Keeper of my Heart (24 page)

Màiri watched the girl closer as she sewed contentedly on the tapestry. Would that Iain’s and her life were as uncomplicated as Marjorie and Rauri’s.

When the sun was no longer its brightest and the light in the room had faded, Granny stuck her needle in the fabric, indicating time had come for all to quit. All the ladies did the same and stood.

“Do na worry overmuch of our idle prattle, lass,” Granny said, stepping over beside her. She took Màiri’s hand and pressed it between her soft, wrinkled flesh. “The lasses get a little free with their words when there are na men to make them take a care with what they say.”

Màiri smiled while trying to ignore what her gift was telling her. “It’s all right, Granny. Their words did na bother me overmuch, but I am glad you were here just the same.”

The old woman held her hand a moment longer then smiled up at her. “It is good that you have come to us, milady. You are a blessing to our laird. I pray God blesses you with many heirs.”

“I pray He does too,” Màiri admitted.

“I have been very lucky in my lifetime” the old woman said, “and I thank God each day that he has let me see my sons and grandsons grow to become fine men.”

Màiri smiled, even though it was difficult. Her gift sometimes showed her what she did not want to know.

Granny clasped Màiri’s hands tighter, the far-away look in her eyes showing she had gone to a time far in her past. “It seems forever since my Henry left me,” she said. “When I hear talk like today, I am reminded of how much I miss him. It will na be long and I will be with him. I will be glad.”

Màiri blinked the wetness that wanted to fill her eyes and wrapped her arms around the fragile, wise woman. “I know,” she whispered, not wanting to release her, yet knowing she must.

Granny stepped away, and Màiri watched as she made her way to the door leaning on Isabel’s arm. Her heart felt sad yet happy at the same time. Her gift told her that very soon Granny would have her wish.

Màiri and Janet walked to the door. The lass Marjorie was leaving at the same time.

“Marjorie?” Màiri said.

Marjorie turned.

Màiri smiled as she approached the girl. “Today is the first time I’ve noticed you here and I wanted to take the time to speak to you. Janet tells me you have an eye for our Rauri.”

Marjorie’s cheeks darkened. An open smile lit her face. “Aye, milady. He has na spoken the words yet but I think he will soon.”

There was no mistaking the happiness in the quiet lass. Even without her gift Màiri could see how her eyes brightened at just the mention of Rauri’s name. “I’m very happy for you, Marjorie. Be sure to tell your laird as soon as Rauri asks for your hand. We will all celebrate with you.”

Marjorie’s smile broadened. “Oh, aye, mistress. You and the laird will be the first to know. But he has na yet spoken to me. I am trying to be patient until he works up the courage to ask for my hand, but it is difficult at times.”

Janet laughed. “It must be the same with both brothers. I did na think Lochlan would ever say the words.”

An intrigued expression covered Marjorie’s face. “How did you get him to ask?”

“I pretended to show interest in young Cormac MacMillan one spring night. The next evening, Lochlan said the words.”

That brought a burst of laughter from all of them.

Màiri reached into her pocket for a handkerchief she had there and when she pulled out her hand, the bracelet of green stones fell to the floor.

Both women stared at the bracelet with wide-eyed looks that resembled fear and horror. “Oh, mistress,” Janet said, unable to lift her gaze from the trinket on the floor. “Where did you get that?”

Màiri snatched it up, wanting to thank Iain for it the minute he returned. “I found it. Please, do na tell anyone you saw it.”

Marjorie and Janet both exchanged terrified looks, looks Màiri could not understand. “Is something wrong?” she asked, noting how both women stepped away from the bracelet in her hand.

“Nay,” Janet answered hesitantly. “But I would na show anyone you found the bracelet.”

Màiri put the polished green stones back in her pocket. “I don’t intend to.”

Both exchanged wary looks, then Marjorie backed away even further. “I must go,” she said. “’Tis getting late and I must help me mither start the evening meal.”

“Good bye, Marjorie,” Màiri and Janet called after her. They soon followed her down the long stone corridor.

Màiri stopped to peer out one of the long slit windows overlooking the bailey. “I do na see if the laird has returned,” she said looking down to the courtyard.”

“Do na worry,” Janet answered in a comforting voice, “it will na be long. ’Tis almost time for the evening meal. Our laird and my Lochlan would na intentionally miss a meal. Especially Lochlan. He knows we’re to have fresh salmon and brown bread with honey.”

Màiri forced a smile, then glanced again out the next narrow window they passed on their way to her rooms and sighed. She thought the men would be back long before now. The sun was not so very low in the sky that she needed to worry yet, but it would be soon. She ignored the interruption of her gift, wishing it would be as silent as it had been when she’d first come. If only it would lie dormant like it had the first months after she’d married Iain. If only it would not warn her of so many tragedies about to happen:  Granny. The Cochrans. Roderick. Iain. She was suddenly very tired.

“Would you like to rest a while before it’s time for the evening meal?” Janet asked.

It did not take Màiri long to make her decision. “Aye. ’Tis silly of me to be so lazy, but I would rather go to my room than start something new at this hour.”

Janet opened the door and smiled as if she knew the secret reason Màiri needed to rest.

“Mistress,” Janet said before leaving. “Do na forget to put the bracelet away. It is best if no one sees it.”

“Why, Janet?”

“No reason. It would just be best.”

After Janet walked away, Màiri went into her room and closed the door behind her. Her hand automatically touched the stones that had caused such a reaction, then moved to her stomach. The instinct to protect the babe growing in her womb was as fierce as the instinct to protect her husband from a danger he would not admit was real. The love she felt for both was that intense.

Màiri sat at her place at the head table, waiting for Iain to arrive. Over and over she lifted her gaze to the empty doorway in hopes he would walk into the room. She needed to see him standing before her to make sure he was safe. Her gift had issued a strange warning the moment she’d sat down at her place beside his empty seat.

But perhaps that was because Rodrick was already seated not far away.

Soon after she sat, Old Ferquhar rushed forward with a goblet and set it in front of her, then filled it with the ale from his pitcher. Part of the liquid sloshed over the rim as the ale made its way into the goblet, but the old man did not seem to notice. He was already far into his cups.

Ferquhar usually only helped with the noontime meal, and only with platters of meat or trays of warm bread. Never with the ale. Iain had given strict orders to keep all strong drink from his reach, yet somehow he always managed to have a flagon of ale hidden somewhere.

“I did na see you did na have some ale, milady,” he slurred, flashing her a toothless grin as he wove back and forth in front of her.

Màiri focused on the server. “Your laird will na be pleased if he thinks you have found too much ale,” she said, knowing her warning would do no good. Ferquhar was drunk with ale far more than he was sober.

Ferquhar waved a shaky finger in the air. “A body should never be without some ale. Is that na right?”

Màiri looked at the old man and smiled. She did not think she’d ever seen Ferquhar before he’d had at least a pint or more. Yet he was a kindly sort you could not help but like, drunk or sober.

“Take care, Ferquhar.”

“Oh, aye. Aye.” The man bobbed his head in a disjointed manner and clutched the pitcher to him as if he held in his grasp the most precious treasure in all the world.

“Here,” Roderick said, grinning up at the old man. He held out his goblet while trying to hide his laughter. “Fill this before you sneak off to drink what’s left in your pitcher.”

“Oh, nay, milord. Old Ferquhar would never sneak off with the laird’s ale.”

Roderick laughed out loud, then helped steady the pitcher while Ferquhar poured. “You would drink the cream the cook set down for the cats if you thought it was laced with ale, old man,” he joked.

“Ah, Roderick. You’re always teasing old Ferquhar.” Ferquhar gave Roderick a lopsided grin, then hugged the pitcher to him again before he staggered off.

“Ferquhar will never change,” Roderick said, leaning back in his chair. He wore a relaxed look of contentment. He looked as if he did not have a care in the world.

She studied his calm expression, wondering if he was the slightest concerned that Iain might find something in his search that would incriminate him. She could not tell if he had given it even a second thought.

Could the warning from her gift be wrong?

Màiri opened herself to her gift, searching for an answer to her doubts as well as something that would explain her apprehension. The earlier warning came back in full measure.

The pressure in her chest tightened and she glanced again at the empty doorway. She just wanted Iain to come back to her safe and well. She turned her attention back to Roderick. He was watching her, the smile on his face warm and open.

“You are na hungry, Màiri?” he said, lifting a piece of fowl from the platter in front of him and putting it in his mouth. “Our laird would na like it if he knew you could na eat when he was gone.”

Màiri picked up the fork beside her plate and moved the little she’d taken around on her platter. “I thought to wait a little longer. I am sure Iain will be here shortly.”

Roderick smiled in agreement and lifted his goblet of wine to her. “As you wish, milady. I am surprised our laird is so late, but do na worry. I’m certain nothing is amiss. He is na doubt still looking for a clue as to where the Cochrans have hidden the cattle they claim were stolen.”

She stared at the relaxed look on Roderick’s face and fought the confusion she battled between what her gift told her and what she saw with her own eyes. “Claim? Are you accusing the Cochrans of stealing their own cattle?”

Roderick leaned forward to pick up a warm piece of bread and spread it with honey. “Surely you don’t believe the MacAlisters are responsible for the missing cattle?”

“I think it strange that the Cochrans would burn their own fields and steal their own cattle as an excuse to start a war they do na want.”

“That is an excellent point, milady. It will be interesting to find out what really happened to the Cochran’s cattle. Perhaps their disappearance is connected to all the troubles.”

She stared at him in disbelief. His words and behavior disavowed him from any connection to the terrible things that had happened, yet her gift gave her an undeniable warning to beware. She studied him carefully and sensed how deeply the evil was buried inside him. What a master he was at hiding from the outside the hatred and jealousy he harbored on the inside. Her gift warned her that he was a greater threat than she’d ever imagined.

The look of innocence on his face glowed as brightly as a ray of warm sunshine. She fought to keep from being drawn in by his friendliness and welcoming overtures. She reached for the wine in front of her and raised it to her lips. The goblet froze halfway to her mouth. Iain stood in the doorway, safe and unharmed.

She did a quick glance of his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, to assure herself that he was all right. The warnings had been so urgent. The unease so intense. She’d been so certain they’d been directed at Iain. But perhaps they had not.

Even though his clothes showed the dirt of a long, tiring day atop a horse and the bronzed skin of his jaw was shadowed by thick, dark stubble, there was still something magnificent in the way he surveyed his keep. In the way he commanded an entire room without saying a word.

She wanted to run to him and wrap her arms around him to hold him. She wanted to show him she’d found the gift he’d left on her pillow and thank him for it. She wanted to feel the weight of his arm across her shoulder and his hands upon her.

A slow tremor shook her to the very core of her being then burned a fiery path to the pit of her stomach and lower. She forced herself to sit in her seat and wait for him to come to her.

From across the room, she watched him rake his fingers through his thick, wind-blown hair, then walk across the hall with all the dignity of a laird.

“Iain,” Roderick said, taking another swallow of his ale. “It is about time you returned. Your wife has na been able to eat a bite worrying about you.”

She saw the teasing look in Roderick’s eyes that told her Roderick was not even concerned whether or not Iain had found any incriminating evidence. He showed no nervousness or even the slightest twinge of apprehension. Was he that sure Iain would find nothing? Or was there truly nothing to find?