Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] (34 page)

"Just take that ripe bastard off the face of the earth," Iain Og said. "If none of you will do it, I will do it myself."

Simon turned to Lachlann. "We need your help," he said quietly. "Talk to her, and convince her to refuse him. And help us find the way."

"Annulment or death," Lachlann said. "Take your pick."

"Annulment takes too long," William said. "A blade is faster." He folded his arms and looked at his twin.

Parian pursed his mouth. "I think she should have married the blacksmith long ago. Then this never would have come about."

Lachlann frowned at him, and saw Simon's speculative glance. "As soon as we have an annulment, the girl must be married quick to protect her," Simon said. "What say you, smith? Will you sacrifice your freedom to our cause, and wed my sister?"

"Quick as you could say it, I would do it," he replied. "But it will not be easy to convince Eva of any plan but her own."

"See to it. She has always listened to you."

Lachlann gave him a sour, skeptical glance. "Are we speaking of the same girl?" He gathered his sword and Eva's, shoved the curtain aside, and strode out of the cave.

Chapter 23

Nearing the smithy lands, Eva heard the thunder of hooves behind her and glanced over her shoulder to see Lachlann riding across the meadow. At first she ran faster, her lungs bursting. Then, recognizing inevitability, she stopped and waited, dashing a hand over her eyes and sniffling.

As he came close he reached down and pulled her up by the arm—his grip had iron—to seat her on his thighs. "No need to run from me. I am not the one you are upset with."

"How do you know?" she demanded, her shoulder pressed against his cold, hard breastplate.

"Because I know you, my girl. It is yourself you are most upset with just now. But you have done nothing wrong. You made no mistakes." He wrapped an unrelenting arm around her and urged the garron to a canter.

He was wrong, she wanted to tell him; she had made one mistake after another in letting Colin overwhelm her as he had done. And she was upset with herself—and Lachlann too.

She wished he would vehemently disagree with the marriage and snatch her away from the situation. She was weary of struggling on her own against Colin for so long. Revealing the hold Colin had over her had brought relief as well as anguish.

She wanted Lachlann to realize what she knew—that their spontaneous pledge of devotion, years ago, could invalidate her marriage now. But he remained cool and reserved, holding his thoughts close, as was his habit.

Strong emotions rolled like waves through her, impulsively and fully expressed. Admiring Lachlann's reserve, she understood it as a part of his depth, but she craved to know that he, too, felt angry and hurt over this, as she did. The love between them could flourish, but not if she was another man's wife, and not if her kin would suffer for her freedom.

Even though it might be too late, she wanted to know that Lachlann loved her as she loved him. Or had she mistaken lust and friendship for a soul-deep bond?

She sniffled as she rode in his arms. No matter what Lachlann felt or thought, she could rely on him to be a rock in the storm, and she needed that now, very much.

The dogs barked inside the house as Lachlann halted the horse in the yard. Silently, he dismounted and lifted his hands to help her, but she slid to the ground unaided.

"Go inside," he said. "When I come back from the stable, we will discuss this."

"Discussion is not what I want," she said.

"Do you want sympathy? Mine will do you no good. I cannot fix this for you as easily as those damned locks!"

"I do not want that either," she said through her teeth. "I just want to know that you do not like this marriage!"

"That should be obvious to you. I need not say so. I am not a man to sing my woes for all to hear."

"I know—but I hoped you would tell me your feelings."

"Why?" he growled. "What difference would that make, since you are so set on your course?"

"I thought this might at least distress you!"

"Distress me? Jesu, Eva." He gave a curt, humorless laugh. "That is hardly the word I would use."

"What, then?" She glared up at him, fists at her waist, leaning toward him in the intensity of her anger. "Angry? Displeased? Disappointed? Sympathetic?" She craned her neck to look up at him. He loomed tall and large in the darkness, in the drizzling rain that dampened her shirt and her hair, and pattered on his armor and cloak. He stared at her, profoundly silent.

"Eva, go inside," he finally said.

She grasped his arm, feeling banded muscle stone-hard beneath his quilted tunic. "Or are you perhaps sorry for my troubles, but glad to be quit of me now that I am wed? I talk too much and argue too much. And now I am keeping you out in the rain when you want to go elsewhere."

"That," he said, "sounds close enough. But none of that will quite do to describe my feelings."

She tapped her finger on his breastplate. "What, then, my friend?" she demanded. "Tell me what you feel."

He captured her finger in his hand. "Devastated," he growled. "Arrowshot, my friend. Laid flat on battlefield with my heart torn from my chest." He lifted his other hand to brush back a strand of her damp hair, while she stared at him, stunned. "But I shall live, and I shall endure it." He smiled, rueful and bitter.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she could hardly speak. "Lachlann—oh—"

"Go inside," he said gruffly, and released her finger.

Devastated herself, she felt as if her own heart had been pulled out of her and lay beating in his hand, for now she saw fully what she had only glimpsed before: Lachlann loved her. "Oh, I am sorry—"

"Go." Hand to her shoulder, he turned her and opened the door, guiding her firmly over the threshold. The dogs tumbled forward to greet them, tails wagging. Solas ran past Eva into the rain, and Lachlann put her back inside. "Go, Solas, and take your mistress with you."

Eva stood in the doorway, silent, unsure what to do. He had made it clear that he wanted to leave her, and now she knew why. The realization cut into her like a blade.

He loved her, and she had not known it. She had given her promise to his enemy, and all the while Lachlann had loved her. In her concern for her clan and kin, she had relied on his friendship, thinking that was all she would ever truly have of him. And she had hurt him unintentionally.

He stepped back, and she could not speak for the tightness in her throat, could hardly see for the tears in her eyes, mingling with the rain.

"Lachlann," she whispered, and her voice broke. She wanted to tell him again that she was sorry, wanted to explain. But the force of the revelation stunned her, and regret weakened her. He had set her firmly aside once again, as he had done before.

"Go inside, you." He spoke with such tenderness that her heart wrenched; he sounded as if he were sending her away forever. "It is a wet night. And I must get the garron into her stall."

He led the horse away. The rain was a faint drumming on his steel cuirass, a soft thudding on the ground. As he walked the animal toward the stable, his armor glinted and he disappeared in the rainy shadows.

* * *

After he settled the garron, removed his armor and quilted tunic, and hung them in the stable, he meant to hurry through the rain to the smithy. But his feet took him toward the house while the ground turned soft beneath his boots.

Eva no longer stood in the doorway, but he could not forget the sight of her, silent and dismal, while myriad tiny lights sparkled around her head, added by his injured eye. He had felt his heart break when he turned away from her, though somehow it still thumped hard and sure in his chest.

But he had been swamped by feelings that were deep and strong and overwhelming. He needed to step back, to find a few moments of the seclusion that was so essential to his well-being. What he most needed was to find the strength to express those feelings as she urged him to do, and defeat the long-held sense that she would never be his.

Light flared behind the window shutters, the door was closed, smoke spiraled out of the chimney. Standing in the rain, he felt such longing. That cozy house was the only place he wanted to be. She was there. The rain soaked his shirt and trews, dripped through his hair.

Weeks ago, he had wondered if his return to Balnagovan would prove to be a mistake. Now he knew that destiny had brought him here to resolve the past, to heal, to find his way once again. Anywhere he turned on that path—past, present, or future—and anywhere he looked, Eva was there. She had been with him in boyhood, as companion, confidante, adored; she had been tucked in his heart and in his dreams in France; and she was here now. And he loved her still.

She was a ribbon of fire woven through his life, and no matter where he went, or what he did, he would never stop loving her. That fiery strand of emotion would warm his soul forever.

Rain drenched him as he walked forward. Not so long ago, on another rainy day, Eva had come to the smithy, smiling, bright and enchanting, soaked to the skin. He remembered her laughter, and the feeling returned for a moment—simple, blessed joy.

He wanted that again, not the misery that filled him now. He did not want to lose her, and he could no longer deny the love that glowed and seared within him like a bloom of iron in the fire. What Eva added to his life warmed, inspired, and challenged him. With her, he felt truly alive, deeply aware, charged with a lightning sense of purpose and passion.

He could not live without her.

He strode toward the door and knocked quickly before his natural reserve could stop him. A moment later, Eva stood there with the red firelight behind her. Her plaid and hair were still damp from the rain. He saw the traces of tears on her cheeks and hopefulness in her eyes as she looked up at him.

"I have always loved you," he said.

"Wh—what?" she whispered. He pushed the door wider, stepping inside. Closing the door, he leaned his palm there, arm raised over her head, so that she could go nowhere, so that he could at last tell her what must be said.

"I have loved you since I was a boy," he murmured.

Eva nodded, lip quivering, eyes wide and glossy with tears.

"Though I went away, I never stopped thinking of you, not for one day, not for one night. I tried to stop loving you, Eva MacArthur, when you were promised to another, and I knew you would never be my own. But you are part of me, like heat fills the sun, like water fills that great loch out there. I love you still, my friend, and I cannot stop."

A tear flowed down her cheek. He brushed it away. "You wanted to know how I feel," he murmured. "Is it clear now?"

She uttered a sound, part sob and part joy, and nodded again. Lifting a hand, she traced her fingers over the scar on his jaw, touched his lips. He kissed her fingertips. "Lachlann, I love you," she whispered.

"Is it so?" he asked, dipping his head, while she nuzzled his nose, while his heart thundered and his body pulsed.

"It has always been so," she whispered against his mouth. "You have been in my dreams... you still are..."

"Not now," he murmured. "Now I am here." He pulled her hard against him, and touched his lips to hers, gently at first, seeking, then with deep hunger. She circled her arms around his neck, took his kiss into her, and drew back to look at him.

"What of Colin?" she asked in a rush.

"You are not his. You are mine." He kissed her again, lingering and slow.

"I have always been yours," she said. "I said so on that beach, so long ago."

"Beltane," he murmured. "I remember. You asked if a kiss could be a pledge, and I said it could, if hearts were true."

"My heart was true that night, and still is," she said. "If we made any pledge of intention then, my betrothal—"

"Was never valid," he finished, touching his lips to hers. Kissing her, taking her breath deep into him, he pulled back. "I gave you my pledge that night, and it has always been yours."

"Oh, Lachlann, I wanted to wait for you. I tried."

"I know," he said, and wrapped her in his embrace. "You did what you had to do. I understand. Tell Colin that you had made another pledge before betrothing with him, so that the marriage cannot stand." He traced his lips along her cheek, so soft, to her ear. "You have always been mine," he whispered. "We will make it so."