Keeper of my Heart

by Laura Landon

  “They will find out the truth and you will be stopped.”

  Roderick laughed. “I think not. Even you can see that the laird is na well. Perhaps the blows to his head all those months ago did more damage than it will be possible for him to recover from.”

  She shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. Her gift exposed a hatred more vile than anyone would ever imagine one human could have for his brother.

  His hollow laughter echoed in the hall. “It will na take the MacAlisters long to realize Iain is na fit to be their laird. I, of course, will be most compassionate and humble when I agree to take his place.”

  “What have you done?” she said, searching her gift to show her the warning. There was something more but she could not see what it was. Somehow, Roderick was responsible for Iain’s illness.

  She searched again, but nothing except Roderick’s intense hatred came back to her. “Why, Roderick,” she said, holding the stones so tight in her fist they dug into her flesh. “What has Iain ever done except love and care for you and—”

  “And take away everything I ever wanted,” he added with bitterness dripping from his words. “Now I will take away everything that is important to him. And you will be first. No one will stop me.”

  “You will be stopped, Roderick. Iain will see you for what you are and even though it will kill a part of him on the inside to see your hatred for him, he will deal with you as he would with any other murdering traitor.”

  Roderick threw his head back on his shoulders and laughed. “How omnipotent our laird is in your eyes. What a shame you will na be here to save him in the end.”

  A sharp warning shot through her breast. She took a step backwards and stopped when the long trestle table would let her go no further.

  He turned around and smiled at her. “Do you know the penalty for being a witch, milady? I’ve heard it said that when they burn, their screams make the angels weep.”

  Màiri reached out to steady herself against the nearest chair.

  “Ah, poor Màiri. It is a shame it has to end this way but… Now our brave laird will know what it is like to be helpless to save the woman he loves just as I was helpless to save Adele.”

  “No!” she hollered, thrusting her finger at him. The bracelet she’d found on her pillow last night hung from her grasp, the smooth green stones dangling in the sunlight. “You will never be laird,” she hollered. “You will never…”

  Màiri stopped in the middle of her sentence and stared at the stark transformation in Roderick’s demeanor. His eyes opened wide in terror while his face turned an awful ashen gray. The look of abject horror in his gaze appeared almost frightening and his whole body trembled as if he could not control it. He stared at the bracelet in her hands in disbelief, then stumbled backwards, his arms flailing to find something solid to steady himself against.

  “Where did you get that? Where did you find it?” he stuttered. He lifted a trembling finger and pointed at the stone bracelet hanging from her hand then crossed himself as if he needed God’s blessing.

  “Where!”

  “It is mine.”

  “Nay!”

  Roderick reached for the stones then pulled his hand back as if he couldn’t bear to touch them. “’Tis na possible,” he whispered. “‘Tis na,” he whispered as if the words were pulled from his mouth.

  He turned away from her and stumbled across the rushes toward the door. When he reached the top step to the keep, he turned around to face her. Màiri kept the stones where he could see them, and before he spun away, she thought she heard him mutter the word ‘witch’.

  She held the stones in the palm of her hand, searching her gift to tell her if there was any significance to the trinkets. Her gift came back to her empty. She placed the stones back in her pocket and held them until they turned warm to her touch. Surely they held some import, or Roderick would not have reacted the way he had.

  Each word he’d spoken, every threat he’d issued echoed in her ears long after he left the room. Everything she’d always feared was about to happen. Every nightmare that had ever haunted her was about to come true. Everything she’d always dreamed of having was about to be taken away from her.

  She touched her hand to her stomach. Roderick did not know how fierce she would fight to save what she had. Nor did he know how determined she was to keep what she’d always dreamed of having.

  She fingered the stone bracelet in her pocket, wondering why just looking at it had frightened Roderick so. She would find out. He had no idea what she would do to save her Scot.

  . . .

  Màiri paced the length of her chamber, waiting for Iain to come back. He would come to her when he’d finished taking care of Ferquhar’s body, then she would tell him. She would tell him that Roderick was the one who had poisoned the ale. That Roderick was responsible for Ferquhar’s death. That Roderick wanted to be laird and had tried to kill Iain from the start. She could not wait any longer. He had to know what Roderick was doing. Somehow she had to make him believe her.

  The sound of heavy footsteps echoed on the stones outside their chamber and she turned to face the doorway. She had to convince him that Roderick was a threat to him before it was too late. The door flew open then slammed shut with a loud thud. Iain’s menacing form stepped into the room, the angry chill that followed enveloped her in a cloak of dark foreboding. The look on his face bridled with unleashed fury. His words carried more anger than she’d ever heard before.

  “What the hell have you done?”

  She steadied herself against the small table beside the bed then walked across the room to face him. “I do na know what you mean, Iain.”

  Before she could touch his flesh he pulled away as if he couldn’t stand to have her touch him. “A man is dead because of you, Màiri. He was poisoned. The ale in the goblet you gave him killed him.”

  The air caught in her throat as she lifted her chin to face him. “I know. I should have thrown it away myself, but I was afraid to leave you.”

  “Afraid to leave me?”

  “Oh, Iain. I was so frightened.” She fought to stay composed. A picture of Ferquhar, laughing, joking, flashed in her mind and she struggled to keep tears from welling in her eyes. “I did not realize Ferquhar would not be able to throw the ale away. I made him promise he would. You heard me. He said he would throw the ale. He promised he would.”

  “You should have known he would not.”

  “I just wanted the ale gone. That is all. I just wanted it gone.”

  “Why, Màiri? How is it that you were the only one who knew the ale was poisoned?”

  The air died in her chest.

  “How did you know the ale was poisoned if you were na the one who poisoned it?

  “Nay! You think I want you dead? You think I would harm you? It was na me, Iain. It was—”

  He slashed his hand between them and hollered. “Stop the lies, Màiri! Roderick told me everything. Although it killed him to say it, he told me it must have been you who put the ale at my place before I came. He was there the whole time and said he did na know who else could have done it.”

  “Nay,” she answered, her voice barely a whisper. “Tell me you do na think I would harm you. Tell me you will na take Roderick’s word over mine?”

  “You should have seen how it upset him to say the words. Twice he had to lean against the wall to even hold himself up. His face turned paler as he forced himself to tell me what he suspected and—” He turned away from her and raked his fingers through his hair. The tortured look on his face as painful as anything she’d ever imagined.

  For a long time, neither of them moved. When he turned back to her, his features were set hard and unyielding. The black look in his eyes held no softness, no understanding. “Tell me how you knew the ale was poisoned if you did na do it? How did you know?”

  She lifted her chin and faced him as she’d seen her mother face her father a thousand times. “I just knew.”

  �
�How?”

  “It is a gift. I can feel things no one else knows. The gift warns me of lies and truths, of goodness and evil, of dangers and threats, and love and hatred.”

  He took one step back from her, the look on his face filled with disbelief. “Nay, that canna be.”

  “It is the same gift as my mother had. It can be used only for good, never for evil. It shows me truth from lies, reveals what canna yet be seen, and warns me of dangers that are happening. It comes forward only when a lie is spoken or mischief is about or a tragedy is about to—”

  He held his hand to stop her, the look on his face telling her he wanted to reject every word she’d spoken. Why was it so impossible for him to understand?

  “The gift is na bad, Iain. Can you na see the rightness in what I can do? Can you na see the good—”

  “Good? By the saints, woman, it is a curse!”

  “Nay. It is used only for good! I can only see—”

  “Then tell me what you see right now,” he demanded. “Tell me what I am thinking.”

  “I canna. I canna read minds.”

  “Then tell me what I am feeling.” He laughed. The sound was disturbingly hollow. “Surely it is na difficult to tell what I am feeling?”

  She lowered her eyes and looked away from him. “I canna. You are closed to me. I do na know your feelings. I never have. Not from the first.”

  He stared at her. “You expect me to believe you? You expect me to believe that you know a lie from everyone but me? That you know love or hatred or jealousy when anyone else feels it, but not from the man you married, the man you say you love?”

  A piece of her heart quit beating. A part of her died with his words. “Aye, Iain. I expect you to believe me.”

  “This is how you knew the Cochrans did not want war that day?”

  “I felt their regret.”

  “And Donald’s mother was dying?”

  “I felt life leaving her already in the afternoon when I talked to her.”

  “And Janet’s babe was a boy?”

  “I felt her happiness when I touched her and knew how desperately she wanted a boy. I did na think she would feel such elation if she gave Lochlan a daughter first.”

  “And. . .” His eyes opened wider. “By the saints, woman. You are telling me you are a… a…”

  “A witch?” she answered, unable to even feel any longer. “You think you have married a witch?”

  “Oh, what a fool I have been. And all the time Roderick pointed out how strange it was that you knew what no one else knew, and accused you of poisoning the ale, and putting a curse on me that caused the blinding pain in my head, I defended you. I said you were na capable of such witchcraft. Dear God! You are!”

  The horrified expression on his face hurt her even more than his words. “I am not a witch, Iain. My gift is the same as my mother’s, and her mother’s before her. It will be the same as the gift I give to our first daughter.”

  He looked at her as if he’d been slapped. “Never! Holy Mother of God! Never!”

  A lead stone sank to the pit of her stomach. Her life would be no different than her mother’s. Her future no happier.

  She wrapped her hands around her middle and squeezed, feeling the stone bracelet still in her pocket. “Did you give me this?” she said, holding it out for him to see.

  His eyes opened in horrific disbelief. “By the saints! Where did you get that?”

  “Did you leave it for me?”

  “Nay! It is Adele’s. She was never without one of her bracelets of green stones. Why are you doing this? Get rid of it!”

  Màiri stuck the bracelet back into her pocket and clasped her fingers around the stones. Who had left it on her pillow for her to find? Why did her gift not warn her of the violent reaction having it would cause?

  Iain stared at the pocket where she’d put the trinket, then clutched his hand to his head and staggered against the bed. She knew he was not well. There had been many indications all day, but she had not been able to sense the source, except to know that Roderick was somehow behind it.

  “Where does this leave us, Iain?” There was no life in her voice, no hope. She could not pretend there could be. This was the same rejection and betrayal she’d lived with her whole life.

  “It leaves us right where your father intended us to be,” he said, his voice as lifeless as hers. “No wonder he was so desperate to rid himself of you.”

  Her heart leaped to her throat as she fought the terror his words brought.

  “Now I know why he jumped at the chance to pawn his cursed daughter off on his enemy. No doubt he is still laughing.”

  She turned her head, not wanting him to see how his words hurt her.

  “Is your MacBride hatred of me so strong you would kill me?” he said, his voice dripping with bitterness. “Was this your father’s intent all along? To destroy me without lifting a sword? Would to God I had let you escape behind the convent walls like you wanted.”

  A low, agonizing moan echoed in the chamber. It came from Iain. Màiri could not tell for certain if it was a release from the pain in his head or a pain in his heart that was as great as hers. A part of her did not want to know. The leaden weight crushing her heart was almost too torturous to bear.

  With eyes filled with hopelessness, he looked at her. “You want to know where this leaves us?” He stood, clutching his hand on the poster of the bed. “It leaves us as far apart as any husband and wife could possibly be in private, and the same as we were before in public. I am the laird of clan MacAlister and you are my wife. When we leave the confines of this room, we will act na differently than we did before.”

  Màiri shook her head. “Nay, Iain. Do na do this to us. At least believe me when I say the dangers are still out there. Roderick is still—”

  “Nay! Don’t you dare defame him. You will stop trying to make me believe my own brother wishes me harm. Stop trying to tear apart what I’ve struggled to keep ever since Adele nearly destroyed us.” He pushed away from the bed and took only two steps before he had to reach for something to support himself. “She was just like you, trying to cause a division between Roderick and me. Trying to…”

  Before Màiri could reach him, Iain crumpled to his knees, clutching his head in his hands.

  “Iain!” She ran to him and tried to hold him.

  “Leave me alone,” he said, pushing her away. “I do na need your help. You have done enough.”

  He slowly pushed himself to his feet, then leaned against the wall until he was able to make it to the bed. With a loud moan, he collapsed on the covers and closed his eyes.

  Màiri rinsed a cloth in cool water and placed it on his forehead. He raised his hand to push her away, but she held on, thankful he was too weak to stop her.

  “What have you done to me? What curse is this that makes me weak as a babe and causes my head to ache as if it were being split in two?”

  “Quiet,” she warned, searching through her belongings to find the powders she’d given him to ease his pain when she’d first found him.

  She mixed the feverfew with ale she’d warmed and held it to his lips, letting him drink. If he worried that the liquid would do him more harm, he did not show it. Perhaps she had hurt him so much he no longer cared.

  Màiri pulled the covers over him and waited at his bedside until he slept, then went over by the hearth and stared at the flames leaping upward. Hot, scalding tears trickled down her cheeks, falling as heavy droplets at her feet. She stepped back, pressing her back against the cool, stone wall and when the weight of holding back the hurt his words had caused was more than she could support, she slid downward. With her legs pulled tight against her chest, she wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face in the homespun material of her skirt. Soft, painful sobs wracked her body, uncontrollably shaking her shoulders.

  In the quiet of her chamber, she wept until she had no more tears to weep. She ached until no more pain could hurt her. She died just enough to know
a special, wonderful part of her life had been robbed from her.

  Shadows lengthened across the smooth stone floor of their chamber before she rose to her feet, determined in what she had to do. Roderick would not win. Roderick would not destroy Iain so he could be laird.

  When Iain was safe, she would do whatever she must to protect the babe she was carrying. She would not let her child grow up as unloved and lonely as she had been, nor would she spend the rest of her life waiting hopelessly for her husband to want her back.

  She would not live her mother’s life all over again.

  Chapter 20

  Iain swung his broadsword at Hector’s attack and barely stopped his opponent’s sword from hitting its mark. Either Hector had improved over the past months, or Ian’s illness had made him that much weaker.

  Hector came at him again, then again, and each time Iain barely countered his charge. Even though his head did not ache as much today, the sun rising in the sky seemed so bright he wanted to shield his eyes. It was time to quit for the day. He resisted one more volley from Hector then laid his sword down for Gilchrist to take his place.

  He rested his palms on his thighs and took in several deep breaths. When he lifted his head he saw her standing there. She was never far away from him. “You do na need to watch me so, wife. Or maybe you only want to stay close so you are nearby when I take the last breath from the curse you put on me.”

  Her face blanched when his words struck their mark. He did not know why he’d said them. He took no pleasure from hurting her. Yet, he could not forget how she had deceived him.

  “You are na well, Iain,” she said in a soft voice. “Stop pushing yourself so and go upstairs and rest.”

  He ignored her concern and walked to the washing trough. He dunked his head first, then washed his upper body and legs before toweling dry. She held out a clean shirt for him to put on, which he took without any word of thanks.

  Just when he put it over his head, he heard the first angry words coming from the practice area where Rauri and Murdoch were locked in an armed struggle.