by Nicole Locke
‘What happened?’ Eoin asked. ‘What happened to you?’
Donaldo was running and pushing fast through the forming crowd. Then she was in front of him with her arms outstretched. He shook his head and tightened his hold.
‘Wolf attack,’ he said, ignoring Fyfa’s distressed cry. ‘It wasn’t broken when we left, but I doona know now.’
‘I know what to do,’ Donaldo said. ‘Eoin, Gillean, fetch boiling water and ale. Get others to carry it to your sister’s room. Then I’ll need two...nae, ten of the flattest boards and branches you can find. About this big and wide.’ She demonstrated. ‘Fyfa, get me some strips of old linens and fetch my pouches of herbs and pestle!’
The children hesitated, their worry turning to alarm at Donaldo’s demands.
‘We’ve got your sister and she needs your help,’ he said. Fyfa tugged on the children until they ran.
Donaldo swept towards the keep and he followed behind her.
‘How long has she been asleep?’ she demanded.
‘Since I lifted her.’
‘Stayed awake during the attack?’
‘Enough time to argue and blame me.’
Donaldo smiled knowingly.
‘You’re right to be prideful and I deserve her blame and a great deal more than that.’
‘Aye, since you aren’t harmed as well.’ Donaldo eyed him speculatively. ‘The wolf’s dead?’
‘Aye, I’ll fetch the pelt later.’
‘I’ll be wanting it.’
‘For healing her?’
‘Nae, for refraining myself from battering you on the head.’
He nodded.
‘At least you didn’t smile,’ Donaldo said. ‘This bodes well.’
He didn’t think anything boded well. When they reached their room, he laid Lioslath on the fresh linens. They would be ruined with her blood, and Lioslath would yell at the waste of that later. When she woke... If she woke.
Would she live?
There was a commotion behind him as Cook and Aindreas brought in buckets of steaming water and pitchers of ale. Fyfa hurried behind them with pouches of herbs and a mortar and pestle.
Lioslath was so pale against the linens. The starkness of the blood was a violent reminder of how he almost lost her. How he could still lose her.
It was all his fault.
When Donaldo laid her hand on his arm, he realised the boys had returned, and his hovering over Lioslath blocked their access to her.
‘You need to let us tend her now,’ Donaldo said, reaching for the pouches of herbs. ‘She’ll be fine.’
‘Her leg is swelling.’
‘It’s straight for now. We’ll keep it that way.’
‘If it’s broken...’ Lioslath’s long strides through her home, her purposeful walk as she meandered around the trees in her beloved forest. He couldn’t stop the images.
‘We’ll see to it, Colquhoun. The rest is in God’s hands.’
God’s hands now, but she had been in his protective care first. ‘I have healing herbs. Concoctions from home.’
Donaldo looked as though she wanted to argue, but she gave a curt nod. ‘Bring them, then. I’ll smell if they’re still good.’
Still good. What if nothing was good enough? Lioslath was alive, but if she was crippled, if she couldn’t walk again without pain... That had nothing to do with God and everything to do with his failing her.
He didn’t deserve to be her husband.
‘Go now. If you be wanting me to use the herbs, I’ll need them.’
Everything in him protested. He wanted to stay, though he’d made the suggestion to fetch the herbs. No, he wanted more than that, he wanted to erase what he had done, what he had failed to do.
He could no longer pretend that what he felt was merely lust or attraction or a simple accord with Lioslath.
He loved her.
‘Go, Colquhoun,’ Donaldo demanded. ‘And get the pelt before some other animal does. Or I’ll have you attacked by another wolf simply to ensure I receive my pay.’
It would be the best skinned wolf there was in all of Scotland. He’d see to it.
* * *
It was night before Bram returned to Lioslath’s side. Donaldo rose from the chair in the corner and walked towards him.
‘Aindreas found you.’ Her voice was pleased.
‘Unerringly.’ Even in the dark, his bruises and swollen lip had to be obvious, but he gave as good as he got. Aindreas might love Lioslath like a brother, but he was a protective brother. The fight and cooperation skinning the wolf afterwards had been a necessary conversation.
‘You couldn’t prepare the pelt by yourself,’ Donaldo said. ‘I knew you’d need help.’
‘And to settle matters. You’ll be pleased to know your pelt is prepared and protected. Has she woken?’
‘Nae, but the herbs you gave me are good. You’ll have to tell me of them later.’
They were Oona’s herbs, the Colquhoun healer who was almost as old and stubborn as Scotland itself. If only he had Oona’s counsel as well. ‘You’re not wanting to talk of the herbs now?’
‘Nae, I have something else to say.’
He knew what was coming.
‘You’re a fool.’
No doubt. Donaldo’s great arms were crossed. Her eyebrows arched. All she missed was her toes tapping.
He had been foolish, making assumptions, demanding things his way. He could have lost Lioslath. Just like that and he would never have known what she meant to him. All of it because of his arrogance. He never approached any discussions without checking the accuracy of his facts.
‘We entrusted her to you,’ Donaldo said. ‘She’s special to us, though...I thought, perhaps, she needed to find her own way. Everything changed when her father died, but she didn’t recognise what we wanted from her. In that I was foolish as well.’
Her admission surprised him.
‘There was too much damage done,’ Donaldo continued. ‘You ken? Her...inability with us.’
Her inability. Every single day he saw her inability and her longing to connect. But he dismissed it as something he imagined. Because how could she be alone, when she was surrounded by people who were loyal and loved her? How could someone as beautiful...as brave...as she be hurt? ‘Why is she like she is?’
‘It was Irman, Busby’s second wife, who sank her hatred too deeply.’
He knew about Busby’s marriages. He knew about the children. Yet he had never enquired further. Why would he? He approached Busby for trade, for alliances, not...feelings.
‘Lioslath’s mother died when she was six,’ Donaldo said. ‘Busby soon married Irman. Even after her death, Lioslath’s mother’s kindness and generosity were everywhere. It was apparent that Lioslath was well-loved and Irman didn’t want her to have such power. Lioslath was often punished, and she learned to stay away from the keep. When Irman became with child, she forced Lioslath to sleep in the stables with the horses. She explained it would be temporary while the babies were small, but nae room nor bed was ever built for her.
‘When Irman died in childbirth, it was too late.’ Donaldo shrugged. ‘Still, Lioslath tried. I think she tried for us and for her mother’s much-remembered gentleness. With her hunting and the care of horses and sheep, Lioslath did tend the clan. It wasn’t enough for Busby. He thought Lioslath should have stepped into the role of her mother. Yet she didn’t. Too much time had passed and she couldn’t know how to by then.’
Images of Lioslath in the stables, hacking her hair with her hunting knife, consumed him. No, there couldn’t be anything gentle about that.
‘Busby changed when he married Irman and became worse after she died. Lioslath’s inability to suddenly become the lady of the manor angered him.’
&
nbsp; He knew of Busby’s desperation. Had been able to sense the bitterness, but Donaldo’s confession let him know how badly he failed Lioslath by making the alliance.
‘It was safer that Lioslath hid, because Busby was uncontrollable by then,’ Donaldo continued.
Safer for a daughter to stay away. And yet Lioslath defended her father. He knew nothing at all about this clan. Knew nothing of the woman he married. Because he hadn’t cared about anything else but his own pursuits.
‘Before the attack.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t understand it...’ He pulled up, changing the subject. There were matters he needed to say to Lioslath alone. ‘Why didn’t you tell me of the English?’
‘We have our pride and you were so certain all the poverty and misuse was our own fault.’
He’d been such a fool. ‘I mean to set it right.’
‘With the missives to your clan?’
He tried to protest, but it came more as a shocked laugh. He should have known Donaldo was still watching him.
He gambled with the two missives he laid in Finlay’s safe hands. Two letters written hastily before he went for the wolf pelt. One letter to be shown to his brother Caird and the elders. And a separate, private, letter to his sister and her husband, Robert.
Caird wouldn’t be surprised or protest his being made laird. As the one brother who most adhered to rules and promises, he was the logical choice.
As for Gaira and Robert’s letter? Dread and resolve filled Bram’s heart when he wrote it.
He regretted requesting that Gaira and Robert travel the dangerous distance here. Yet it was the only way for Lioslath to understand and she deserved the truth. He loved her and wanted their marriage in truth. He needed her trust.
So she had to know what happened last April. She had to know who had murdered her father. It had hurt her that it had happened. He feared it would hurt her worse once she knew the truth. But he had no choice.
‘Donaldo, does nothing escape your eyes?’ he said. ‘You should work for the king.’
‘The king couldn’t afford me,’ Donaldo said, as she walked to the door.
‘Nae doubt you’d request more than a wolf pelt for payment.’
‘Oh, I’ll be asking more than that from you. But for the rest, I’ll simply wait.’
‘In the meantime, if I come to the wrong conclusions?’
‘You’re a fool, Laird Colquhoun, but as for your actions? They are already on the correct path.’ Donaldo opened the door. ‘You merely need to walk the rest of the way.’
As Donaldo closed the door behind her, Bram brought the corner chair to the bed. If he had to walk any direction on the right or the wrong path, if he had to rethink everything he’d ever learned, he would do it. But he knew with absolute certainty he wouldn’t be separated from his wife.
* * *
Later in the night, and so quiet that only the dust from the floorboards stirred, Bram’s path was still unclear to him.
How had it come to this? A fool, Donaldo called him, and he agreed. But a fool who needed Lioslath’s hand in his. Even though she couldn’t feel how tightly he held it or how his own trembled.
Now her pale skin had a grey cast, made all the more alarming against the blackness of her hair. The shocking light of her eyes was hidden behind her closed lids, so nothing detracted from the graveness of her injury.
How had she come to this?
He didn’t mean the wolf attack. That wasn’t the true danger. He was the danger. Too much of what had befallen this clan was his fault. He came here to make amends and to fix one mistake from the long list of mistakes over the past year. Now...Lioslath might be crippled and could lose her leg. He had no doubt it was because of him.
She often accused his diplomacy skills of being merely manipulation. She was right.
He was laird, born into the responsibility and the power. His clansmen swore him fealty and in turn he protected them, listened to their disputes and offered aid when needed. He listened; he was patient. In fact, he prided himself because both provided him information in order to...to ensure his own victory.
He splayed his fingers so her hand rested openly in his. So tiny, and yet...so fierce. He’d seen her hands fling refuse buckets, seen her fingers grip a dagger’s handle all in defiance of his...
Manipulation.
Was every horror that his family suffered this year caused by his need to control the outcome? Could he have ill-used his sense of responsibility and power for his own gain? He couldn’t doubt it.
For at what point did his laird’s responsibility extend to forcing Gaira to marry Busby?
His sister cried and yet he still decreed it. He could have simply talked to Gaira. She was headstrong, but she only ever did things out of love. Instead, he dictated her fate and forced her to marry Busby.
There were many southern clans near to Irvette at Doonhill. Yet he chose the most desperate of clans. They wrote and discussed their positions and terms, but he’d been patient, listened, until the odds were in his favour. Then when Busby’s back was against the wall, when Gaira ran away, he threatened him.
His manipulations extended to Clan Fergusson as well. He thought he hadn’t wanted to bring more grief to them, but in fact, by laying siege, he weakened them. Lioslath was forced to open the gates, forced to take the supplies, forced to hunt with him.
The marriage. He believed she understood, but had all the words been said? Had he purposefully assumed? In case...in case saying the words would give her power to refuse the marriage and force him away?
He flexed his fingers against hers and looked for signs she was waking. He was desperate for signs she was waking. Because this was what he had to face. Had he forced his marriage because he wanted her at any cost?
He wanted her and he wanted her still. Her fierceness and beauty stunned him from the beginning. If he manipulated the marriage, it hadn’t felt as if he approached her with any sort of calculation. Nothing he felt about her was planned. From the moment he saw her in her bedroom, he had no thought, no pattern and no plan. He only...wanted.
He fought the wanting of her, his duty demanded it, but it had been futile. They...fit.
He brushed at the strands of hair clinging to her forehead. She was so hot and damp with fever. But was she worse? He didn’t know. At least he had Oona’s herbs and Donaldo was willing to use them. He only hoped they were enough.
They had to be enough. God could not take more away this year. His sister was dead, his honour was in tatters, his brothers were in danger. It was enough. It would stop now.
He paused and shook his head. He was being arrogant again. Thinking he could control this situation the way he did everything else.
For now, he would ask for forgiveness. He’d do it now while she slept. And when she woke, he’d say it again.
Asking Lioslath for forgiveness was only the first step on the path he needed to take. A path that continued to be unclear to him.
He swept his thumb across the back of her hand. Watched the flutter of her lashes and her shallow breathing. He wanted her to wake, wanted her to rest. He wanted—
No. The path wasn’t unclear to him. For the first time in his life, all was undeniably revealed to him.
Lioslath was his direction.
She had been since the moment he had seen her in the dark of her bedroom. She had been like a night star to him and he’d been navigating himself towards her ever since.
Chapter Nineteen
Light filled the room when Lioslath woke to the heavy warmth of Bram’s body pressed against her side.
He was asleep, but the tangle of his hair was the only softness to the unforgiving angle of his jaw and hard slant of his cheekbones. His lips were bruised and swollen and a dark circle formed just under his eye. Brawling wounds that didn�
�t hold her attention. Even asleep there was a vibrancy, a determination, to him. Determined and ruthless no matter the cost.
She was the cost.
Over and over, she paid for what others wanted. Irman, her father. When there was no one to protect the clan, she had been there. She cut her treasured hair so her clan could have someone stand for them. So she could be the son of the laird, who didn’t tremble, who looked their enemy in the eye and gave them her entire inheritance.
Then Bram crested the hill and dominated her life. Demanding more when she had nothing else to give. Demanding...marriage.
But the most damning of all was her own actions after Bram’s announcement. For then, Lioslath realised she did have something more to give than her broken soul and her childhood memories. She had her body. And in marriage, she pledged her body and the rest of her life to Bram.
Bram, with his voice, with his hands, his lips and warmth, showed her how, despite everything, her body could feel.
In this marriage, she believed she sacrificed enough. That because she finally gave every part of her, body and life, whatever Fate or God had against her clan, her family, would be appeased. That since she gave everything, some good might be found.
But she was wrong. Oh, how wrong, when Bram knelt before her and told her their marriage vows were false.
Now there was more to pay. As she watched Bram with her brothers and sister, watched him argue and laugh with her clan. Somehow, in the time after her marriage, she gave Bram the last of her there was.
Hope.
She’d been holding hope inside her. Hope she didn’t even know she had. So precious she hid it from herself. Like a miser who buried a coin and forgot about it.
It’d been hope encouraging her sacrifices. Hope, that by cutting her hair, she could help her clan. Hope, that by her marriage to Bram, her clan would prosper again.
Hope, that by pledging her life to Bram, she wouldn’t be disappointed or abandoned. Hope, that by pledging her body, there would be children. Ones who knew they were loved, who knew they’d never be left behind.
The hunting together had been hope for a new beginning. Until Bram knelt at her feet, his legs sinking in mud.