“And how was I to ken much about her when she told me nothing? Aye, and what little she did tell me was a lie.”
“Not all,” said Eric, rising quickly to Maldie’s defense.
Balfour sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He really did not want to talk about this. His emotions were strong and sharp and causing him a great deal of pain. He wanted to go and hide in his room like a chastised child and nurse his injuries.
“The lass has made her choice. One night was not much to wait if she truly cared what I thought or felt. If naught else, she could have come to me to tell me that she was leaving if she was so deeply interested in my feelings. She didnae. She just slipped away.” He started toward the door. “Ye asked what I thought my long silence told her? Weel? Ye are a clever mon, Nigel, what do ye think her leaving ere we could talk about all of this tells me?”
Eric winced as the door slammed shut behind Balfour. “Is that it then?”
“Nay,” Nigel answered. “That just means that it will be a wee while and take a wee bit of clever talking ere he hies out after her.”
“Do ye think Maldie will wait for him?”
“Aye.” Nigel’s smile was a little sad. “For far longer than she might want to.”
“Weel, I hope we have guessed right about the Kirkcaldys. Maldie will need their acceptance, their welcome, to ease the pain of waiting for Balfour to come to his senses.”
Maldie clutched her bag tightly and looked around the great hall of the Kirkcaldy keep. Walking through the high gates of her mother’s old home had been the hardest thing she had ever done. Now she stood terrified that, in but a few moments, she would be tossed back out through them.
In her heart she knew there was every chance her mother had lied about her kinsmen, just as she had lied about so much else. Either that or Margaret had been looking at them in the same twisted, incomprehensible way she had looked at so many other things. There was also the chance that, for once in her life, Margaret had been completely honest. It was the last possibility that had Maldie trembling where she stood.
The men at the gates had stared at her so hard it had made her nervous. They had not hesitated to honor her request that she speak to the laird. That, she knew, was a little odd. Someone should have at least asked what she wanted to talk to the laird about. She wondered if the ease with which she had gained a private audience with the laird was because she had the same green eyes and black hair so many others had. When she had seen the similarities between herself and several of the guards at the gates, she had experienced a sense of coming home. Maldie had killed that as quickly as she could. Until she spoke to her mother’s brother, she dared not think of such things. If she was cast out as her mother had said she would be, it would only add to her pain if she had tasted the brief joy of kinship.
A tall man walked into the great hall, watching her closely as he moved to his seat at the head table. He only had one man with him, a shorter, thinner man, whose hand never left the hilt of his sheathed sword. More green eyes and black hair, she mused, as she obeyed the tall man’s silent gesture to move closer to the table.
“Ye are a Kirkcaldy?” the tall man asked.
“Are ye the laird of this clan?” She tried to stand straight and steady, to hide her fears.
“Aye,” he answered, smiling faintly. “I am Colin Kirkcaldy. Am I the one ye seek?”
“Ye are. I am Maldie Kirkcaldy, the bastard daughter of Margaret Kirkcaldy.”
The only thing she was sure of was that she had deeply shocked them. Both men stared at her with faintly agape expressions. Colin had paled ever so slightly. He looked around quickly before fixing his gaze on her again.
“Where is Margaret?” he asked.
“She died during this last winter.”
“Ye have the look of her, of a Kirkcaldy.”
“I have the look of a Kirkcaldy because I am one.”
“And your father?”
“Beaton of Dubhlinn, and ye willnae be seeing him, either. He died a few days ago at the hands of Balfour Murray, laird of Donncoill.”
To her surprise, Colin chuckled. “Ye have the bite of a Kirkcaldy, too. Sit down here, lass. On my right. Thomas, fetch us some wine,” he ordered the man with him.
“Are ye sure?” Thomas asked. “Ye would be alone.”
“I think I can defend myself against this wee child,” Colin drawled, then looked at Maldie as soon as Thomas had left. “Ye havenae come to kill me, have ye?”
“Nay, though, if what my mother said about all of ye is true, mayhap I should consider it.”
He leaned back in his huge, ornately carved chair and rubbed his chin. “And what did my sister say about us?”
After taking a deep breath Maldie told him everything Margaret had said about her family. The fury that darkened her uncle’s handsome face made her a little nervous, but it also told her that her mother had lied again. Her uncle did not only look angry, he looked hurt and deeply insulted. When Thomas returned with the wine and saw how upset Colin was, he glared at Maldie.
“Easy, laddie,” Colin said, tugging Thomas down into the seat on his left and pouring them all some wine. He quietly repeated what Maldie had said and Thomas looked equally as furious. “It seems Margaret was true to her ilk to the day she died,” Colin murmured. “If ye believed all of that, then why are ye here?”
Maldie took a long drink of wine to steady herself. Something in the way Colin had spoken of Margaret being true to her ilk told her that the man had few delusions about his sister. What she was about to tell him, however, were not simple errors of thinking or the follies of pride. She could not even guess how the man would react or if he would believe her at all. It was tempting to just say nothing, but Maldie knew to her cost the problems brought on by hiding the truth or telling lies. This time she was going to start and finish with the truth, the whole ugly truth. Taking a deep breath she told him everything.
It was a long time after Maldie finished speaking before Colin could speak. “I cannae say which makes me angrier or sicker at heart, the way she lied to ye, the way she treated ye, or that she actually tried to get ye to kill your father. Aye, mayhap the latter, for the rest was hurtful, but that could have cost ye your verra soul.”
Maldie shrugged. “I didnae do it.”
“Ye tried.”
“Aye, I tried.” She grimaced. “I am nay sure I was doing it for her though. But it doesnae matter now. The mon is dead, as he deserves to be, and it wasnae by my hand. I will do a penance for the thought.”
“The one who should be doing a penance is, sadly, beyond all chance of redemption. I ne’er understood my sister, ne’er understood where that vanity came from. She was beautiful and mayhap too many people told her so. I dinnae ken.”
“I am finding some comfort in telling myself that sometimes people just do things that no one will e’er understand. It keeps me from fretting o’er it all too much.”
He reached out and took her hand in his. “There is one thing ye must ken. We would ne’er have thrown ye out into the cold. If my sister had bothered to pay heed to something other than her looking glass, she would have seen that we are not without our fatherless children, and few are faulted for that. Certainly not the poor bairns who had naught to say about the circumstances of their birth.”
“Aye, but those bairns didnae have Beaton as their father.”
“Who your father is matters naught to us. He didnae raise ye. Aye, and despite the fool of a woman who did, ye seem to have grown into a sensible lass.”
Maldie laughed. “Sensible? I have just spent months running about trying to stick a dagger into my own father.”
“Ah, weel, we all have our wee moments of folly.”
She shook her head. “I have had more than a few wee moments,” she murmured, thinking of Balfour.
“Weel, ye can tell me all about it now that ye have returned to where ye belong.”
“Are ye sure? Ye only have my word that I am Margaret’s daughter.”
“All ye have said sounds just like my sister, sad to say. The tale of how ye came to be also matches all we ken. And there is the final proof. That is what my eyes tell me. Ye are Margaret’s daughter. Is she not, Thomas?”
Thomas nodded. “There is no doubt.”
“So, lass, welcome home.”
Maldie sighed and stared blindly out over the high walls of her uncle’s keep. She had been fully accepted by her new family, joyously so. Despite her past, despite all she had done or tried to do, the Kirkcaldys were honestly happy to have her with them. She had been surrounded by comfort and kindness for two weeks. She should be the happiest she had ever been, but she was not. The moment she left the warmth of her family, the moment she was alone with her own thoughts, she grew sad, and all the pain she had tried so hard to ignore swelled up inside of her. Yet she continued to try and find moments where she could be alone, and that made no sense at all to her.
“Who are ye yearning for, lassie?” asked her uncle as he walked up and leaned against the wall at her side.
“And why should ye think I am yearning for anyone?”
“I am five and thirty, lass. I have seen a wee bit of yearning in my time. E’en suffered it myself for my wife, may God cherish her dear soul. Ye are yearning. Now, if I was a wagering mon, I would wager that ye are yearning after the laird of Donncoill.”
Maldie tried not to look as surprised as she felt. She tried to think over all she had told her uncle to see where she may have given herself away, but it was impossible. She had been talking for almost two weeks. It was possible that she had somehow given herself away simply in the way she said Balfour’s name. It was also possible that her uncle was just guessing.
She sighed again. It did not matter if he knew. In fact, she was hungry for someone to talk to. Although she had been alone for most of her life, had sorted out all her problems by herself and mended all of her own hurts, this was something she seemed incapable of dealing with.
“Mayhap I am,” she finally said, “but it doesnae matter.”
“Are ye sure?” he asked gently.
“He isnae here, is he?”
“Nay, but that need not say anything of importance. How did matters stand when ye parted?”
“Not weel.”
He patted her on the shoulder. “Why dinnae ye just tell me it all from the beginning? Sometimes that can give the teller a clarity of mind. I may even be able to see what ye cannae, simply because ’tis your heart involved.”
There was enough truth in that to inspire Maldie to confess everything. If there was even the smallest chance that her uncle could help, she was willing to risk his censure over the way she had behaved. As she finished her tale, however, she saw the hard look of fury on Colin’s face and wondered if she had just killed the joyous welcome she had been enjoying for the last fortnight.
“I suppose I have followed in my mother’s footsteps,” she murmured. “I am sorry that I have disappointed you.”
“Nay, that is not why I am angry. I was just wondering how soon I could reach Donncoill and kill its laird.” He watched Maldie closely as she paled.
“Nay,” she cried. “Ye cannae do that.”
“Why not? He has dishonored ye, hasnae he?”
“I would rather not think of it as dishonored,” she said, wincing slightly even as she said the word, for she knew that would be the way everyone else saw it. “I just thought I could be—”
“What? A mon? That ye could taste your pleasures where ye wished and walk away?” He smiled crookedly, taking a few slow, deep breaths to get his anger at Balfour under control. “Ye may have more spine than many a mon I ken, but I fear ye havenae become a mon. Fair or not, a lass cannae just go about bedding any mon who stirs a heat in her. Nay, not if she wishes to hold to her good name. And, if she isnae a whore at heart, she cannae do it without cost to herself, without hurting herself. And that is what ye did, isnae it?”
“Weel, aye, I may have a wee bit.” She scowled at him when he laughed. “Oh, all right then, without a lot of pain. Aye, I foolishly thought I could just enjoy the passion and then leave.” She blushed a little. “It was a verra strong passion, ye ken, and I decided why not? It felt verra good and I was weak enough to want to enjoy feeling verra good for a wee while.”
He briefly hugged her. “No one deserved it more than ye. I just wished ye had thought a wee bit more of the consequences.”
“I did think of the consequences, but at the time I was also still thinking of killing Beaton. I was beginning to think that I wouldnae survive the fulfillment of my vow to my mother, so what did consequences matter? ’Tis not Balfour’s fault that I felt more than passion,” she added softly.
“Nay, but ’tis his fault that ye were given a taste of that. Ye couldnae feel it on your own. He saw it in you, he kenned that ye felt it, and he helped himself.”
“Nay, it really wasnae like that.” She told him about Balfour’s fears of acting like his reckless father. “He was as unsure as I. I had just hoped that more would come of it, and that was my own foolishness. Balfour is a mon who believes deeply in the truth, and I didnae deal in the truth verra often while I was at Donncoill.”
“It sounds as if ye dinnae expect the mon to come after ye.”
“I dinnae. What I hoped is that ye might be able to tell me how to stop looking for him.”
Colin smiled and shook his head. “That is something ye must do yourself. ’Tis a cure that is hard to find and ’tis one that is hidden inside of you. There is no salve for a broken heart.”
“They say that time can heal it.”
“Aye, but I often wonder if they have e’er suffered one.”
Maldie smiled. “Ye arenae helping.”
“There are only two things I can think of to do for ye. One is to kill the bastard, and the other is to go and fetch him and drag him here to wed you.”
“’Twould hurt me more if he was killed, especially if he was killed by my kinsmen. And I want no mon who has to be dragged to the altar by force. I only want one who sets himself there willingly.”
Colin slipped his arm around her shoulders and started to lead her down the steps and off the walls. “I could go and talk sense to the lad.”
“Somehow I think that would be much akin to dragging him back here at swordpoint.”
“I am sorry, lass.”
“’Tisnae your fault. ’Tisnae Balfour’s either. Fate decided that I must give my heart to a mon who cannae abide a liar at the verra time I was sunk in lies. Nay, I must accept that I lost this gamble. That even though passion became love for me, it remained only passion for him.”
“Then he is a fool.”
“Mayhap I will soon think so, too, and I am sure that will help cure me of yearning for him. ’Tis hard to ken that ye could love someone so much and they dinnae feel the same, mayhap ne’er can. ’Tis even harder when ye ken that it may weel be all your own fault.”
“Your sins werenae that big, lass. If the mon loves ye, he will forgive the wee lies ye told. If he doesnae forgive, then ye are better off alone. And although I have only kenned ye for a fortnight, I can say without hesitation that he will be the one who loses the most.”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank ye. I will nay waste away hoping for him to come for me. Dinnae fear for that. My mother may have been a poor mother, but she did teach me one thing, how to survive. ’Tis one thing I can do verra weel indeed and even Balfour Murray, fine, handsome knight that he is, willnae defeat me. It may take me awhile, but I will push that mon out of my head and my heart.”
“If ye dawdle about much longer, that lass will have cured herself of wanting ye,” said Nigel, sitting on Balfour’s bed and watching the man pace his room.
“And what makes ye think that she still wants me?” Balfour asked as he stopped and stared at Nigel.
He had tried very hard in the last three weeks to get Maldie out of his head and out of his heart, and he had failed miserably. Worse, everyon
e seemed to know that he had. Eric and Nigel never lost an opportunity to try and persuade him to go after Maldie. They had no sympathy for his fears, for the terror he felt over the chance that he would go to her only to be pushed away. Even James had muttered a suggestion or two. Balfour was beginning to wonder if they were right and he was wrong.
“And what makes ye think that she doesnae?” asked Nigel.
“Oh, mayhap the fact that she isnae here.”
Nigel swore softly. “She wasnae going to wait for ye to decide what ye did or didnae feel about what she told you. The fact that ye said nothing for so long made her sure that whatever ye might say would be all bad. How many times does that have to be said before ye understand it?”
“Ye make her sound like a timid lass, one who would run at the fear of a harsh word. Maldie is nay a timid lass.”
“She didnae run from fear of any harsh word, but from fear of yours. That should tell ye something. What I begin to wonder is what are ye running from?”
Balfour sighed and sat down on the end of his bed. “A hard question.”
“But mayhap one ye should ask yourself. Aye, and mayhap one I should have asked sooner.”
“I dinnae wish to ride there and present myself, heart in hand, only to discover that she left because she was done with me. I have wronged her so many times from accusing her of crimes she hadnae committed, to killing her father.”
“She was intending to kill the mon herself,” Nigel said, nearly shouting as he fought the urge to shake some sense into Balfour.
“Aye, because she gave her mother her oath. Weel, I robbed her of any chance to fulfill that oath.”
“Which is a good thing.”
Balfour nodded. “I think so, but will she?”
“I think so, but ye will have to ask her.”
“Ye willnae leave it to rest, will ye?”
“Nay.”
“I would have thought that ye would prefer me and Maldie not to wed,” Balfour said quietly, watching Nigel closely.
“Weel, I willnae dance at your wedding, but I do want ye and her to be happy. Even though I may wish it to be otherwise, that will only happen if the two of ye are together. I kenned that early on. Ye are mates. Fate chose weel when she sent Maldie to you.”
Highland Destiny Page 27