Highland Captive Page 27

  “I had no choice, Deirdre. My father commanded it, and I was afraid that if I said nay, he would find out about Geneen and the children and kill them.”

  Deirdre gasped. “Surely he wouldnae have committed such a monstrous crime? Your daughter would have been little more than a babe!”

  “Nay, he wouldnae have done it,” Lewis said bitterly. “He would have ordered someone else to do it. They would have slaughtered Leith, Leslie, and Geneen, who was pregnant with Aili at the time, and most likely murdered her mother too. I would have lost everyone I cared about.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his fingers digging into his jaw. Geneen gently squeezed his arm.

  He sighed. “And then I met you, Deirdre, and you were so young and scared and…beaten down. Another victim of my father and of your own father. Not to mention your piece of shite brother.” He turned to Gavin suddenly, looked him directly in the eye. “Under no circumstances are you to release her into her brother’s care. He’s a degenerate of the worst kind. His feelings toward Deirdre are unnatural. I almost killed him when he was at our keep, and I am not a man of violence.”

  Deirdre gasped, shock and horror crashing through her, but also shame, all those confusing feelings from so long ago twisting her stomach.

  Gavin tightened his arm around her. “We will take care of him. Boyd MacColl will ne’er lay a hand on another lass.”

  Lewis exhaled heavily, sounding relieved. “I am glad to know you care for Deirdre. And I can see she cares for you too.” He looked at the door. “When the priest gets here—”

  “Priest?” Gavin interrupted. “You mean Father Lundie?”

  “Aye. I’ve met him several times over the years. When I heard he was here, I beseeched one of your men to bring him to me.”

  “What is it, Lewis?” Deirdre asked, her voice filled with concern.

  He glanced at the door again, looking nervous.

  Geneen squeezed his hand, and he held on to it like a life raft. “When the priest is here,” she said, raising her chin.

  They fell into an awkward silence. After a moment, Lewis blurted out, “I’m sorry I canna help further. My father and I were, for all intents and purposes, estranged. He did not include me in his plans, so I canna give you much information, but I do know you canna trust him. He’s here because it suits him, not because of Deirdre or Ewan. I fear he has an attack planned against you, and he will strike sooner rather than later. He mentioned other men—and that you wouldnae know what hit you.”

  Silence fell as everyone took in his words.

  “Would you be willing to spy for us?” Callum asked.

  “Nay!” both Geneen and Deirdre said together.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Deirdre added.

  “If I thought it would do some good, I would consider it. But my father willna share any information with me. I’ve already been sent back to my keep in disgrace. I suspect he’s planning to kill me soon whether he has another male heir or not.”

  “We can help you,” Kerr said. “You’re welcome to come live at Clan MacAlister.”

  Lewis smiled and nodded. “Thank you, old friend, but we’ve made plans. We’ve been working on them for years.”

  “You’ve been stealing the money intended for the keep?” Kerr said.

  “Aye,” Lewis answered. “Whate’er I thought could be spared.”

  “Where are you planning to go?” Gavin asked.

  “Geneen’s mother has family in Cambria. It’s far enough away that my father willna find us. But…” Lewis looked at Deirdre.

  “But what?” she asked. Gavin tensed behind her and made a soft huffing sound next to her ear. She looked at him and saw his expression had turned to ice.

  “I was worried about you…we were worried about you. It doesn’t look like you’ll be in need of us now, but Geneen and I planned to speak to you about coming with us.”

  “To Cambria?”

  “Aye.”

  “No!” She practically yelled the word, and Gavin relaxed behind her. “That is to say, no thank you. I appreciate you thinking of me, but my home is here. I finally feel like I have a place where I belong.”

  Lewis smiled at Deirdre, his happiness for her shining through his eyes. “I’m glad, lass. Verra glad. But there’s more you need to know. Both of you.” He looked at Geneen, who nodded at him encouragingly. Lewis visibly swallowed then looked back at the door again—which suddenly opened.

  Father Lundie stepped through, escorted by one of Gavin’s men. His hair was sticking up at the back of his head and his robe was creased, as if he’d fallen asleep wearing it. Deirdre imagined he must have been too tired to undress after several days of travel.

  In his hands he carried a small wooden case and a Bible. “Is someone in need of assistance?” he asked, hurrying forward.

  Lewis turned around and stretched out his hand to greet the priest. “I am, Father Lundie. ’Tis good to see you again.”

  “Ah, Master Lewis. I didn’t know you were here. Good evening to you, sir.” He scanned the group. “I pray you’re all hale and hearty?”

  “Aye, Father, ’tis another matter on which we must speak.” Lewis reached into his sporran and brought out a second piece of parchment. This one looked crisp and fresh, other than the crease where he’d folded it. He passed it to Father Lundie, who glanced down and started reading the script.

  “I must speak of my misdeeds,” Lewis continued, “and I wanted an official from the church here as witness. It gladdens my heart that it’s you, even though what I have to say is a devastating breach of trust to Deirdre, the Church, and to our two clans. I pray everyone involved will find their way to forgive me.”

  Father Lundie’s eyes widened as he continued to read. He muttered under his breath a few times and even gasped and crossed himself at a certain point. Deirdre’s pulse pounded as she watched him. What on earth could it be? What further humiliation could her husband bestow upon her in front of everyone gathered there?

  “Tell us,” Gavin said sternly. He had both arms around her now, and she leaned fully against him, her knees weak and legs trembling.

  Father Lundie looked up at Lewis. “Shall I tell her?”

  “Nay,” Lewis said. “’Twas my decision. I’ll be the one.” He stepped toward Deirdre but stopped when she defensively hugged Gavin’s arms. If Gavin hadn’t been pressed up against her, she would have taken a step back.

  Geneen rested her hand lightly on Lewis’s back in support, and he continued. “Deirdre, you have to understand. When my father came to me, demanding I marry you, I felt I had no choice but to go through with the ceremony. My father knew better than to threaten me. Instead, he threatened the lives of Geneen and Leith, my oldest son. He didn’t yet know of the others.”

  “You said that already,” she croaked.

  “Aye, but it’s important for you to understand the gravity of the situation.”

  “I’m not a bairn, Lewis. You doona need to emphasize the heinousness of murdering children.”

  He sighed and scrubbed his fingers through his hair, then reached back for Geneen’s hand to bring her to his side. “I’ve known Geneen my entire life. She was the daughter of the stable master at my father’s castle. I doona remember a time when she wasn’t my best friend. We were young when we fell in love, but it was forbidden. My father sent me away, and I returned for Geneen without his knowledge.”

  He cleared his throat before continuing. She could see the pounding of his pulse at his throat and the slight tremor in his hands. “Deirdre, Geneen is my wife. We handfasted each other when we were seventeen.” A collective gasp went up in the room. Deirdre’s knees buckled, but Gavin held her up.

  “I married you in bad faith, and our marriage is not valid—on too many grounds to count, the most important one being that I was already married. You are not legally or spiritually my wife, and I am ne
ither legally nor spiritually your husband. I’m sorry to have used you in such a manner, but the lives of my children and my wife were at stake.”

  He stepped forward, and this time he did touch her, running his knuckles along upper arm. “If Geneen had not been in my life, if I hadn’t been in love with her, I would have proudly claimed you. Not at the beginning, certainly—you were far too young. But you grew into a thoughtful, beautiful young woman, filled with grace and possessing a kind heart. You have so much to give.” He looked pointedly at Gavin. “Any man would be an ablach to not know the gem he had in his possession.”

  Then he raised her hand and kissed it. “Your loyalty, good nature, and love is a gift, Deirdre. And I wish you naught but happiness.”

  Deirdre looked at the top of his head. She felt as though she were spinning, her world turned upside down. His pretty words meant naught to her. The one thing in her life that she’d had no doubt about, that she’d known she could count on, was that she was Lewis’s wife. Seven years she’d been a MacIntyre, passed over from the MacColls like livestock, just as Isobel had said. And was she now to be passed back? Nay, she would ne’er go back to her father’s house. So who was she then, and where did she belong? Deirdre MacColl? Deirdre MacIntyre? Lady Deirdre? Ewan’s mother?

  Stepping back, Lewis looked around at the five lairds and Father Lundie. “You are all witness to my account. I have a written account as well. I’d like everyone to sign it, including Deirdre and Geneen, so there’s no doubt of its veracity.”

  “Over here,” Gregor said from where he stood next to the dais. “I have a quill and ink in my sporran.”

  So he’d heard too. Who else knew of her disgrace?

  The other lairds, Lewis, Geneen, and Father Lundie headed toward the dais, as Gregor pulled out a leather case.

  Gavin stayed with her and turned her in his arms. She swayed and he caught her. “Steady. I’ve got you. Just lean on me and catch your breath.”

  She closed her eyes, rested her cheek on his chest, and let him take her weight while she carefully inhaled and then exhaled several times. Nausea swamped her, and she focused on Gavin’s heart beating beneath her ear instead of the giant hole that had opened beneath her feet.

  Doona look down, Deirdre.

  Down right now was the heartbreaking betrayal of her affection and trust. Of the sickening feeling of being used. She might feel differently once the shock had passed, but for now it felt like Lewis had punched a giant-sized hole in her belly.

  “Gavin,” Kerr called out. “Bring Deirdre over.”

  “Can you walk?” Gavin asked her. “I can carry you to the chair and have you sign there.”

  “Nay,” she croaked, her voice little more than a whisper. “I can do it.” She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping her eyes trained on the floor—mostly so she’d stay upright, but also so she wouldn’t have to look at any of the others.

  Glancing to the side, she saw the children waiting at the entrance to the kitchen with Isobel and their grandmother. If her marriage had been real, would her children have looked like that?

  She dropped her gaze again and swung her hair forward to hide her face.

  “Nay,” Gavin said softly, as he brushed her hair behind her shoulder. “You have naught to be ashamed of. Doona hide, Deirdre.” He put the quill in her hand as she reached the dais.

  A spurt of anger ignited in her breast, and she almost broke the quill in two. She swung her hair forward again—defiantly this time.

  She looked at the letters on the parchment, at her betrayal laid out in ink for everyone to see. The sad, pathetic story that was her life. Words jumped out at her: handfasted, children, adultery, threats and betrayal, nonconsummation of marriage.

  Pressing the quill’s tip to the parchment, she signed it, ending what had never started.

  Callum picked up the parchment, and she heard him blowing on it to dry the ink.

  People shuffled around her, talking softly as if…as if what? She might break? That spurt of anger in her chest turned into a flame, and she ground her teeth together.

  “Lewis and his family are leaving,” Gavin said.

  She looked up to see the seven of them heading toward the door. Father Lundie was with them. Maybe he would officially marry Lewis and Geneen now. Not that they needed the church’s seal of approval—handfasting was binding.

  She clenched her jaw to stop from screaming.

  Why was she so upset? She didn’t want to go with them. She wanted to stay here with Ewan, Gavin, Isobel, and even Kerr. She wanted to get to know Gregor and all the other lairds better and someday meet their wives. So why did she want to open her mouth and yell out in anger, resentment, hurt, and betrayal? Just like she had from the turret with Gavin a few days ago?

  Why did she want to turn around and yell at Gavin too, for everything he’d done to her when they’d first met? He’d threatened her life, dragged her around like a cow on a lead, almost taken her son from her.

  Lewis turned at the door with the youngest bairn in his arms, the bairn who could have been her bairn, and lifted his hand in farewell. Deirdre raised hers automatically, the pressure building in her throat, the flame in her chest turning into a fire. When the door banged shut behind them, her hand dropped to her side—now curling into a fist, her nails digging into her palm.

  Silence fell, and she took a step away from the dais, then another one, her back to the remaining people in the room. The guards were gone, the priest was gone, Lewis and his family—his family—were gone.

  She could feel their eyes on her back, sensed their rising tension as she took another step away from them. How far would she get if she ran for the door? Not that she wanted to chase after Lewis, but she wanted…she wanted… Nay, she needed to do something physical. Something pounding and fierce and ferocious. She felt raw on the inside. Savage.

  Used. Lied to. Mistreated. Derided. Abused. Torn away from her son like a bloodsucking leech from a slew. God’s blood, did she have no value to anyone?

  She took two more steps, three more. And then she heard Gavin coming up behind her.

  “Deirdre, love. We couldnae have asked for a better outcome. What wonderful news. You’re not married!”

  And the fire in her chest erupted, became an inferno. It burst from every pore of her body, heating her skin, tunneling her vision. She turned on Gavin, burning hot with outrage. “It’s wonderful that I’ve been lied to for seven years? Manipulated and used for someone else’s gain? Cast to Clan MacIntyre by my father because of my brother’s bad behavior, then dragged to Clan MacKinnon to pay for someone else’s bad behavior? Like…like…”

  “Cattle,” Isobel said.

  “Aye! Like a bloody ox for use in the field!”

  “Calm down, Deirdre. I only meant—”

  “Calm down?” she yelled. “I will not calm down. What if one day he’d just left with his family and ne’er returned? I would have been sitting in his keep for the rest of my life, waiting and worrying, wondering what I’d done wrong—what was so repugnant, so untouchable about me that even my husband didn’t want me. He gave me Ewan because he wouldnae give anything of himself. I was as good as barren!”

  Gavin’s face fell. “You want him then? You love him?”

  “Nay! I want to not have been used and lied to and belittled by everyone in my life who was supposed to care about me.”

  “I have ne’er lied to you or used you.”

  “You just invaded my keep, abducted me, and ripped me away from my son instead! Threatened me with losing the only person in my life who truly loved me. The only one who valued me.”

  “That’s not true, Deirdre. I value you. I care about you a great deal. Sweetling, I lo—”

  “Hit him, Deirdre,” Isobel yelled from the sidelines. “You’ll feel better.”

  She looked at Isobel,
her emotions still so savage and raw. She looked at Kerr, saw his big sword poking up from behind his shoulder—the sword she could barely even lift. She marched toward him now, determined to get her hands on it.

  His eyes widened as he saw her coming. “Cousin, why are you coming for me? I ne’er treated you poorly. Not once.”

  “You threw my hairbrush on the stairs.”

  “Aye, lass, I did. I’m sorry. I’ll get you a new one.”

  “I doona want a new one. I want your sword.” She stopped in front of Kerr and held out her hand.

  “My sword? But you can barely lift—”

  “Give it to me!”

  He quickly drew the sword with one hand and handed her the hilt. She yanked it from his grasp, and the tip dropped with a clang to the stone floor. “The blade! Deirdre, doona let it drag on the—”

  Isobel smacked his stomach with the back of her hand, and he let out an “ooof,” then he groaned as Deirdre scraped the sword tip—previously honed to a razor-sharp edge—all the way back to Gavin on the rough floor. Gavin stood still and stared at her, not knowing what to do. His gaze rose to his brothers and Gregor behind her.

  She couldnae yet place the voices with the men.

  “Let her hit you with it, Brother.”

  “But doona let her stab you.”

  “She canna lift it to stab him. It weighs too much.”

  “Not anymore. Not with all the chips coming out.”

  “My sword!” That voice she recognized as Kerr’s.

  “It’s not a wee bairn, you great big ablach. It’s a bloody weapon. You can get a new one or just sharpen the blade.” That was definitely Isobel. “Give him hell, Deirdre!”

  Deirdre lifted the sword with a groan and swung at Gavin. He blocked it with the metal cuff on his forearm. “Deirdre, love, give me the sword. Please.”

  She heaved it again. “You stole Ewan from me. You made me ride that bloody mare.”

  “Language!” Kerr said, and then she heard a thump, and he made the same “ooof” sound as before.