Calin knew all along.
“Please, leave me. I wish to grieve my loss in solitude,” Akira choked out, then pressed the corner of the counterpane against her mouth and sobbed herself into a place she never wanted to leave. A place of darkness and broken dreams. This new place she called home.
The hand brushed her cheekbone then held tight to her fingers. A strong hand, one she wanted to trust. The rich scent of roasted meat curled into her nostrils. Someone supported her neck and pressed a heated cup to her lips. A salty liquid slid down her throat and coated her empty belly.
“Ye must drink. ’Tis been days of five. Please wake and eat, my love. I cannae lose ye, too.”
Through the slits of her eyes, she could see Calin. The fire illuminated the golden flecks in his eyes and revealed his sorrow. She didn’t want to see his pain. She only wanted to return to her sleep. To the place where she didn’t have to come to terms with reality. But it was time to face the truth. The man she loved deceived her and used her as a means to avenge his father’s death. What echoed even stronger in her mind was the absence of life in her womb. The life he stole from her. She eased herself back into the blackness. Willed herself into the peaceful abyss where she didn’t have to acknowledge who she was or what she had lost.
Calin pulled her tight to his chest. “Please come back to me, my Akira.” His lips brushed her eyelids, his voice sad.
“Forgive me, my love. I should have protected ye and the babe. I’ll never forgive myself if I lose ye, too.”
His heart pounded against her ear, and his words gave her a means of escape from her self-inflicted torment. Part of her wanted to sob against his chest and seek strength and comfort in his arms, but another part wanted to retract from his embrace and blame him.
He was at fault. He should have kept her safe, far away from the evil man who sired her. Now, her child was dead. The child she wanted more than life itself. The child Calin promised her and stole from her in his triumphant moment of vengeance. Her heart hardened to stone, and her anger fevered her pulse.
Akira stiffened and pushed him away, surprised at how much strength she had physically. She stared into the empty room.
“Ye have your alliance, m’laird. I am of no import to ye anymore.”
“Akira, please. I have—”
“Nay. I dinnae wish to hear your words. Ye’ve succeeded in avenging your father’s death, but at the cost of your own child. My child. I’ll never forgive ye for deceiving me. Ye gave me a family, a life, and then a child, only to steal everything away from me. I am not twin to Isobel, nor sister or daughter to those I hold so dear in my heart. I am no one. I am but a product of your vengeance against The Beast. A part of your skillfully calculated plan to see his blood suffer, as ye did when he stole your father from ye.” Her words were delivered with intent—the intent to hurt him as he had hurt her.
“Nay!” His voice cracked with dire emotion. “I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted ye to find out this way.” Calin reached for her chin, his hand trembling.
She squeezed her eyes tight and pushed his hand away, not wanting to look at him. Not wanting to witness any grief he may reveal. “Leave me. I am nay longer a pawn for your machinations.”
“By the saints, ye are my wife!”
Her head jerked toward him. “And your sister?” She hadn’t wanted to give pause to this question, nonetheless, it had to be voiced. “My birth mother was in love with your father. Did ye ever consider the fact that we might share the same blood? Or did your desire to seek vengeance consume ye to the point ye dinnae care?”
“Lena came to my father when she was round with her fourth bairn. I was there the day he met her. She begged him to protect her and her child. My father never knew her before that day. I am not the monster ye accuse me of being. I am your husband. Ye must believe me.”
She didn’t know what to believe. The facts outweighed her desire to trust his words. Calin gripped her face and pressed his lips to hers.
Akira refused to return his kiss, refused to allow his touch to weaken her. She fought the emotions rising to the surface—
the ones crushing her heart. She wanted to hate him. With every ounce of her being, she wanted rid of the man who caused her so much pain. He deceived her, made her want for things she could never possess—happiness, love, family. Calin rose from the bed’s edge and turned his back to her, but not before she saw the trace of dampness on his roughened cheek. “Please, give me leave to explain.”
“There is naught more for ye to say. Ye’ve nay power over me. As the Laird o’ Clan Kinnon, we hold equal status.” She had found the flaw in his plan. The reason he never told her the truth. He couldn’t own her. She crossed her arms over her chest and prepared for his tirade.
Calin whirled around, his brow stitched together in confusion. “Ye will decree Kendrick as chieftain. He’s your half brother and blood of the line.”
“I’ve a responsibility to my clan to rebuild and bring peace amongst the destruction Laird Kinnon has reaped over Dalkirth. Go to your King James and concede to his wishes. Sign the annulment and take Catriona as your wife or choose another and leave her with me. She cannae go back to England, and she has already been punished for her crimes against me.”
“Ye cannae mean this.” Calin sank to one knee beside the bed and pressed his palm against her heart. “Have ye never felt anything for me at all?”
Akira’s chest was hollow. Nothing remained, but an agonizing numbness. “My heart died with the child ye stole from me.”
“I cannae go back without ye.”
Akira reached for his hand and before he could stop her, she placed her wedding band in his palm. Her lashes swept down to conceal her pain. “Ye can and ye will.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Akira stared at the lone candle burning in the corner of the empty chapel. Dust filled the beams of colored lights pouring into the place of worship from the stained-glass windows. In a trance, she held tight to her rosary and prayed for guidance the same as she had every morn since her conversation with the midwife. Gunnie had questioned Akira about her menses, and after much discourse, Gunnie explained that the babe had probably been dying before Akira had ever been taken to Brycen Castle. A tear left a path down her cheek, and she absentmindedly brushed the droplet away. Crying was no longer an emotion she fought. There had been many to console her, offering sympathies and food for her table. She fought the outpouring initially, but found the more she listened to their stories and encouraging words, the easier her loss was to accept. Many had grieved alongside her for the loved ones they’d lost in the battle. Dalkirth had been forever changed. But the kinfolk had begun to rebuild—their homes and their lives, their sense of pride and well-being. Even Darach found peace in a cot-house outside the bailey. Akira closed her eyes and kissed the crucifix of her rosary. She wanted to find peace as well. She prayed for it, willed the ache to leave her heart. Though people had surrounded her for weeks, she’d never felt so alone in her life. Images of Calin flashed behind her lids causing her breath to hitch on a sob. She touched her lips and could almost feel his kiss. Her heart screamed at her to accept him back into her life, to forgive him for the secrets he’d hidden from her. Stubbornness made a poor companion.
The sound of shuffling feet brought her out of her misery.
Father Harrald grunted as he genuflected at the edge of the pew, crossed himself, and then knelt alongside her. Every wheezing breath he took sounded like his last as it echoed inside the chapel.
“Would ye like to confess, lass?” he said into his folded hands as he had every morn for more than a month.
“I am in love with my husband,” she replied without pause and felt lightheaded from having voiced the words aloud. Father Harrald chuckled, drew back the hood of his habit, and pushed himself back into the pew. She followed his action and allowed him to hold her hand between his cold callused ones. “’Tis not a sin to love one’s husband.”
Akira c
ircled the bare finger that once wore Calin’s wedding band. “He lied to me.”
“He kept a secret to protect ye, lass. Laird Kinnon was a verra disturbed mon. I fear I couldnae reach his soul. Your husband saved ye from the laird’s evil intentions when ye were but a babe.” Father Harrald’s voice was gentle as he tried to explain.
Akira turned to study the priest she had confided in since she was a child. Beneath bushy white brows, his light blue eyes seemed focused and clear, which was unusual. “Calin has confessed this to ye?”
“’Tis nay a sin to protect an innocent child. Your husband was there when ye were born, hidden in the walls of the keep. What he witnessed would haunt a mon the whole of his life.” Father Harrald trembled. “It has mine.”
Akira squeezed his hand, realizing for the first time the priest had been there as well.
“He was a verra frightened boy then and could have just as easily left ye,” he added. “I would have buried ye alongside your sisters had he done so.”
Akira wiped a tear from her cheek while others quickly pooled in her eyes. Her anger had died weeks before and had been replaced with such sadness she felt hollow. She had tried to push Calin from her heart, but failed miserably. He had protected the secret of her lineage to protect her, and instead of thanking him, she had accused him of stealing her life.
“I want to go home,” she admitted in confidence.
“Come then. I will walk ye.” Father Harrald moved to stand, but she stopped him with a tug on his arm.
“Nay. I want to go home to Cànwyck Castle.” In truth, she missed the kinfolk and her sister, Isobel. But most of all, she missed Calin. “’Tis selfish of me. I have a responsibility to the people of Dalkirth and my defiance of our king’s edict could cost Clan MacLeod everything. But my heart is with my husband. I am utterly alone without him.”
“Ye place too much responsibility on yourself, lass. Kendrick can lead Clan Kinnon if ye will it, and King James, in all of his power, cannae prevent ye from loving your husband.”
But did he love her in return? He’d never said the words, nor had he returned to fight for her. Father Harrald stood and held out his hand to her. “Mayhap ’tis time for ye to go home.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Calin had lived through three cracked ribs and a broken arm at Glasgow, a sword wound to his back at Drumchatt, and a multitude of injuries from battles too numerous to count, but a broken heart proved to be the most painful wound he’d ever endured in all his twenty-eight years.
He sat in the shadows of his solar rolling the Celtic ring around his fingertip. The ring that belonged to his wife. A wife he hadn’t seen in nearly a month, but Akira would come home this day, if only for a visit. She wouldn’t miss Isobel’s wedding. The ring had been cold to the touch since the day she’d removed it. However, today the silver felt warm like the blacksmith just finished forging the metal.
He could feel her near, almost smell her sweet scent. Longing for his wife seemed a punishment for the most heinous of crimes. A punishment he rightly deserved. He failed to protect her. He betrayed her trust, betrayed her loyalty to him. His acts of deception had cost him his wife, his family, his soul.
Now an even greater punishment lay before him. He would suffer her presence, knowing how much she hated him. What would he say to her? Ask her how she’s faring and offer her some cheese and wine? How could he look at her and not touch her?
Calin closed his hand over the ring and gripped it into his palm.
The soft tap against the door startled him.
“Calin, may I enter?” Aunt Wanda pushed the door open without waiting for reply. “Isobel is ready and Jaime is as nervous as a mayfly in a freshly spun web.”
Calin nodded, then turned to place the ring back in a rusted strongbox between an old feather and a few colored pebbles for safekeeping. In a rush of embarrassment, he returned the other keepsakes into the box and closed the lid. “Is she here?”
“Aye. Akira arrived not long ago with Father Harrald and her kin. They are with the congregation outside the kirk.”
Calin heard the swoosh of Aunt Wanda’s skirts just before her hand cupped his elbow. She had been there for him unconditionally. The fortress upon which he bared his soul, his pain, and his grief. Her soothing voice always chased his demons away as a child—today was no different.
“She looks verra weel. ’Twill be good for ye to see her again. The days we see of happiness are too few and ’tis necessary for us to be at peace together…necessary for us to heal. Ye should be at her side when Isobel walks through the assembly.”
Calin turned around to face his aunt and lose himself in the comfort of her soft green eyes. “And if she does not want me at her side?”
“Then ye will give her more time.” Aunt Wanda brushed the lapel of his doublet and straightened the MacLeod brooch pinning his plaid over his shoulder. Stroking his smooth chin, she popped a mint leaf on his tongue and smiled. “Come. Ye look divine. She’ll not be able to resist ye.”
Calin didn’t budge when she tugged on his elbow. Every muscle in his body corded with anxiety. “What will I say to her?”
Aunt Wanda shook her head, rolled her eyes heavenward, and shot him a look as if to call him an ignorant ass. One of her favored accolades she reserved for Uncle Kerk. “’Tis not sacrilege for a mon to tell his wife that he loves her.”
“But I’ve never spoken such words. Not even to ye or Uncle Kerk.”
“’Tis because your uncle is an oaf and never allowed me to coddle ye with such sweet words. Said ’twould make ye less of a warrior, less of a mon. I should’ve fed him hot horse dung and told ye anyway.” She swept her cinnamon lashes downward and toyed with the folds of his plaid. “Ye and Jaime are the sons I never had, and I regret not telling both o’ ye every day of your lives that I love ye.”
Calin stilled her hands. Age only emphasized his aunt’s beauty. “Then Uncle Kerk does not say these words to ye?”
She snorted loudly, her dark red locks sprinkled gray bounced with the action. “Of course he does. Every morn and every nigh’. Think ye I’d be married to a mon who does not love me?”
Calin bent and kissed her on the forehead. He’d lived with many regrets in his lifetime. Not speaking soft words was one of them. “Thank ye. I am grateful to have been blessed with ye for a mother.” He caught the single tear that escaped her eye. “I love ye, too, Aunt Wanda.”
A blush colored her face clear to her ears beneath the words he wished he’d shared with her years ago—words that had not been so difficult to say.
When Calin caught a glimpse of Akira, he wanted to run to her, embrace her and never let her go. Instead, he feared his feet wouldn’t carry him the full distance to the kirk. His stomach churned with the same intensity that gripped him when he raised his sword in battle.
Despite the cold, a coral hue touched her cheeks, and her jeweled eyes sparkled like polished sapphires with each heartwarming hug she received. Wearing a deep plum kirtle, she embraced the MacLeod kinswomen and children in overdue greetings.
Calin had not been the only one to miss the Lady o’ Cànwyck Castle. The children had been devastated when Akira hadn’t appeared for lessons, and the women moped for sennights during her absence.
But she was here now and, coward that he was, Calin couldn’t coerce his legs into closing the ten remaining steps between them.
The smell of snow laced the crisp air and swirls of mist danced out his nose with each warm exhale. When the pipes struck up the announcing tune, the rustling crowd stilled in anticipation.
She looked at him.
He looked away.
Aunt Wanda guided him toward Akira then took a place next to Uncle Kerk. Lil’ Andrew stood between them, a proud smile wrapped around the thumb in his mouth, and his chubby fingers latched securely in Akira’s hand. By the saints! She’s your wife. Have the courage to at least look at her. Calin kept his gaze downcast, ignoring the voice inside his head. He was indeed a p
athetic excuse for a leader. He couldn’t even look at his own wife for fear he’d shatter into a million pieces.
He could feel her though. Her presence alone somehow gave him a sense of peace. He stood with his hands fisted at his sides and awaited the bride, as did everyone around him.
Visibly distraught, Jaime waited at the chapel entrance with Father Harrald at his right. In an effort to relieve some of his obvious tension, Jaime rolled his head on his neck and grabbed hold of the leg shaking uncontrollably. His twitching came to an abrupt halt when Isobel appeared around the bend of people. Her pace was slow, and her weight favored one leg while she supported the other with a wooden cane, but she walked.
Isobel had accepted Calin’s offer to stay in the keep during Akira’s absence. Of course, neither expected Akira to be gone so long. Aileen and Elsbeth graciously offered to aid Isobel with her recovery, knowing she wouldn’t marry Jaime until she could walk to the kirk. Today would be the first time Akira would see Isobel walk in more than ten years. Akira sniffled, as did her sisters at her side.
To his shock, Andrew’s small fingers threaded through Calin’s. He looked down his nose and watched the lad innocently exchange his hand for Akira’s just before Andrew sidestepped around her and back to his mother’s side. It took a great deal of restraint for him not to crush the slender fingers squeezing his hand. He breathed through his mouth to subside the burning in his chest and welcomed the frigid air passing over his teeth to cool his emotions. Trapped by her soft warm touch paralyzing him both inside and out, the pressure of a month’s longing came full force to the surface. He closed his eyes and desperately tried to ease his torment.
Father Harrald spoke, but he heard few of the priest’s words. What seemed like an eternity was in fact only moments later when a gentle tug encouraged his movement. The congregation followed Jaime and Isobel into the kirk for the second ceremony. Akira held tight to his sweaty palm and drew him up beside her. Only then did he dare a quick glance at her. She smiled at him and the gates guarding his pain flew wide open.
Highland Dragon Page 28