Wings of Morning (19 page)

Pain stabbed through him, and into its gaping hole came fury. “I didn’t tell ye about him so as to have ye turn my words against me, or to feed yer doubts and suspicions,” he rasped. “Instead, I trusted ye with some of my deepest fears and failings.”

For several seconds, Iain found he couldn’t go on, his sense of hurt and betrayal was that strong. Then reason returned. Regan had just been commanded to marry; she’d had no say in the matter whatsoever, and this coming on the heels of being widowed, losing her memory for a time, and then learning that the man who had taken her in might well be her late husband’s murderer. Her turning his words against him just now hardly mattered in comparison.

He dragged in an unsteady breath. “Forgive me for my anger,” he said. “I’d imagine, at a time like this, my professions of love
would
mean little to ye. But, laying all that aside, the queen’s command is still an insurmountable obstacle. As I said before. I cannot—will not—defy her.”

“But what if, instead, ye could convince her that I’d guarantee Drummond loyalty?” She laid her hand on his arm and stepped close, her shining gaze almost his undoing. “What if ye and yer clan promised to help me regain what has always been mine? Then we wouldn’t have to wed, and Mary would still get what matters most to her.”

“Aye, ye and Mary might indeed get what
ye
both desire,” he said, clamping down on his renewed swell of pain. “But what would I, in the end, have for my efforts?”

She seemed momentarily taken aback by that question. “Why, ye’d have served yer queen, ye would,” Regan finally replied. “Indeed, we both would have. And isn’t that all that matters in the end?”

“Nay, not for me, it isn’t.”

As she stared at him, comprehension slowly brightened her eyes. Color drained from her face. “Will ye present my plan to the queen nonetheless?”

“And why not just do it yerself?” he ground out bitterly. “Then ye’ll know it was delivered properly, with no chance of it being twisted into something ye’d not like it to be. After all, I’m a liar and cut from the same cloth as my father. Why would ye trust me to do this in yer stead?”

Regan had the good grace to blush. “Why else? Mary will receive it more favorably coming from ye. And I could accompany ye to verify my commitment to yer plan. But it must appear as if it were always yer idea.”

“I don’t like it,” Iain muttered. “It smacks too much of a lie.”

She glanced up to the ceiling and sighed. “Then what would ye rather say?”

He hadn’t even agreed to do this daft thing for her, and already she had him to the point of formulating his presentation to Mary. Still, Iain didn’t want Regan to think badly of him, and if this final effort on his part would soften her heart . . .

“How much will ye sacrifice?”
Niall’s question flashed across his mind.
“I’ll sacrifice everything. Everything but my clan, my queen, and my soul . . .”

Well, Regan wasn’t asking for any of those things. All she was asking was for him to relinquish the hope of ever having her love. His mouth quirked wryly. Mayhap, as Niall had said, when it came to this particular woman, he was indeed a fool.

“I’d rather say,” Iain replied, his mind made, “that there might be a better way, and then leave the matter up to the queen.
If
ye think ye could finally and forever accept the outcome, whatever it might be.”

Misgiving clouded her expression, and Iain could see her thoughts race. At long last, though, Regan nodded. “There’s naught more to be done for it, is there, if this plan doesn’t work?”

“Nay, it wouldn’t appear so.”

“Then, aye. I’ll accept the outcome. I may not like it, but I’ll accept it.”

Mary would have none of their plan. Regan had to give Iain his due, though. He tried his best to convince the queen of their alternate idea and, for a time, Regan even began to hope he might succeed. Then Mary asked him point-blank if he no longer wished to wed.

He shot Regan an anguished glance, then looked down, mumbling something about how he didn’t care to force her to marry him. The queen apparently saw through his dissembling and reworded her question slightly. “Do you love her?” she asked.

After a long silence, in which Regan hoped as much for an aye as for a nay, Iain looked up, met the queen’s gaze, and answered that aye, he did indeed love her.

There was no swaying Mary after that. The marriage would take place in a week’s time, she informed them, and she’d honor their union by attending.

Nothing more could be done after that but begin making wedding arrangements. Letters had soon been sent out to both Strathyre House and the Drummond relatives, requesting their presence at the upcoming marriage. And, to Regan’s surprise, five days later, William and his wife had arrived and then Walter but two hours ago, just in time for the next day’s ceremony.

“What will ye do?” he now asked her as they stood up on the roof walk, gazing at pewter-colored Loch Awe and storm-clouded skies. “Ye surely can’t mean to go through with this—this farce of a marriage. Mayhap tonight, when all the castle’s fast asleep, we can sneak down to the stables and ride out.”

“And go where?” Regan sighed and shook her head. “We couldn’t return to Strathyre House. The Campbells would just come after us and likely destroy ye and yer home in the process of retrieving me. The queen has decreed Iain and I must wed, and no one would come to yer aid, Walter. Certainly not my cousin William or anyone else of Clan Drummond. Indeed, it surely suits William verra well to have me back under the control of yet another husband.”

“Aye,” Walter muttered, “I’m sure it does. But I can’t stand by and let ye be wed to that insufferably arrogant, back-shooting coward either. I owe ye—and Roddy—more than that poor bit of loyalty.”

“Och, Walter, it’ll be all right.” Regan turned and laid a hand on his arm. “Somehow, I’ll find a way through this. Iain’s a fool if he thinks he’s won just because he can finally take me to wife. I’ll never give up until I discover Roddy’s killer. And, living in such close, constant proximity to him as his wife, if Iain truly
is
the killer, I’m certain finally to discover the proof I need to convict him.

“Nay,” —she gave a sharp, resolute shake of her head—“he’ll rue the day he wed me, he will.”

“Nonetheless, it sickens me to think of ye living with him. He may well bespell ye yet, and then ye’ll be helpless clay in his hands. And I’ll be too far away to aid ye.”

“Och, Walter, Walter.” Regan laughed softly, released his arm, and turned back to the view below. “There’s no one practicing the black arts in Kilchurn.
That
one worry ye may set aside forever.”

“Well, be that as it may, I don’t think I can bear to watch ye wed on the morrow. It . . . it’ll sicken me, it will!”

“Then who’ll stand by me as a representative of my family?”

“William has already offered.” Walter scowled. “Indeed, I barely dismounted after arriving here than he was at my side, demanding I tell ye that he, instead, should represent yer family before the queen.”

She smiled sweetly. “A bit late to be claiming his strong familial bond and love for me, isn’t it? Nay, in this my will’s clear. Iain said it was my choice and mine alone. And I want ye, Walter, to be with me. Yer presence will give me the strength and courage I’ll need to go through with this.”

He took her hand then, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it. “Then, for ye, sweet lass, I’ll do it.” He paused, gave a harsh laugh. “Who knows? It may well be the chance I’ve been hoping for to finish off Iain Campbell once and for all. I’ll be near enough to take him by surprise before he has opportunity to react. And no one in chapel will be armed, save mayhap me, if I can smuggle in a dagger . . .”

Recoiling from him in horror, Regan jerked her hand away. “Nay! Don’t even joke about such a thing! I made the mistake once of allowing ye to risk yer life to avenge Roddy. I won’t do so again. There are other ways.”

“Aye, there are,” he growled, his expression darkening, “but none as swift and satisfying as driving a dagger deep into his gut and watching him scream and writhe in his death agony. He deserves that and more, he does, for what he did to Roddy and what he intends still to do to ye.”

Listening to him just then, a chill washed over her. His hatred of Iain, Regan realized, went much deeper than she had previously imagined. Indeed, as he had spoken of her, his voice had thickened, went husky with something akin to possessiveness, even desire. But that was ridiculous. Walter had never, in all their years of being together, shown even the slightest manly interest in her.

She must be so overwrought right now that she was imagining all sorts of strange things, Regan decided. After all, by tomorrow evening, she’d indeed be dealing with another husband’s marital overtures. She, who was still a maiden, would have a second husband.

“I can bear it, Walter.” Regan forced a smile. “It’s no more than any woman must endure when she weds. So dinna fash yerself over me. It’s not worth risking yer life for, and certainly no reason to murder someone. We’ll get our chance in time. Just keep that ever before ye. Roddy
will
be avenged.”

“But ye don’t understand . . .” He gripped the top of a merlon and looked down. “It hurts, Regan. It tears at my gut, it does, to let ye go alone into this. Ye’re all I’ve left in this world, and I’ve missed ye. Och, how I’ve missed ye! I need ye home. I need ye home so verra badly!”

She had never seen him in such pain. Impulsively, Regan stepped close, wrapped her arms about him, and laid her head on his shoulder. “Och, Walter, I know. I know,” she crooned. “It’ll all work out. The Lord will see to that.”

“N-nay, He won’t,” her brother-in-law moaned, pulling her tightly to him. “God’s surely turned His back on us, to let all these terrible things happen to ye and me. And I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve failed ye, I have. Ye, the only woman I’ve ever—”

“Well, isn’t this a cozy little scene?”

At the sound of Niall Campbell’s sardonic voice, Regan gave a gasp and jerked away from Walter. Though their embrace had been innocent enough, and he was her brother-in-law and hence family, she still couldn’t help the hot blood that filled her cheeks. But then, Niall didn’t bother to hide his distaste for her these days either.

“Ye could’ve been polite enough to warn us ye were there,” Regan said, in her embarrassment taking the offense. “It isn’t courteous to sneak up on folk, ye know.”

He eyed her with contempt. “But however would I discover such interesting things then? Like ye and yer brother-in-law in such close, loving intimacy?”

Anger flashed through her. Her fists rose to rest on her hips. “We were in no such thing, Niall Campbell! And shame on ye for yer scurrilous accusations!”

“Och, so that’s how it is, is it?” He threw back his head and laughed. “Ye’re to be wed to my cousin on the morrow; I find ye in the arms of another man, and now I’m the villain?” Niall’s glance narrowed. “Well, spare yer cleverness, madam. It’s wasted on me.”

He then lifted his dark gaze to Walter. “A word to the wise, MacLaren. Keep yer distance from this woman, or ye’ll deal with me. Whether I like it or not, she’s soon to be my cousin by marriage, and a Campbell, no less. As clan chief, I protect what’s mine. Even,” he added with a scornful curl of his lip, “the likes of her.”

With that, Niall wheeled about and stalked back to the stairs, leaving Regan standing there, so furious she couldn’t find words to fling at his retreating form. One thing was certain. Niall would waste no time running to tell Iain, and likely half the folk in Kilchurn, if he thought it would make any difference. If he thought it would prevent her and Iain’s marriage on the morrow.

Which wasn’t necessarily, Regan realized with a belated swell of irony, such a very bad thing.

13

“Well, Mither?” Iain asked, spreading his arms wide. “Am I suitably dressed for a grand wedding, with no less than the queen in attendance?”

His mother walked over, straightened the Campbell clan crest fastening the smaller shoulder plaid draped across his chest, left shoulder, and back, tugged up the collar of the fine, white linen shirt beneath his jacket and doublet, then stepped back to critically survey him. “Aye, ye’ll do, and no mistake,” she finally replied. “Ye always did have handsome legs to fill out trews, just like yer father.”

With a wry grin, Iain glanced down at the fitted, long trousers and his simple leather shoes. “I but hope my bride thinks my legs equally as handsome. She is, in the end, the only one I really care to impress.”

Mathilda gave a disdainful snort. “That’ll be a long time in coming, I’m afraid, if that day
ever
comes.” She shook her head and sighed. “For the life of me, I don’t know what’s come over the lass. I used to think I knew her, and that she loved me as much as I’d come to love her. But not anymore. It’s like . . . like some other woman now inhabits her body. And it’s most certainly not any woman I care much for, much less want marrying my son!”

“Och, Mither, dinna fash yerself.” Iain walked over and took her hands. “The old Regan we knew is still there. We must just give her time to sort it all out.”

The blue eyes staring up at him filled with tears. “Och, I only hope ye’re right. I’ve waited so long for ye to find the woman of yer heart, and now . . . n-now ye’re to wed a lass who all but hates ye. Och,” she cried, the tears now coursing down her cheeks, “I wanted so much more for ye, lad, than to end up in as loveless and unhappy a marriage as I had.”

Compassion filled him, and he gathered her into his arms. “Mither, wheesht, wheesht,” he murmured, holding her close. “It’s in the Lord’s hands. It’ll all work out, just ye wait and see. I love Regan. In time, I feel certain she’ll come again to love me.”

“On the contrary, I wonder if she
ever
truly loved ye,” Mathilda whispered from the haven of his arms. “Mayhap she truly is the sort Niall worries she is.” She leaned back to stare up at him. “He told me, ye know, of her conspiring with that man in Dalmally, and that, just yesterday, he caught her up on the roof walk in the arms of her brother-in-law. Her brother-in-law, no less! I can’t think of a more immoral relationship!”

Iain chuckled. “Well,
I
can think of a lot of relationships that are far more immoral. Still, be that as it may, just because Regan and Walter were holding each other doesn’t mean there was aught illicit in the act. Though I cannot say I care much for the man, mayhap Regan loves him as a brother. She did all but grow up with him. And they mayhap share a common love—and sorrow—for Roddy.”

His mother eyed him with affectionate skepticism. “And
I
say ye’re far too trusting at times, lad.”

“Och, I wasn’t saying I trust Walter MacLaren. I trust Regan. Trust that she’ll finally realize that she can depend on—and believe in—me.”

“Well, ye can be certain I’ll be praying day and night for that to happen.” She reached up, tenderly stroked his cheek, then pushed back against his arms.

He released her. “I was hoping ye’d do a bit more than pray, Mither. I was hoping ye’d warmly welcome Regan as yer new daughter-in-law.”

“Indeed?” Mathilda arched a brow. “Warmly? And this for a woman who accused ye of murder and tried to see ye convicted and hanged for it?”

“I don’t believe it was personal. The circumstances surrounding her husband’s death somewhat implicated me, after all.”

“She insulted ye and all ye’ve ever stood for, she did!”

“Well, I’ve forgiven her. Can’t ye do the same?”

Mathilda scowled. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Even if I ask it? As a wedding gift to me?”

She snorted. “I’d something more substantial than that in mind for yer wedding gift.”

“And what gift would be finer than my wife welcomed into the clan and family?” He smiled. “Think on it, Mither. How else are we to heal the painful rift that has opened between us and Regan? How else is she to begin to see us for what we truly are, rather than what her doubts, fears, and the lies of others have made us out to be? Indeed, if
we
don’t first model Christ’s love and forgiveness, when will she ever see it?”

“Aye, ye’re right about that. She’ll certainly not see it from the likes of that unctuous Walter MacLaren, or from that conniving uncle of hers either.”

Iain didn’t say anything but waited for her to mull it all over in her mind a bit.

Finally, Mathilda sighed. “Fine,” she muttered, shooting him a wry glance. “For the Lord’s sake, and for yers, I’ll try once more to be her friend and to make her feel welcome. But if she betrays ye again . . . well, I don’t know what I’ll do then.”

“We must be patient, and gentle, and understanding. Agreed?”

She released yet another, even deeper, acquiescent breath. “Agreed.”

“Good!” Iain took her by one arm, twirled her around to face

the door, and proceeded to escort her across the room. “Then let’s be on our way. It’s time we were attending a wedding!”

His mother laughed. “Ye aren’t a wee bit overeager now, are ye, lad?”

He grinned. “Nay, not at all. Not at all.”

With a disconcerting sense of déjà vu, Regan went through the wedding ceremony, wedding feast, and the entertainment and dancing afterward like a puppet manipulated by its master. She responded politely with a smile most times when spoken to, followed all requests directed her way without protest, and tried not to think too much about what she had vowed before God and the queen to do.

The wedding night would come soon enough, she well knew. Her glance strayed to Iain sitting to her right at table, talking now with Mary, the obvious guest of honor. He had asked her to dance when the musicians had first broken into a lively jig. She had pleaded that her ankle had begun to ache, what with the day-long rain that had come this morn, and didn’t feel up to any dancing. Though he had quietly studied her for a moment, Iain had finally relented and not troubled her about dancing again.

Still, no matter how amenable he had been about accepting her excuse, Regan had no doubt, when it came to consummating their wedding vows later, he’d not be so easily discouraged. And each time the realization managed to creep back into her mind, it filled her with renewed panic. No matter how determined she was to face what was to come with dignity and courage, the longer the evening dragged on, the more upset she became.

Sitting so close to her, Iain must have somehow sensed her rising anxiety. Finally, Regan saw him catch Anne’s gaze and motion to her. Niall’s wife rose from her seat on the queen’s other side and hurried down to him. Because he kept his head carefully angled away, Regan couldn’t quite catch what he said to Anne. His intent became crystal clear, however, when Anne next moved to her and bent to speak in her ear.

“Ye look like all the festivities are wearing ye down,” her friend said softly. “Come, let’s leave and go to yer bedchamber.”

Regan looked to Iain, but his head was already turned, once again speaking with Mary. Not that it mattered. She knew what he wanted. He wanted Anne both to calm her and prepare her for his imminent arrival.

“Aye, likely that’d be best.” She pushed back her chair and stood. After taking her leave of the queen, Regan followed Anne from the Great Hall.

They walked in silence until they reached the bedchamber door and entered. Jane awaited them, but Anne soon sent her on her way. Then, pulling Regan along, she led her to the two chairs situated by the fire.

“Come, sit,” Anne said, indicating one of the chairs. “Most everyone, the queen included, is so into his cups that none will ever know ye’re gone. And it helps to have a wee bit of time alone to yerself, after all the commotion and excitement of the day.”

“Before Iain arrives, ye mean, to claim his marital rights.”

Regan knew there was an edge of bitterness in her voice, but she didn’t care. She was fast becoming weary of being pulled and prodded to satisfy everyone else’s needs. But Anne was right. As tautly stretched as her nerves were, if she didn’t steal a few blessed minutes to herself, she feared she might snap.

Her friend moved close, placed both hands on Regan’s shoulders, and pushed her down into her chair. “Ye needn’t fear him,” she then said after taking her own seat. “He’s a good, decent man. He won’t force the pace or be rough with ye.”

“And how would ye know? Ye’ve never lain with him, have ye?” Regan cried, regretting her outburst just as soon as the words had left her mouth.

Anne’s expression never changed. “Nay. Never. We’re friends and have always been. I just know Iain, and know that he loves ye. That’s all, Regan.”

Shamed, Regan lowered her gaze to her hands. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “I just . . . I just feel like I’ve betrayed Roddy, marrying a man who may have killed him.”

“But ye haven’t, dear friend. If ye just meet Iain halfway, ye’ll soon see the truth for yerself.”

Regan lifted an anguished gaze. “It’s not as if I want him to be the killer. But I can’t trust my heart, Anne. It might cloud my judgment, blind me to the truth.”

“Aye, sometimes it does, indeed,” the other woman admitted. “But equally as often, if not more so, it speaks truer than any words ever could. The heart, after all, judges what lies beneath the surface of a man rather than what falls from his lips. The heart’s attuned to a silent language, but it’s the surest, truest language of all.”

“Mayhap.” Regan gave a sharp little laugh. “But I’ve learned not to hear that language, or trust it. Indeed, I trust verra little anymore.”

“But ye can learn. Ye can learn again to hear with the ear of yer heart.”

“How?” The word was wrenched from the depths of her being. “How, Anne?”

“By letting naught go by without being open to its true meaning. How else do we grow in knowledge and love of God, than by always being open to His voice, His holy Word? And, as we grow in that life, we do so by seeing and meditating on the fruits of our Savior’s words and actions. We grow closer by
working
to grow closer each and every day, because we
want
to.”

“And that’s how I’ll also come to know Iain for the man ye claim he truly is? By being open to what his words and actions really mean, and by working to grow closer to him each and every day?”

Anne smiled. “It’s a start, isn’t it? And it isn’t as if ye’re a stupid woman, easily led or deceived.”

“Nay, I suppose not.” Regan sighed. “It means seeing everyone and everything, though, in a different way.”

“Is that such a bad thing? Sometimes, when one begins to view everything with a clearer eye and more open heart, one sees reality a lot more easily. And, in the end, isn’t that what matters, no matter what that reality actually is?”

Regan knew Anne spoke true. Problem was, it wasn’t as easy to change one’s way of seeing things as she made it out to be. One’s beliefs were built over many years, like rocks piled one atop the other. To risk pulling out one of the lowest ones, one of the ones that all the others were stacked upon, threatened to topple everything. What would be left, if all the rocks upon which she had heretofore built her life came tumbling down? What would she have? What would she be then?

She wasn’t like Iain, who wasn’t afraid of anything. With the return of her long-term memory, Regan realized that now. She had always been afraid. Afraid of the next blow life would give her. The next loss. The uncertainty of each passing moment. And she didn’t know how to change, where to begin, or even if she had the necessary strength and courage.

Because she had no answer, leastwise not right now, Regan chose not to reply to her friend’s question. Instead, she rose, deciding it best—or at least easiest—to change the subject.

“Since we sent Jane away,” she said, “would ye help me ready myself? I’m sure Iain will be on his way verra soon.”

Anne smiled and climbed to her feet. “Aye, I’d wager he will. He’s verra happy to take ye to wife, after all.” She hesitated, drew in a deep breath, then met Regan’s gaze. “I’d ask a boon of ye, if ye would.”

Regan cocked her head. “Ask it, and if it’s within my power, ye know I’ll do it.”

The silver-eyed woman looked her straight in the eye. “Be kind to him this night, if ye can. If not for his sake, then for mine.”

Be kind to him this night . . .
What a thing to ask of a woman who had never lain with a man. But then, Anne didn’t know that. And neither did Iain, or leastwise, not yet.

“I’ll try,” she softly replied. “For yer sake, if not for his, I’ll try.”