Keeper of my Heart (34 page)

Roderick stepped forward. “Tell them, milady. Tell them you could na possibly have known what even our laird did not know. Do na let the people think you have such a curse.”

Her heart leaped to her throat when she saw the malicious anticipation in Roderick’s gaze. She felt his evil intent and knew she had no choice. She lifted her chin and faced the crowd. “I knew that Rauri had na killed Murdoch and that Marjorie knew the truth,” she said loudly. “It is a gift I have that tells me.”

The room quieted to a deadly silence. She stepped forward. “There are certain things I know. Good things. The truth from a lie, deceit from honesty, love from hatred. All these things I know in my heart from the gift I have.”

The looks of confusion widened and the people standing near moved back in fear of Màiri and her gift. “Nay. Do na be afraid. My gift is good. It can only give a warning of things that cause danger. It can do na harm.”

They didn’t believe her. She could see it on their faces. Read it in their eyes. Husbands stepped in front of their wives to shield them, mothers pulled their children behind their skirts, and slowly, all in the room edged backwards, putting more distance between themselves and their mistress and her gift. Her curse.

“She is a witch,” someone whispered. “Her gift is but witchcraft.” The gasps that echoed through the room stilled her breathing.

“Nay!” Iain bellowed from behind her. “I will have na talk of witches and witchcraft. I forbid it.”

“But, laird—”

“Nay!” Iain hollered even louder. “I forbid you to—”

“Laird! Laird!”

From the back of the room, hoarse voices interrupted Iain. Two men, dusty and weather worn from obvious long days in the elements ran across the room, stopping in front of their laird.

“Charles. Dunslaf. What is it?”

Màiri looked close. They were the two men Iain had sent back to find proof of who had attacked him all those months ago on MacBride land.

“We have news. Laumon Cochran’s cottage and fields were burned two nights past. He claims the men who came wore the MacAlister plaid. The Cochrans retaliated last night by burning the home of Devon MacAlister. Devon lost a wee lass in the blaze and Laumon Cochran’s oldest son, Robert, was badly burned.”

“Did you see any sign of the Cochrans?” Iain asked, clutching his hand to the hilt of his broadsword.

“Aye,” Charles answered, “but only a small handful. If they are intent on war, the rest should be here before nightfall.”

Loud muttering filled the hall as Roderick marched to the front of the room. “Then we will fight! The Cochrans have done enough harm, Iain. You canna overlook their aggressions any longer. They are making you look the fool!”

“Enough!” Iain bellowed. “We will na fight our neighbors until we know what happened.”

Roderick slashed his hand in the air between them, then pointed his finger at Màiri. “What spell has she cast on you to make you so weak? What power does she have over you to convince you we do na need to fight? If we had battled them when they rode on our land before, Devon’s lass would still be alive.”

“Enough, Roderick!” Iain ordered. “We must first find out what happened. Donald, get some men and be ready to ride. We will go to Devon’s first then travel on to Laumon’s. Charles, Dunslaf, come with me. The rest of you make yourselves ready,” he ordered and the great hall emptied with a hurried rush of activity.

“Come, Màiri,” he said, clasping his hand around her wrist, pulling her behind him. She had to run to keep up with him and not once did he turn around to look at her as they climbed the stairs. Charles and Dunslaf both followed, their heavy footsteps thundering at her heels like a forewarning of something bad.

“Where are we going, Iain?” she asked, wishing he’d at least look at her. “I should go back down. I know if I could only explain, your people would na be so wary of me. They do na understand and their ignorance only makes them fearful. If they would only listen—”

“Quiet!” 

He dragged her past the doors that led to their chamber, then further down the hall to a steep set of stairs that led to a third floor, then up another flight of stairs to a fourth. Màiri had never been up here. From the cobwebs blocking the stairs, she suspected that for years, neither had anyone else.

“Where are you taking me, Iain? Why are we going up here?”

Iain’s only answer was to turn to Charles and Dunslaf and order them to go to the kitchens and bring back food and ale and more weapons. “Bring water and food for your mistress, and some covers to ward off the chill. I will stay until you return. Do na let anyone see you return. You are to guard this room. No one should find you, but if they do, do na let anyone beyond this door.”

The blood flowing through her turned ice cold as she watched Iain take a key from the pouch that hung at his waist and open the thick wooden door. “Get in, Màiri.”

“Nay, Iain. I will na let you lock me in that room. I will not!”

“I have na choice, Màiri. I have na…”

Without finishing the sentence, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the room.

Raging fear suffocated her. “Iain, nay!” she cried, struggling to get free. She could not let him lock her in here. She would never get out.

She wrenched her hand from his grasp and raced for the door, desperate to escape. Iain’s arm shot out from behind her and braced the door, cutting off any chance of getting out.

“Do na do this, Iain. I will not survive locked away. I will not!”

“I have na choice, Màiri. There is nothing else I can do.”

“You can let me go. I will stay in my room until you return. I swear.”

Iain did not give her an answer, but pushed her further into the room. He placed a lighted candle on the table and went to the one small window on the other side and pulled away the rotted piece of wood shutting out the light. Very little sunshine found its way through the tiny portal.

Màiri turned around to stare at her prison. The room was sparsely furnished with only a bed and table and a wooden chair sitting at the far side against the wall. She searched, frantic to find something she could use to free herself. All that was there was a metal pitcher on the table by the bed. If she could just reach it and hit Iain hard enough, it might stun him long enough for her to escape. She had to try before Charles and Dunslaf returned. Then it would be too late.

She raced to the table, grabbing the pitcher in one hand then spinning around with her arm raised. She felt him behind her but before she could bring down her arm, his strong grasp clamped around her wrist, twisting her arm behind her back.

“God’s teeth, woman,” he hissed. “What are you doing?” He pushed her to the bed and threw his body on top of her. She couldn’t move.

“You’ll na lock me in here, Iain. I’ll na let you.”

“Did you na see the fear on their faces, woman. They think you are a witch. Locking you in here is the only way to keep you safe.”

She lay there panting, trying with all her might to push him off of her. Her struggling was useless. She was no match for him, just as her mother had been no match for her father’s dominance and cruelty.

With a heavy sigh, she sagged into the musty bedclothes and turned her face away from him. “Let me up,” she demanded, working to keep the strength in her voice. When he did not move immediately, she said the words again, louder. “Let me up!”

He rolled away from her and the minute she was free, she darted to her feet and ran to the door. He followed behind her and slammed his hand against the hard wood before she had time to lift the latch. “You will stay here until I return.”

“Nay!”

He grasped her by the shoulders and held her firm. “It is the only way you will be safe.”

“That is only an excuse to lock me away. You think you can ease your conscience by telling yourself you are keeping me safe? You canna. May you rot in hell for such treachery.”

“God’s blood!” he roared, dropping his hands from her. “They think you are a witch! Do you know what they do to witches?”

She stumbled back until her legs touched the thin pallet on the bed. “Nay, laird. Tell me what they do with witches. Burn them? Hang them? Kill them with a wooden spike? Does it matter as long as you are rid of your cursed wife?”

“Stop it!”

“Nay! I canna fight both you and Roderick any longer. You trusted my word enough to listen to me when I told you the Cochrans did na want to fight. You listened again when I told you who stole Murdoch’s sword because you did na want it to be Conan. And you asked me to tell who really killed Murdoch because you did na want it to be Rauri. You believed me enough to run to the stream to drag little Roby out of the water, yet you still believe my warnings about Roderick are false.”

She stepped away from him, the pressure in her chest agonizingly painful. “My warnings are na because I hate him, but because I love you. That makes me the fool, doesn’t it? You will never trust me enough to accept either my word or my love.”

He brought his hand down hard and cut the air between them. “This has nothing to do with love.”

“This has everything to do with love, and if you canna see it, then it is because there is na love inside your heart to guide you.”

He stared at her, not even trying to deny her accusations. Her heart fell to the pit of her stomach.

“We will finish this when I return,” he said, heading for the door.

“It is already finished, Iain. Once you turn the key in that door, there will be nothing you can do to save us.”

He shook his head, then walked across the room and opened the door. “You are wrong about Roderick. You have to be wrong.”

The look on his face told her how desperate he was to believe his own words. She could not let him. “Roderick wants you dead, Iain. He wants to be laird and he will not stop until you are na longer a threat. The poison that Ferquhar drank was meant for you. The burned homes and stolen cattle are all Roderick’s doing. Roderick is responsible for the attack that killed the four warriors and left you for dead. Even your illness is because Roderick is poisoning you—”

“Nay! Enough!” 

Màiri bit down hard on her lower lip, drawing blood. He had chosen to believe his brother’s lies over her love. She was suddenly tired of losing the battle she fought every day to convince him.

She turned her back on him and walked to the small window at the far side of the room.

“You are wrong, Màiri. I will show you.”

The door slammed in his wake, leaving her alone with a hollow ache in her breast. The sound of the key turning in the lock sent a shiver of panic rushing through her.

She looked out the window. The opening did not let in much light, but it did not matter. She would not be in here long enough for it to matter. She would not let him lock her away. There had to be a way out of here and she would find it.

The charred smell of thick smoke from Laumon Cochran’s burnt cottage stung the back of Iain’s throat long after they’d ridden away from the rubble. The Cochran who lived on the border nearest MacAlister land swore the raiders had been MacAlisters. And the damning evidence was that Laumon Cochran had a scrap of MacAlister tartan he’d ripped from one of the attackers while trying in vain to defend his home. There was no doubt it was real. But that was not the worst.

When they arrived at Devon MacAlister’s, he witnessed a sight that tore the heart from his breast. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the sight of Marietta MacAlister kneeling at the grave of their baby daughter. The haunting sound of her keening wail tore at his heart and threatened to stay with him forever.

But the most damning of all, upon inspection, they found a weapon dropped by one of the murderers. It was near Devon MacAlister’s cottage, bore the MacAlister imprint.

The warriors had been his own.

The realization that Roderick was connected with this made him sicker than the pounding in his head and the lurching of his stomach. Màiri had been right. He’d been a fool.

Their horses thundered across Scottish hillsides, taking him nearer a confrontation with the elders he knew he could not avoid. He raced across the drawbridge and looked around. Everything seemed normal, peaceful. More peaceful than what awaited him inside his keep or what was brewing outside with the Cochrans.

“Donald!” he yelled, dismounting his steed. “Post extra men along the battlement. The Cochrans will be here before long.”

Roderick fell into step beside him. “Finally you see the threat the Cochrans are to us. Do na worry, Iain, we have the better warriors by far. We will defeat them before nightfall.”

Iain took the steps two at a time, eager to face the fears eating away at him. “We will na fight unless we have na other choice.”

“What? We must fight. Our honor is at stake. Devon MacAlister lost his home and his crops and one of his children.”

Iain opened the door to the keep with such force it bounced against the stones behind it. “I know what he lost!”

“Then how can you say we will na fight?” Roderick bellowed, the anger in his voice even harsher.

“I do na believe the Cochrans are to blame.”