Keeper of my Heart (33 page)

Was Roderick always the one Iain would believe over her? Until it was too late?

The priest found a third bracelet lying on the altar early the next morning. He discovered it when he went in to say his prayers just before dawn. Everyone in the castle was convinced this was a warning. Roderick’s dead wife, Adele, was sending them a sign, whether good or bad, they still hadn’t decided. But she’d now involved a man of God, as well as the laird’s wife, Màiri.

They watched Màiri closely, warily, positive she and the appearance of the stones were connected. She had, after all, found the first bracelet. Marjorie told them that she and Janet had seen the mistress with a bracelet just like the second one that had fallen out of the pitcher of ale.

Màiri had battled rumors all morning, and when she could take it no longer, she fled to the sanctuary of her chambers to escape the pointed stares and the fervent whispers. More than once she’d heard remarks hinting that it was not natural to be able to do what she could do. How had she known the Cochrans had not come to make war? How had she known from inside the keep that little Roby was drowning? Why had Adele chosen to give the first bracelet to her?

Every question echoed again and again inside her head. She closed the door and stood alone in the quiet trying to gather a few minutes of solitude. She rubbed her hands over her eyes, hoping to erase the tired burning that did not want to go away. All morning long she’d watched over Iain to make sure he didn’t eat or drink anything she didn’t check first. And no matter where she went, there was a gathering of MacAlisters there to watch her every move. Some backed away from her when she came near, others crossed themselves, a few even scurried away like frightened rabbits. All of this hurt, but not nearly as much as the quiet comments they didn’t think she heard, or the whispered word ‘witch’.

She prayed the rumors and accusations would go away but knew they wouldn’t. Roderick and his small group of followers were there to feed the gossip and encourage the hearsay.

She paced the room back and forth. It would not be long before she would be shunned and rejected, like she’d feared from the very beginning. But she would not let him lock her away like her father had her mother. The babe she carried would not be born behind a locked door and live in a prison.

The more she thought of what could happen, the more her uneasiness grew. She paced the room, touching the objects that were familiar: the bed, the small table, the chest. Then she walked to the other side of the room and pushed against the screen where Iain went each morning and evening to wash and change. It was where he kept his large chest of clean clothes. Where he kept the cherished keepsakes he’d saved that had belonged to his parents. She never went behind the screen, there was no need, but today something drew her. A strange warning, an uneasy premonition.

Everything looked normal, a basin still filled with the water he’d washed in, a crumpled cloth he’d used to dry himself, the brush he’d used to comb his hair and the blade he’d used to shave. She walked over to the small table and lifted the brush. The moment she touched the table, a violent warning surged through her chest.

She frantically touched everything there. The basin, the cloth, the blade. Even the goblet of ale he’d taken from their bedside table.

Màiri spun around to look at their bedside table. The goblet was still there. Dear God. Where had this goblet come from? With a trembling hand, she reached out and touched the metal cup. A warning stabbed painfully around her heart. Damn him! Damn Roderick! This was how he’d managed to poison Iain a little each day. This was how he’d managed to get the poison past her. He’d put the ale in a place she never looked.

Just as she reached to throw the goblet against the wall, the door opened and Janet entered. “Come quickly, mistress! The laird wants you downstairs right away. There is trouble.”

Màiri set the goblet back down. “What has happened? Is the laird ill?”

Janet shook her head. “It is Rauri, mistress. He has been accused of murder. They found Murdoch’s body beyond the walls and everyone knows the two fought over a sword. The warrior Angus claims Rauri killed Murdoch to get even.”

Màiri clutched her tartan closer around her shoulders and raced out the door and down the stairs. She ran through the door to the great hall and stopped. No one saw her enter so she stepped back against the wall and listened as Iain held court. He sat on the dais, his broadsword angled across his knee, his MacAlister tartan pinned over his left shoulder by the large metal brooch she was so used to seeing him wear, and a worried frown on his forehead.

The mood in the hall was hostile, anger boiling on the surface as well as rumbling beneath.

Iain sat forward. “What say you to defend yourself, Rauri?”

The broad-shouldered warrior Màiri had come to like so well did not flinch, but stared straight ahead with his head held high. “Nothing, laird. It was my dagger that killed him.”

There was a loud murmur of voices, then a large man with a long scar across his cheek stood up from the rows of trestle tables along the walls and pointed his finger. “See, I told you. He killed Murdoch because of the trouble with the sword. I saw him pull his dagger from its sheath and stab it into his chest.”

The small handful of Roderick’s followers exploded in angry demands for Rauri’s quick death while the rest of the room stood in defense of Donald’s son. Màiri let her gaze fall on Marjorie. The lass stood against the wall, hiding in the shadows with tears streaming down her cheeks. There was an ugly dark bruise on her cheek she’d tried to conceal with her hair and a cut on her upper lip she covered with her hand.

Màiri opened her gift to get the answer sought by all in the great hall. She knew the truth from the lies just as she knew the deceit that was in the killer’s heart. This was her gift. This was the good it could do.

She looked back at Marjorie, noticing that her gaze never left Rauri’s face, the look in her eyes pleading for him to defend himself. Màiri could feel the love they shared between them, just as she could feel the fear and the truth. The truth Marjorie was not brave enough to say aloud.

“Laird!” a ruddy-faced warrior shouted from the side of the room. “Rauri could na have killed Murdoch without good reason. I know he could not.”

“And me!” another warrior said, rising to his feet.

“Nay!” Angus argued. “I saw him.”

“Enough!” Iain shouted.

Màiri knew what she had to do. This is why Iain had wanted her to come. She braced her shoulders and walked into the room, wending her way through the warriors seated at the long trestle tables. The room fell to a quiet hush as she made her way toward the front and stood before her laird.

Iain rose to his feet, his gaze penetrating. Her gift could not read him, but the look on his face told her two things. How desperate he was to prove Rauri innocent and how loathe he was for her to use her gift. A heavy weight pressed against her heart. Today was costing him dearly. Today would cost her more.

“What say you, Màiri?” he asked, the hollow tone of his voice revealing his regret. Not one sound could be heard in the room while they all waited to hear her speak. This would be more proof that she had a gift that revealed things ordinary people could not see.

She weighed her words carefully. “The answer lies with Marjorie. She can tell you what you want to know.”

Màiri turned her gaze to the lass at the side of the hall clutching a tartan around her shoulders while tears streamed down her cheeks. “You must tell your laird what happened, Marjorie,” she said loud enough for all to hear. “He needs to know.”

“Nay!” Raurie yelled, and would have charged across the room if his father and Lochlan had not held him back. “Leave her alone. She does na know anything.”

Iain motioned the girl forward and when she hesitated, her father helped her across the floor, stopping before his laird.

Iain took a step forward. “What do you have to say, lass?”

Her shoulders shook as the tears rolled down her cheeks, then with a deep breath, she lifted her head. “I was the one who killed him.”

Loud cries and murmurs of disbelief rumbled through the room almost drowning out Rauri’s roar to stop her words.

Iain looked at Màiri as if he needed verification of Marjorie’s admission and when she nodded in the affirmative, he held out his hand for silence.

“Go on, lass. Tell us what happened.”

Marjorie huddled closer to her father and he protected her as only a father can. “I had taken a meat pie to my grandmother,” she stammered hoarsely, “and was on my way home when Angus and Murdoch stopped me. I tried to fight them off, but… there were two of them and they were both so strong.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as she stuttered to make herself understood. “Angus threw me to the ground and ripped my clothes. When I fought him, he hit me. I couldn’t push him off of me. I was so afraid.”

Màiri’s eyes turned toward Angus and the look of madness on his face turned her stomach. Conan and Hector and a handful of other warriors stood around him to stop him from trying to escape.

“Go on,” Iain said.

“Then Rauri came. He pulled Angus away from me and they fought. Murdoch just laughed and told Angus to keep Rauri busy until he finished with me. In their struggle, Rauri dropped his dagger and I reached for it. When Murdoch fell on me, I just pointed the dagger upward and felt it sink deep into his chest.” More tears fell from her eyes. “God forgive me. I killed him.”

“It’s all right, lass,” Iain soothed.

“Angus said it would na do any good to tell you what really happened because no one would believe me, and Rauri said he did na want me to tell anyone that I had killed Murdoch. He would have taken the blame for me. But I canna let him. I would have told before I would have let anything happen to him. I would have,” she cried, then dropped her head in her hands and sobbed.

Donald and Lochlan released Rauri and he ran to her, pulling her into his arms. “It’s all right, lass. Everything’s all right now,” he crooned, holding her close to him.

“What say you, laird?” Conan said, holding his dagger to Angus’s throat.

Iain looked at Angus struggling against Conan and Hector’s firm grasp. “The crime you committed is more vile than that of murder. You intended to defile one of our lasses, then let an innocent man die to cover your misdeed. I canna think of a more cowardly act. You will die, Angus.”

Iain pointed to Marjorie’s father. “It is your right first to avenge your daughter, Muriach. If you wish, Donald and his sons will do the deed for you.”

The large blacksmith straightened his muscled shoulders and braced his fists on his hips. His sinewy arms bulged beneath the obvious tension. “I will fight the bastard Angus to the death. Rauri can finish him if I fail.”

Iain nodded, then pointed for the men to take Angus away. The room remained eerily quiet, the only sound the harsh crunching of footsteps moving the rushes on the floor. Only a few of the people packed into the great hall watched Angus leave the room. He was no longer the main object of interest. Most every eye remained focused on their mistress.

Màiri let her gaze roam the room, studying the reactions of all who had witnessed what had happened. She saw Ardis standing near the door. She’d sewn with her often and they had gone together to pick berries more than once. Yet now, her friend clutched her fingers around the silver cross that hung around her neck and pressed her back against the wall as if she needed its protection.

Dear Dianna, with whom she’d laughed and visited every day, clamped her hands across her mouth and shook her head as if to deny all she had seen. Pretty Mariota clutched her babe to her breast to protect it from their mistress and her unnatural ability.

A group of elders, Guthred and Henry and Edgard huddled together to Iain’s right, whispering softly. The wide-open stares and looks of shocked disbelief from every direction sent a raging shiver up and down her spine. She did not need to open her gift to read the feelings permeating the room; the confusion, the fear, the superstitious prejudices.

“How did you know it was na Rauri who had killed Murdoch, mistress?” a small, shy voice asked from the back of the room. “How did you know he had lied to protect Marjorie?”

The sincere innocence of the question sucked the air from her lungs. She had no innocent answer other than the truth. A low rumble of voices echoed in the silence, the din of confusion gradually growing louder and louder.

“Yes, how did you know?” another voice repeated.

They all wanted an answer they could understand. They all wanted her to explain how she knew something no one else knew, something she should not have known. Instead, she could tell them nothing they would believe. Nothing that would reassure them.

Doubt and mistrust swelled to insurmountable proportions and Iain stepped up behind her as if he understood the peril building that could harm her. She wondered what he would do.

Màiri looked into his face, the deep furrows dark and foreboding. He held his shoulders stiff in unrelenting resolve. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. There was no more acceptance in his gaze than before. He was as closed to her as he’d always been.

A part of her died. All she’d ever wanted was to be accepted. The life she’d found here was what she’d always dreamed of having, friends, a family—Iain. The look of despair on his face snatched away every dream, every hope. Only his sense of loyalty and obligation forced him to defend his wife and the gift he hated.