Keeper of my Heart (7 page)

“It’s all right then, lass. I’m here to watch over you now.”

“Promise you will see that I get to the convent, Kenneth. I must get to the convent.”

“I promise, milady. We will get you to the convent. The MacAlister and I will see to it.”

“Aye, Agatha,” Iain said, reassuringly, but he did not know how he would be able to leave her there. Twice he had held her in his arms. Twice he had not wanted to let her go.

Finally, her breathing calmed and she pulled away from him. Her gaze did not leave the ground before her. “I am sorry. I did na mean to wake you.”

“That’s all right,” he answered, wanting to pull her back into his arms.

Twice he had felt the aching emptiness she left when he let her go. He did not want to feel it again.

Màiri sat on her horse atop a high hill looking down on the large stone abbey that would be her home for the rest of her life. The Convent of the Sacred Heart was dark and imposing with a thick wooden gate at the front to bar unwanted visitors. Those doors would also protect her from the outside world. From her father. From the man he had brought here to kill her.

She was finally home. Finally safe.

So why couldn’t she feel better about her future? She knew a life of solitude with the sisters was the only choice left to her.

She shoved aside the unexplainable anxiety that had haunted her all morning and concentrated on her gift, praying it would shed some light on her uneasiness. Her thoughts returned to her empty. She attributed her discontent to nervousness and focused again on the priory and the safety it would afford her.

“We are here, milady,” Kenneth said, moving his steed beside her. The MacAlister came even with her on the other side. She couldn’t look at the questioning expression on his face.

“Aye, Kenneth. We are here.”

“Are you sure this is what you want, lass?” Kenneth asked.

Màiri looked Kenneth in the eye, then reached over and clasped his hand. “Aye, friend. It is what I want. Na more will be required of you. I release you of your oath and send you home with my best wishes for a long and happy life. You have served your mistresses well.”

Kenneth lowered his head, accepting her blessing with the humility of a warrior receiving recognition from his laird. When he lifted his gaze, she noticed the moistness in his eyes. Her eyes misted with the same emotion and she swallowed past the lump in her throat. “When you return home, tell my grandfather it was my choice not to continue the legacy. Tell him I am sorry, but I was na brave enough.”

Kenneth nodded.

“I will think of you often, Kenneth.”

“As I will think of you.”

She blinked rapidly, then turned to the MacAlister who sat at her other side in complete silence. When she looked at him, she noticed the confusion in his gaze, the questions he wanted to ask. She did not want to find answers for him. She had told the Scot enough lies since they’d met. She did not want to add more to the list.

“I am glad you regained your sight. You will be a strong laird for your people. Kenneth will ride with you as far as the MacAlister border. If you have need of him further, he will assist you in whatever way he can, but do na detain him long. I have kept him from his family long enough.”

The MacAlister nodded, but the frown did not leave his face. “As you wish.”

Màiri studied the Scot’s features, hoping to memorize each one of them in the few minutes that were left. He did not understand the cryptic message she’d given Kenneth. The deep furrows on his forehead told her so. But it was just as well. After today she would never see him again. She so needed to remember his smile and his frown and the feel of his hands upon her flesh. His image would be all she had during the long, lonely nights ahead.

“Do na look so fierce, milord. Sometimes what you do na understand is for the best. Only know that I will never regret coming to your aid.”

He held out his hand for her to grasp. “And I will forever be in your debt.”

Màiri reached for him, her fingers touching his, then her palm, and finally her whole hand. She waited to know his true feelings. She did not want to believe he had come to harm her, but had not been able to tell for sure. She still could not.

Her gift still failed her with the MacAlister.

“Will you ride with me to the gate?” she asked, looking at the MacAlister first, then to Kenneth.

Both nodded, then followed her down the steep hill toward the convent.

The warning struck her like a bolt of lightning from the sky. The danger and unbridled anger closed in around her like a cloak, stealing her breath from her body.

She jerked on the reins, bringing her horse to a halt. “Kenneth!” She searched the grove of trees first, then behind her on the hill. She couldn’t see them but she knew they were near. Her gift sensed his hatred and his vengeful determination. The babe was dead. He would not let her go free. “He has found us!”

Kenneth drew his broadsword from its sheath, prepared to protect her as he always had. “Ride to the gate, milady, and do na look back. Do na stop, na matter what!”

The MacAlister slapped her mare into a gallop, then brought his steed to a gallop.

“There,” he said, pointing to the edge of a grove of trees as the first MacBride warriors rode toward them.

“Protect the lass, MacAlister. She must get beyond the gate.”

They rode beside her with broadswords drawn. She rode toward the convent without a backwards glance just as Kenneth had ordered her, but she didn’t need to look to know her father was close. The thundering of horses coming at them from all sides told her she stood little chance of escaping.

Màiri fought the evil determination her gift let her see, knowing the hatred her father felt for her drove him to keep her from where she would be safe. She prayed the MacAlister riding at her side would not realize who she was or her father would not be all she had to fear.

She looked ahead. The heavy wooden gate to the convent was within reach. All she had to do was jump from her horse’s back and pray that the good sisters would open the door to let her in before her father could drag her back to his keep. God help her. She would not let him lock her away like he had her mother.

She reached for the dagger sheathed in her belt and clutched it in her hand. She would die before she would let him take her prisoner.

The heavy wooden door was close enough for her to see the latch. Close enough for her to see the small barred opening. She had to make it. She was too close to fail now.

“Now, milady! Run!”

Màiri heard Kenneth’s voice and pulled her reins to stop her horse. The mare slowed enough for her to jump to the ground and when she regained her footing, she raced to the door.

“Màiri!”

Her father’s voice bellowed from behind her, fear gripping every fiber of her body. She hesitated only the slightest of seconds, then raced toward the door.

“Màiri!”

She ran even faster. God must have heard her pleas, for the gate opened a crack. Then more. Then wide enough for her to escape through. She would make it. She would be safe where her father could never touch her again.

She reached out, felt the rough wood beneath her fingertips, saw the frightened look in the sister’s eyes, looked beyond the opening to glimpse the picture of freedom.

“Stop, Agatha!”

Màiri hesitated. The voice was not her father’s. It was the MacAlister’s.

“Nay, milady! Run!” Kenneth ordered.

Màiri turned around, one hand gripping the rough wooden door, one foot beyond its portal and her heart leaped to her throat. She felt a danger, but it was not her own. It was Kenneth’s.

The MacAlister stood with his arm locked around Kenneth’s chest, his sword pressed against Kenneth’s neck. The look in the Scot’s eyes shone black with anger. He was not the gentle warrior she had nursed to health. He was not the man who had held her in the moonlight and kissed her. This man glared at her with the black furies of hell threatening his soul. This man clenched his teeth and hissed a warning she could not ignore.

“Go through that door, Màiri, and Kenneth dies!”

. . .

Her world stopped.

Màiri clutched the dagger in her hand and stared at the hundred or more MacBride warriors riding toward them.

“Go, lass,” Kenneth pleaded. “They canna touch you once you step through the gate.”

She stared at the MacAlister. He said not a word, only dared her with his glare to test him. She couldn’t bring herself to risk Kenneth’s life.

Again her gift failed her. She could not be sure he would na kill Kenneth.

“Leave him go, milord,” she begged. “He has done nothing ever but help you.”

“Then come and take his place.”

Kenneth’s eyes widened. “Nay!”

Màiri tucked the dagger into the folds of her skirt then walked toward him. She thought she would be afraid, but she was not. Death would be far better than spending the rest of her life imprisoned in her father’s keep. It would be better than enduring years of loneliness like her mother and suffering the heartbreaking death that had claimed her in the end.

When she reached him, the MacAlister dropped his arm from around Kenneth’s throat and pushed him away, then pulled her roughly in his place. Kenneth spun around to fight him, then hesitated. His gaze locked with hers then moved to the lethal sword in the MacAlister’s hand that was pressed at her throat.

Kenneth’s eyes filled with fury, but the hard expression on his face told her he realized he was powerless to help her. With a heavy sigh, Kenneth lowered his sword.

Màiri made another attempt to escape his grasp but the Scot tightened his fingers around her arm like a clamp. She did not want to face her father being held captive but the Scot gave her no choice.

“Do na even think of running, milady. I have been your fool enough times since we met to last forever.”

A muscle clenched on the side of his face, knotting in agitated fury. The angry look in his eyes gave evidence to the bridled rage he struggled to control.

Score after score of her father’s warriors surrounded them, then parted down the middle to let her father through. He sat atop his mammoth steed, every inch the powerful laird she knew him to be. Each thundering beat of his horse’s hooves pounded the soft dirt, shaking the ground beneath her feet. A fierce scowl covered his face and her gift warned her of the hatred he felt for her.

As he neared, she sensed the chasm separating them. She desired him for a father no more than he wanted her for a daughter. The endless prayers she’d said from little on had gone unanswered. He would never claim her as his own. Her conception had been nothing more than a freakish accident of nature.

“Iain?”

She did not look at the Scot when she called him by his Christian name. It was the first time. She only wanted to say it one time before it was too late.

“Aye.”

“Pledge to me you will do everything possible to spare Kenneth’s life. You owe him that much.”

“You have na concern for your own?”

Màiri clutched the dagger tighter in her fist. “Your pact with my father sealed my fate long ago.”

“I would say from the look on your father’s face our pact has saved you from a beating.”

“If you knew my father better, you would na mistake his hatred for mere anger.”

The MacAlister cast her a glance, then turned his attention back to the MacBride laird who rode his steed close enough for them to feel the horse’s warm breath. With an agility belying his years, he leaped to the ground and stood before them.

“Come here,” he demanded, the harshness in his voice a warning.

The MacAlister held his grip on her arm, an indication that he did not want to let her go, but she twisted away, then stepped forward. She would not be a coward in the end.

With a spiteful lift to his lips, her father glared at her the same way he always had, then ground out his words, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“I knew it was too much to hope you were dead.”

It took much for her not to react to the loathing she saw on his face and the venom that dripped from his words. She stood in stoic resignation, facing her father’s hatred as bravely as she had faced him her whole life. She held her body rigid, trying to keep the look on her face as impassive as possible. Then, with a lift of her chin, she raised the corners of her mouth and smiled at him.

“If you want me dead, you will have to do the deed yourself. I do na plan to make it as easy for you as my mother did. She was a fool to think you would ever care for her again. My hatred for you has na left me nearly so vulnerable.”

Ewan MacBride lifted his shoulders, making him appear even larger. The bitter tone of his voice echoed in the stillness. “You canna blame me for your mother’s death. I did na kill her.”

“Not with your sword, but only because you were too great a coward.”

Almost before she could react, her father raised his hand to slap her. Borne of the same instinct that had protected her her whole life, she lifted the dagger in her fist and swiped it across his chest, tearing his shirt from one side to the other. The gaping cloth soon turned dark with blood.