so safe as she did when he held her.

“What is that place over there?” she asked, pointing to a small copse of shrubs surrounded by a short, wooden railing.

“That is where Roderick buried Adele.”

A soft pressure tightened in her chest as she looked at the pretty little spot, filled with blooming flowers and thick, verdant bushes. It was well cared for, as if the person resting there had been very special indeed.

“Why are you convinced Yseult killed her, Iain?”

“I just know she did. There was nothing wrong with Adele only moments before. She had just come back from collecting the little green stones she could find only in a certain place deep in the woods. She fashioned them into designs and hung them on a leather tong around her wrist. It was something she did all the time. She loved wearing anything green because it matched her eyes.”

Iain’s voice was intent, the look in his eyes focused, as if he remembered the day just as it had happened. “There was nothing wrong with her until she went to visit the witch, Yseult.”

“That doesn’t mean Yseult killed her.”

“I saw her when she left Yseult’s cottage. I talked to her. She had a vile in her hands, something Yseult had given her. It killed her. I know it.”

Màiri studied the tortured look on Iain’s face and wanted to take the hurt away.

“I should have asked what she had. I should have taken it away.”

She shook her head. “You could na have known. Adele’s death is not your fault.”

“Maybe not, but I should have done something. The witch should have had to answer for what she did.”

Màiri remembered the black look on Iain’s face when he saw her with Yseult the day before. “I did na mean to make you angry,” she said, seeing the disappointment still written on his face. He’d barely spoken to her since they’d returned to the keep yesterday. She wished he’d yelled at her. Anything except the quiet anger.

“It is na anger so much anymore as it was when I first saw you with the witch. She is evil, Màiri. I do na want you anywhere near her. She will bring us naught but trouble.”

“I canna believe the woman means harm, Iain. She is only gifted. ’Tis all.”

“That’s not all.” Iain looked at her as if he were about to say more, then the muscles at his jaw tightened and he looked out over the battlement. “I do na want to talk about Yseult right now. I only want to hold you close and forget all that has come between us.”

“It will na go away, Iain. There are things that—”

He pressed his finger against her lips. “Nay, à leannan mine. Do na say them. Just stand here with me high above the rest of the world where we can pretend the troubles canna find us.”

Màiri fought the tightening in her chest, then walked into his outstretched arms and let him hold her. “The troubles will na go away, na matter how either of us wish it.”

“Shh.”

She pressed her cheek against his chest and breathed in the smell of leather and outdoor and male. She would never tire of him holding her like this.

“Kenneth’s request to bring his family surprised me,” Iain said. “Although I do na mind, I canna understand his reasons.” They both watched as Kenneth rode out of sight. “Why does he na just go back to live with them?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “Because he canna. He gave his word he would protect me.”

A frown covered Iain’s face. “He still does na think I can protect you? Even after all this time?”

“He doesn’t doubt your ability to protect me, laird,” she said with a smile on her face, “or he wouldn’t have left me even long enough to go to get his wife. Kenneth gave his word, and he will honor his vow. In many ways he is much like you.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” he whispered, stroking her cheeks with the backs of his fingers.

He traced her lips with his thumb then lifted her chin and covered her mouth. His firm, warm lips reverently touched hers, then he pressed harder as he demanded more. She would give to him whatever he asked. But she could never deny her gift.

“I do na mind having you for my wife,” he said when he lifted his mouth from hers. “Even though you will always be a confusion to me, you are still my sweet Màiri. I am glad you were the one betrothed to me.”

She relaxed against him. Life with Iain would be perfect—if only Roderick… She only had until he returned.

“Look,” Iain said, pointing over the crenelated wall. “See that cloud of dust in the distance. It’s Roderick. He has come home. Now, all will be well. You will see. He will bring news of peace between us and the Cochrans.”

Màiri watched Roderick approach, trying desperately to ease the pitching of her stomach. She wrapped her arms around her waist and held tight. She was not ready to face Iain’s brother. She was not ready to put Iain to the test. She was not sure she would come out the victor.

She and Iain turned to go down to meet Roderick but stopped when they saw Donald running toward them.

“What is it, Donald?” Iain asked, already reaching for the broadsword that hung at his back. The look on Donald’s face issued the warning.

Donald pointed the opposite direction from where Roderick approached, to a large cloud of dust swirling in the air. “’Tis the Cochrans. They’ve come armed.”

The air caught in her throat. It had started. Roderick’s path of destruction had begun.

Iain ran down the stone stairs, issuing orders with every step, while Donald followed close behind. The bailey was a scene of organized confusion, with MacAlister warriors racing to the weaponry, then to their assigned positions. Each MacAlister had been trained with diligence and knew exactly where his duties lay. Everything was in readiness for a battle down to the smallest detail. A battle for which no one had a reason.

“Get the women and children below,” Iain bellowed, pointing to the keep. “Conan, position your men atop the curtain wall. Rauri, guard the back. Hector, raise the portcullis. As soon as Roderick is within the walls, close it again. Donald, Lochlan, come with me. We will take the front tower. The Cochrans will strike there first.”

All the men raced to do their laird’s bidding and when Iain turned, he saw her standing there. The look of apprehension on her face stopped the air in his chest. “Get to your chambers, Màiri, and bolt the door behind you. Open it for no one except me.”

She hesitated.

“Go!”

She moved toward him instead of back to the keep, the dark look in her eyes filled with obvious desperation. He wanted to go to her and hold her but he did not have time. He wanted to comfort her and tell her everything would be all right but he was not sure it would be. He wanted her to know it was not his choice to fight.

“Do na fight the Cochrans, Iain,” she said, her voice soft yet confident. “They do na want to fight.”

Iain stared at her, unable to believe she’d just said such foolishness. “Go!” he repeated, then brushed past her as he continued on his way toward the battlements. He kept his strides long and determined while his gaze scanned the readiness of his warriors.

“Iain, please. They do na want to fight.”

A sharp pain gripped him and he gritted his teeth and squinted his eyes to shut out the agony. He needed to stay in control until this day was over. The pain eased and he spun around to face her. “We have done nothing. The Cochrans came here armed and ready for battle.”

“Talk to them first. Please.”

“Roderick has already talked to them. Evidently his efforts went unheeded.”

“Talk to them yourself.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Go to your chambers! I do na want to have to worry over you, too.”

He turned her toward the keep and gave her a firm nudge. He couldn’t believe she wanted him to go out to talk to the Cochrans. They were here to make war.

She took a step forward then stopped and spun back around. “Do na fight them, Iain. Bloodshed can be avoided. Listen to me,” she said louder, her words taking on a desperate tone. “Please. They do na want to fight.”

Iain glared hard at her. “How can you know that?”

She lifted her chin. “I just do. Peace between you and the Cochrans is too important. Do na risk losing all without first trying.”

He stared at her, unmoving, their gazes battling doubt and indecision.

“Trust me. Please,” she whispered.

He held his breath as if she’d knocked the air from his lungs but he refused to drop his gaze while he considered her words. Dear God, he wanted her to be right. The confusion pounded in his head as he weighed what she asked.

She took a step closer to him. “They do na want to fight. I know it.”

He considered the possibility that she may be right. If there was even the slightest chance… He gave his answer with a mighty shout. “Donald! Lochlan! Come wi’ me.”

With long, measured strides, the three warriors made their way to the stables where their mighty steeds awaited them. They mounted, then rode toward the gate, meeting Roderick just before the drawbridge. He charged toward them, spewing a cloud of dust when he pulled his mount to a halt.

“In the name of God, Iain! Pull the drawbridge! You are under attack! The Cochrans have come armed.”

Iain continued on his way through the open gate. “I must talk to them.”

“Have you gone mad! Stand and fight!”

“I canna. I must first find out the reason I am fighting. We have been friends with the Cochrans from our youth. I’ll know why they want to spill our blood before I sacrifice so many years of friendship.”

“Fool! It is our chance to destroy the Cochrans and you are going to let the opportunity slip through our grasp.”

“Nay!” Iain bellowed and all movement close by came to a halt. “Do na say more, Roderick. I am your laird and I have made my decision. You can ride at my side and give your support or you can stay here. The choice is yours to make.”

Without a backward glance, Iain rode beneath the portcullis and across the drawbridge with Donald and Lochlan at his left.

There was a slight hesitation, then Roderick rode after them, taking his place on Iain’s right. Iain breathed a sigh of relief. The thought that Roderick might choose to stay behind burned like the festering of an open wound.

Iain rode forward, stopping on the crest of a small hillock that separated them from the Cochrans. He waited, taking comfort in Donald’s relaxed confidence, ignoring the uneasiness of Roderick’s agitation as he fisted his hand around the hilt of the sword at his side. Iain told himself that Roderick had cause to feel nervous. He’d just left the Cochrans. He knew their mood and how close they were to fighting.

Iain watched Angus Cochran ride toward them with his three sons at his side. The looks on their faces bespoke their anger. He felt his chance to achieve peace diminish when they rode near and stopped. It would be a miracle if a battle could be avoided this day.

“Am I right in assuming you have ridden on MacAlister land with war as your intent, Angus?” Iain kept an even tone to match the strength in his voice.

“That should come as no surprise to you, MacAlister. If you did na want war between us, you should not have destroyed our fields and homes.”

“You are sure it was the MacAlisters?”

“Do na try to convince us it was not. Your brother already spoke his denials on your behalf.”

“But you did na believe him?”

“The Cochrans may desire peace at all cost, but we are na fools. We can see who would benefit from controlling the land on your side as well as ours. Even the Sinclairs and the Macleans and the MacPhearsons fear you have become too ambitious and will threaten them next.”

Iain sat back in his saddle and surveyed the land before him, MacAlister land. Land he loved as dearly as the people who lived on it. He would do anything to keep it. He would do more to ensure peace.

He let the long silence stretch taut between them like the tension of a bow pulled back to release its arrow. He made sure he’d gained the attention of all before he spoke. “Angus. Nothing is more important to me than peace. I give you my word as laird of clan MacAlister, I did na give an order to burn your crops or the properties of your people.”

“And what of the cattle that were stolen last eve? Do you claim na knowledge of that either?”

Iain could not hide the surprise from his face. “I did na know cattle had been stolen.”

“Lies!” Angus bellowed. “The thieves wore the MacAlister plaid. My sons saw them.”

Iain felt the anger boil within him. What was going on here? Who hated him and his clan enough to put blame on them, knowing it would cause war? He pushed back Màiri’s words as if they had never been spoken.

“If a MacAlister was responsible,” Iain said, trying desperately to ignore the pounding in his head, “the deed was done without my knowledge. I swear to you, had I known, I would have given my life to stop the traitor.”

Iain studied the hostile expression on Angus Cochran’s face, hoping for a sign that he believed him. Màiri had been so sure. She’d been so confident that the Cochrans wanted peace as badly as he, but the longer Angus Cochran stared at him without answering, the more convinced he was that he’d been a fool to listen to her. Hadn’t she leveled the wild accusation that Roderick could be the one behind all the trouble?