The Striker (26 page)

He carefully detached her hand. “I'm not going to your father, Maggie. Not now, not ever. My place is with Bruce, and it will be as long as there is a breath of freedom in his lungs.”

“Which won't be long when King Edward gets ahold of him. There is no rock big enough to hide under for Bruce and his men. King Edward will have every man from Ross to the Borders looking for you.” Which is why they were fleeing the mainland, taking refuge in the hundreds of isles in the western seas. “Where will you go?”

He looked at her mutely.

“You won't tell me?” she said, the hollowness of hurt echoing in her voice. “Of course not.”

He cursed, raking his fingers through his hair frustratingly. Damn his kinsman to hell for doing this to them. “I can't, Maggie. It's not just my secret. I took a vow.”

“And it has nothing to do with my being a MacDowell?” When he didn't deny it—couldn't deny it—her expression hardened. “Don't be a fool, Eoin. Don't do this. Don't give your life to a lost cause.”

Eoin tried to keep a rein on his temper. He hadn't expected her to understand, but neither had he expected to be called a fool. After fighting beside his cousin for months, Eoin's belief in Bruce's cause had only grown stronger. But Eoin knew that was the last thing his wife wanted to hear. She only wanted him safe. “I didn't come here to argue with you, Maggie. I came to say goodbye. I don't know how long it will take, but I will be back.”

She shook her head frantically. “No, you can't leave me here. If you will not listen to reason then take me with you. I can't stay here any longer without you.”

His chest tugged, hearing the desperation in her voice. “I would if I could, but it's impossible. Where we are going is no place for a woman.” Bruce had sent his own wife, sister, and daughter away. Lachlan “Viper” MacRuairi was leading them and the Countess of Buchan east to Kildrummy Castle.

“I don't care. I swear I will not be a burden. Just don't leave me here alone. Please,” she cried. “I can't bear it.”

Coming here had been a mistake. He was only making the situation worse. Her voice was verging on hysterical. He tried to soothe her panic by taking her in his arms, but she was stiff and unyielding.

“I would if I could. You have to believe that.”

She wrenched out of his arms with a hard jerk. “I'm tired of
believing
. I'm tired of waiting here, while you disappear for months without telling me anything. We've been married almost a year, and we've spent less than three weeks of that together and shared a bed but one night.
One night
, Eoin. You can't leave me here. I won't allow it. Either stay or take me with you or . . .”

Eoin knew she was upset, and he was trying to be understanding, but he didn't like ultimatums. “Or what, Maggie? What choice do you have? This is the way it must be.”

Her mouth pursed stubbornly, and she turned her head from him in the candlelight. He could almost hear what she was thinking, and it infuriated him. Fin's words of warning came back to him. Why did she have to be like this? This wasn't easy for him either. Couldn't she at least try to understand without making demands? Lady Barbara would have known her duty. This was war, damn it.

But she was young and impatient—he'd known that.

Taking her chin, he forced her gaze back to his. “You are my wife, Margaret. You will stay here and wait for me—where you belong.”

“I don't belong here! Not without you. I can't do this anymore.”

His chest pounded from the blow. She didn't want to be married to him. His jaw was locked so hard, he could feel the pulse in his neck ticking. “Maybe so, but as it's too late for second thoughts, I suggest you do your best to live with it. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky, and King Edward will put you out of your misery.”

She gasped, staring at him with a stricken look on her face. Tears filled her eyes, but he was too angry to offer her comfort.

“How could you say something like that? The fear of something happening to you has haunted me every hour of every day that we've been apart. I love you, it's just that I can't . . .”

But she had to. They both knew that. She was his wife.

She gazed at him helplessly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The anger seeped out of him. He drew her into his arms again, and as he could say nothing to comfort her, he just held her as she sobbed. They made love almost out of desperation, but it only seemed to widen the chasm between them.

When he left a short while later, she would barely look at him. He felt like he was ripping apart. He'd come home to make things better and had only made them worse. And he feared that time and separation were cleaving a distance between them that he would never be able to bridge.

Not wanting to make it worse, he didn't tell her about Fin.

What am I doing here?

Margaret stood on the ramparts staring forlornly out to sea, wondering how her life could have changed so much in one year. She wasn't the “fair maid” of Galloway anymore, she was the abandoned wife of an outlaw. She wasn't living with a father and eight brothers who loved her, she was a pariah among strangers—most of them hostile. She wasn't the laughing, lighthearted hostess who'd presided over her father's table with confidence, she was the “unfortunate” mistake who sat below the salt and rarely spoke to anyone other than Tilda. And she wasn't the lady of the castle who was busy helping to run a fiefdom for her father, she was the formerly irreverent girl who's work at a convent was the only thing that kept her from going mad with boredom.

And what was it all for? Was she waiting here for nothing? Where was Eoin? When would he come back?
Would
he come back?

After the way they'd parted the last time, she wasn't sure he'd want to. It had been nearly a month since that horrible night when her husband had appeared like a phantom in the dark to tell her of his plans. She deeply regretted some of the things she'd said, and the way she'd responded to his news with demands. But she'd been upset, frustrated, and desperate for him not to abandon her once more in this miserable place where she was cut off from everyone and everything that she loved—even the husband who'd brought her here.

But it had been his words that haunted her. How could he suggest—even in anger—that she would wish for his death to escape this marriage? She
loved
him. She only wanted to be with him.

But he was right. What choice did she have? She turned away from the sea to return to the tower. No matter how much it beckoned, she could not leave.

She didn't understand how everything could have gone so wrong. How could the marriage that had seemed so romantic and perfect feel like such a mistake? It seemed as if nothing had gone right since the moment they'd spoken their vows in the cottage. The world had turned against them. And there was nothing romantic about being married to a man whose misplaced loyalty had taken him away from her side for a year.

All for a lost cause. She still couldn't believe that he'd chosen to stay with Bruce. Even Eoin's foster brother had surrendered to the Lord of Lorn. Fin, John MacDougall's newest toady, had arrived at Gylen Castle as its keeper a week ago. With the MacLean laird and his son being declared outlaw rebels, the clan's lands had been forfeit to the crown—the
English
crown. As sheriff of Argyll—the English king's authority in the area—Lorn had given Fin command of the castle.

At first Margaret had been horrified by the news of Fin's return, until she'd learned the reason why. Fin had been given Marjory as a bride. The marriage that Eoin's sister had always wanted would be hers as soon as the banns could be read.

Margaret tried to be happy for her. She desperately hoped that she was wrong about Fin. He seemed to be doing his best to avoid her, for which she was grateful—and relieved.

It wasn't until the night of the betrothal celebration that Margaret learned he'd only been biding his time. Despite the happiness of the bride-to-be, there was a pall cast over the occasion by the absence of the laird and his sons—none of whom had been heard from since Eoin had left. Though the clansmen had been forced to swear to their new overlord, their loyalty was still with their laird, and they looked on Fin as something between an opportunist and a traitor.

Fin had assured them that he'd only done it to protect them—and that Eoin understood—but Margaret didn't fully believe him. She sensed that Lady Rignach didn't either but had chosen to make the best of the situation by pretending to do so.

The celebration was a stilted, awkward affair that was continuing late into the evening out of duty, not desire. Feeling the absence of her husband and finding it hard to hide her misery, Margaret slipped out of the stifling Hall into the stables to bring Dubh a special treat—an apple pilfered from the feast.

She didn't realize she'd been followed.

“What are you doing out here?”

She startled at the sound of the voice behind her, and recognizing it as Fin's, her heart immediately started to race. Racing that spurred when she glanced around and realized he'd cornered her in the small stall and gotten rid of the stable lad who'd been sitting near the door. The door that was now closed.

Straightening her spine, she squared her shoulders to face him. “Giving Dubh a treat. Now, if you'll excuse me,” she said, trying to brush by him, “I told Tilda I'd be back in a moment.”

He caught her arm. “Not so fast. We have a few things to discuss, you and I.”

The pounding of her heart echoed in the growing pit in her stomach. She could smell the heavy scent of whisky on his breath, and his eyes were wild with a drunken haze. Every instinct in her body seemed to ring in alarm.

Being alone with Fin always made her nervous, but being alone with a drunken Fin made her terrified.

“How did you do it?” His eyes scanned her face, and then dropped to her breasts, where they lingered with an unmistakable glint of lust before returning to her mouth. “How did you beguile him into marrying you so quickly? You're beautiful, but he's never been distracted by a pretty face. It must be something else. Did you get on your knees? He's always had a weakness for a lass who sucked his cock. But then what man doesn't?” He laughed crudely.

Margaret gasped, so shocked and outraged she didn't know what to say. Did women . . . ?

She wrenched her arm away. “How dare you! When Eoin comes back—”

“Comes back?” He laughed harder—crueler. “Eoin's not coming back. Haven't you realized that yet? If he comes here, he's a dead man. Hell, he's probably a dead man already.”

Anger dulled some of her fear. She hated hearing her own fears echoed by this brute. “How can you say that? He's your friend.”

Fin sobered just a little. “Aye, but he made his choice. I made mine. We'll both have to live with them. I'm surprised you are still defending him, considering.”

“Considering w-what?” Margaret hoped her voice wasn't shaking, but her heart was in her throat. He'd blocked the only exit to the stall with his body and was now backing her against the back wall.

He smiled, but it never reached his drink-crazed eyes. “Considering that he left you here unprotected.” He leaned down, and she shuddered as his whisky-laden breath crawled over her skin. “You are a beautiful woman. Many men would be tempted—”

“Then they would be fools,” she said, standing up straight, refusing to be cowed. “If my husband does not return to avenge my honor, I assure you my father and brothers will.”

That gave him pause. But then his eyes narrowed on her once more, like a hawk with its prey in sight. It seemed he was no longer biding his time. “Your father and brothers are a long way away, but perhaps if you look around there is someone closer to home whom you can rely on.”

“Who?”

“I might be persuaded. With the proper enticements.” If the look he swept over her body left her any doubt of what he meant, his next move did not. He reached for her, drawing her up so quickly she didn't have time to react before his mouth was crushing hers.

He tasted of whisky and lust, and she would have gagged had she been able to breathe. He was just as big and muscular as her husband, and the assault of such a powerfully built man filled her with terror, but she was prepared. Vowing that she would repay her brothers if she had the chance for insisting she learn how to defend herself, Margaret lifted her knee between his legs. Hard.

He crumpled like a poppet of rags, crying out in pain. She didn't waste time, but drew her eating knife from the scabbard at her waist and held it to his neck.

“If you ever touch me like that again, I'll kill you.”

The lust was gone. It was pure hatred that glared in his eyes now. “You'll regret that, bitch.”

She did not doubt he meant it. Not wanting to give him a chance to recover, she ran past him out of the stall. There was nothing to do: she had to go to Lady Rignach.