“Ye love her now,” Lachlan pressed. “But what about when ye want sons? She’s barren, remember. In more than twenty years she never bore his Lordship a child. What happens when she is no longer enough, when ye realize there’s no one to carry on yer name?”
“D’ye no’ think I havena considered that already? That I’d leap so carelessly into marriage—marriage wi’ yer aunt, and a noblewoman at that—wi’out considering everything I might face? MacByrne is a name of no consequence. I have no ambition that it may one day be graced wi’ a title, whether in my life or beyond it. I am a selfish man, Lachlan. My heart wants Glinis, and it wants her for life. I’ll no’ deny my heart because the woman I love canna bear my children.”
His earnest plea warmed Lachlan’s cool facade. The hard glint in his raven black eyes softened as he digested Alex’s declaration.
“Does my aunt return your love?”
“Aye, she does. She pretends she doesna, but she does. I’ve told her I wish to marry her. I wanted to tell ye before I ask her finally.”
Lachlan smiled sadly. “Then I suppose it shall be her choice that decides the question of whether ye will, or willna, marry. I’ll no’ stand in yer way.”
“I have yer blessing?” Alex’s heart leaped in his chest.
“Ye have my blessing.” He breathed, and adjusted the stone in his lap. “So, the death of one earl, the succession of another, two weddings and an annulment. What a year Kildrummond has had so far, and ‘tis no’ even half over yet.”
“So ye do mean to go through wi’ it? The annulment?”
“That were always the plan.”
“But things have changed.”
Lachlan threw his friend a questioning glance. “Have they?”
“I ken ye well. Something has changed.”
Alex waited patiently as Lachlan grappled with the accusation.
“It doesna matter in any case,” he said finally. “The marriage will be annulled because it’s what she wants.”
“I dinna believe that.”
“’Tis true. She doesna want to stay married to me.” When Alex fixed him with a dubious look, Lachlan explained. “I didna tell ye, but about a fortnight back, maybe a bit more, I... em... well, I tried it on wi’ her. In a manner of speaking.”
This certainly was a surprise. In fact, Alex was rather taken aback that he hadn’t been told until now. He sat forward in his chair. “And?”
“I didna set out to seduce her, if ye can believe that—and dinna look at me like that. ‘Tis God’s truth.” He paused, slightly embarrassed. “I were... I were asleep. I were dreaming. I dinna need to tell ye what I were dreaming about, but when I woke, I found it were no dream at all. I were on top of her, kissing her, and... and more. Right there in that wee little bed of hers.”
Alex’s eyes were wide as he took in Lachlan’s tale. He did not say so, but privately he was amused by the way Lachlan spoke.
Lachlan Ramsay, Viscount Strathcairn, had never been delicate when regaling Alex with the stories of his exploits in the bedchamber. Nor Alex with Lachlan, for that matter. They were fast friends, and the lasses they’d enjoyed in times past hadn’t meant anything other than sport.
And they had never meant anything but sport to the lasses, if truth be told.
Alex knew now what it was to be with a woman he loved. He recognized the same knowledge in Lachlan.
“I take it our Moira didna look too kindly on what ye were trying to do to her?”
Lachlan lowered his head, ashamed. “Alex, ye should have seen her face. I frightened her something fierce. I’ve never had a lass look at me like that in bed.”
“But she is a maid, aye? Surely it were only her inexperience that frightened her.”
“That’s what I told myself. Later, ye see, when I couldna stand the guilt of having so terrified her. But then, last night—”
Alex slid further forward in his chair. His knees bumped against Lachlan’s.
“Eh, get off!” Lachlan shoved his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Alex laughed, and sat back in his chair.
“I were going to say—last night she kissed me.”
“She kissed you?”
“I’m sure she only meant to comfort me, what wi’ my having to deal wi’ the Countess of Albermarle. Only, when she kissed me, I pushed it further. I couldna just let it be a kiss, I had to see if I could have more.” He sighed heavily. “She let me make love to her. I kent it were pity, but I was determined that she would enjoy it. And believe me, I did everything I could to make her enjoy it.”
“And did she?”
“Aye, she did. At least I think she did. But this morning she said no’ a word about it. I hoped it would change things between us. But no. She were indifferent to it as she is to me.
“That’s how I ken she doesna love me. She tolerated me in the beginning, and I think we’ve become friends since then. But that’s all she wants from me, my friendship. I canna complain, though, can I? It were the bargain we both made. ‘Tis time that I upheld my end of it.”
Lachlan’s version of the story perturbed Alex. He’d known for some time how his friend felt about the lass he’d married, even if Lachlan hadn’t known it himself. And he thought Moira might feel the same. They got on so well, and what Alex saw between them, as one standing outside looking in, was a man and a woman who harboured secret affections for each other.
He did not believe that he’d been wrong about what he’d seen. There must be something Lachlan was missing, or something he wasn’t telling him.
The story simply made no sense otherwise.
DESPITE SIR ALEXANDER MacByrne’s misgivings, the end of the marriage between Lachlan Ramsay, Lord Kildrummond, and common born Moira MacInnes came to pass.
The highborn Douglases of Kildrummond, who had never accepted John Douglas’s illegitimate scrap of a girl, nodded their heads in satisfaction. The harlot Lilian MacInnes’s urchin would not be the one to take the Dowager Countess’s place at Glendalough. That was as it should be.
Though it perplexed more than a few noble brows that Glinis herself avoided sharing in their satisfaction. It was as if she no longer hated the girl, which surely could not be the case.
The people of the village nodded their satisfaction also. They’d come to respect Lachlan as lord and leader of their land, but he was not for Moira. No, their Moira was a good, honest lass. One of them. Let the new Lord Kildrummond have his castle, his title and his riches. They would welcome their Moira back into their folds with open arms. That was as it should be.
Though it perplexed more than a few common brows that Niall MacCormack was spending all of his time with that Janet lass now. They would have to find some other, hardworking lad for their Moira to marry, if the brewer’s lad would not have her anymore.
Within a sennight of their return from Kinross, a priest was summoned to take their statements, and hear their accounts. Unfortunately, it was the same priest from the abbey at Inverness who had married them, and the holy man remembered well the spectacle the bride and groom had made of themselves on the occasion of his first visit to Moray.
In Glendalough’s quiet solar, with the ghosts of long-ago Kildrummond earls watching silently, the old priest listened with a stern face as Lachlan told the truth about the marriage.
Or, at least, a version of the truth.
“So ye see, father,” he concluded, “I never intended to remain married to the Lady Moira once Lord Kildrummond passed. It were the only way his Lordship would let me inherit a land and title of my own.”
The priest looked upon Lachlan with undisguised contempt. “And the Lady Moira went along wi’ this blasphemous plan, did she?”
“No,” Lachlan was quick to put in, “she didna. I kent she wouldna agree, so I kept my designs to myself.”
Moira stared at Lachlan, baffled. She had not intended for him to take all the blame. The part of her that was proud and defiant demanded that she correct him, that she must not allow him to de
base himself like this. But one warning glance from Lachlan silenced her. If she protested, the priest might wash his hands of the affair and declare the marriage sound.
“I must say my Lord Kildrummond, disappointment doesna even begin to describe how I feel about this. This isna what God designed the sanctity of marriage for. I dinna lie, I fear for yer mortal soul, lad.” He sighed dramatically. “But it would seem that I’ve no choice other than to put through yer petition for the annulment—unless, of course, the marriage was consummated?”
Lachlan swallowed thickly. He could stop this annulment if he wanted to. All he would have to do is tell the truth, and Moira would have to remain his wife. But he could not—this was what she wanted. And he respected her choice.
“Nay, we never consummated the marriage.”
The priest looked to Moira. “And ye, lass, what say ye? Can ye confirm what yer lord husband says?”
Moira’s stomach felt like lead. She was about to lie to a priest, to tell a lie that would break her heart. But she had to do it. It was what Lachlan wanted, and she respected him too much to keep him locked in a marriage he did not want.
“Aye, ‘tis true. The marriage was never consummated.”
The priest gave them both a stern glare. “So be it. It grieves me to do it, but I shall take yer testimony to the Bishop. I imagine his decision shall reach ye wi’in a fortnight. In the meantime, I suggest ye both make haste to the nearest chapel ye can find and pray for His holy forgiveness. For in the end, ‘tis our Lord God’s forgiveness which is the only one that matters.”
The priest shuffled out of the room, a model of piety. Once he was gone, Moira gazed poignantly at Lachlan. Her throat was tight, and she felt like she was about to cry. “Ye didna have to do that. Ye didna need to fall on yer sword for me.”
“Aye, I did. It were me came up wi’ this mad scheme. It should be me to shoulder the blame for it.”
They looked at each other for a very long time, two hearts breaking simultaneously. Two hearts being sacrificed to make the other happy.
“Ye take care of yerself, aye?” Lachlan said. “I imagine we’ll see each other now and again, at market and such. Ye’ll come to a feast at the castle soon, won’t ye?”
“Aye, I will,” Moira promised.
They both knew it was a lie.
Eighteen
THE DAYS PASSED into weeks, and the weeks into a month. Moira lived each day, each hour, mechanically. Work became her solace, the agent by which she numbed her mind and her heart. Her little plot of land had never been so well maintained. Her animals had never enjoyed such hospitality. And in the long, empty evenings, Moira wove more tapestries than she had in a year.
Yet none of those tapestries made it to market. Not, at least, on her creaky little cart, for she avoided the place. Market had people, and people had eyes. No matter how much she might have wished it, Moira could not make herself invisible to their pitying glances.
Instead, Niall went for her, bringing her wares with him and returning with admirable coin. Moira simply added the profit to her growing collection which she never spent.
It was Niall who remained faithfully by her side during those times of heartache—a heartache which she staunchly denied. But her visible deterioration spoke a truth she couldn’t deny. In the past month, Moira had dropped a significant amount of weight. There was now a distinct joylessness to her. Her bright, blue eyes, which had always sparkled with life, were curiously dull. As if her soul had been drained away.
He had wondered aloud on one occasion if seeing Lachlan again might raise her spirits. It had only been one occasion, though, for she swiftly snuffed the idea—and any possibility of its future resurrection.
She would not see Lachlan. There would be no purpose in it, for he was not the cause of her ill turn. And besides, there was no ill turn to speak of. Could a person not work hard without drawing speculation? Niall’s fears were clearly founded on idle village gossip. He need only use his own eyes to see that she was perfectly alright.
And of her unnatural thinness, which she was forced to admit... well, Niall received her solemn promise that she’d make more of an effort to eat.
It was a promise she couldn’t keep, for Niall could not be there at night to distract her from her dreams. Dreams of Lachlan, each and every one. And every morning she’d wake from her dreams to that same, hollow throb in her heart that only work could numb.
The summer days brought glorious warmth, and the green hills of Kildrummond blossomed with heather. On a morning as fine and bright as any, Niall made his usual ride out to see Moira on his family’s knobby old mare.
Only this day, there was nothing usual about his purpose for coming.
He found her mucking out the animals’ pens. Again. For the third time in twice as many days.
“Ye’ll run through yer rushes by autumn if ye keep that up,” he observed when she emerged from inside, brandishing a heaping pitchfork with both hands.
“They stink. I canna stand the smell.”
“The smell never bothered ye before.”
She stopped, and wiped her brow with the back of her wrist. “Well it does now.”
With a great heave that would have been admirable for a person twice her size, she flung the forkful of rushes onto her growing pile. A smaller pile sat next to it, the clean rushes which she’d reclaimed and would return to the stalls. An even smaller pile sat next to that—Niall gave this particular pile a wide berth as he followed her back into the hut.
“D’ye have anything to eat? I’m half starved.”
Stabbing the pitchfork into another heap of rushes, Moira rolled her eyes.
“Ye’re always half starved, Niall MacCormack,” she said dryly. Nevertheless, she dropped the fork and obligingly led him to the pantry. “There’s some bannock up there,” she pointed. “I’d fetch it for ye, but I’d wager ye’d no’ appreciate the manure.”
Niall grimaced at her dirty hands, which she held up in illustration. Reaching for the fresh loaf on the top shelf, he took a large bite.
“Have ye any treacle?” he said through an overstuffed mouth.
She nodded, and let him root through her various jars for himself until her found the fired clay pot with the thick, black syrup.
“Divine,” he declared, scooping up an indulgent dollop with a chunk of the bannock.
Feeling suddenly drained, Moira collapsed onto the bench in front of the hearth. No fire burned in the charred dirt. She hadn’t a need to bake any bread, and it was far too warm to light the turf logs merely for the sake of it.
Finishing half the loaf of bannock, Niall took his customary place in the chair beside the bench. “So, how are ye faring?”
“Ye ask me that every time ye come here.”
“That’s because every time I come here I want to ken how ye’re faring.”
“And every time, I tell ye I’m fine.” She let his sceptical gaze pass without comment. “Have ye been to the castle lately?”
Niall stretched his long, spindly legs out in front of him, examining an errant scrape on his shin. “I have. Lady Kildrummond sends a message, by the by.”
“Oh?”
“She bids me to tell ye that she hopes ye’re no’ avoiding Glendalough on her account—I suppose I should be calling her Lady MacByrne now, shouldna I?”
Yes, it was Lady MacByrne now. Shortly after Lachlan and Moira’s marriage was dissolved, Sir Alex quietly married Lady Glinis in Kildrummond’s village kirk. The resident priest officiated, and the only guests in attendance were Lachlan and Eamon Douglas, the castle’s steward.
Moira, too, had been invited, but she declined.
“I dinna avoid Glendalough,” she insisted unconvincingly. “’Tis only that I have no business there.”
“No’ even to visit wi’ Sir Alex? He asks about ye at market, ye ken.”
“Now that ye mention it, I had a rather peculiar visit from Sir Alex a sennight ago. Or thereabouts”
“Di
d ye now.” Niall feigned surprise. “And what did Sir Alex have to say?”
“I dinna quite ken, to tell the truth. He merely appeared one afternoon, came inside, and proceeded to ask me a handful of daft questions.”
“Daft, ye say?”
“Aye. Things like what do I do wi’ myself in the evenings, and what did I think of Lord Erroll making a journey to Kildrummond wi’ his eldest daughter. They were all so odd that I couldna make sense of them, and I canna remember half of them now. But the thing that’s odder still is that he were staring at me the whole time, like he were expecting me to answer one way or another. Only, I didna ken what answer I was expected to give. After a while it began to feel awkward, and then, just as suddenly as he’d come, he up and left. I havena spoken to him since. D’ye have any idea what that could have been about?”
“Nay, I canna imagine.”
It was not the least bit true; Niall barely managed to hang onto the wicked grin that threatened to betray him.
Of course he knew why Alex had come to see Moira. More importantly, he knew why he’d up and left so abruptly. It was because she’d given him the very answers he’d been looking for. Unintentionally, of course. They were in the veiled hurt when he’d suggested falsely that an eligible maiden might be paraded in front of Lachlan. And they were in the loneliness in her eyes when she recounted her evenings spent without Lachlan’s company.
There had also been another answer, one which Moira had not mentioned just now, and one which had tipped the scales for Alex.
“D’ye regret what happened at Glen Craggan,” he’d asked.
“What d’ye mean by that?” had been her swift reply. A fierce blush had instantly mottled her fair complexion.
“Oh, only that it must have been difficult to accompany Lachlan and his men on their mission. I thought perhaps ye might regret having been a party to it when it wasna necessary.”
Later, when Alex caught up with Niall to report on his findings, he’d recalled how she stumbled her way through every sentence, and every answer after that. It had been enough to convince them both of one certainty: the impression Moira had given Lachlan after Glen Craggan was not a faithful account of her true feelings.
A Noble Deception (The Douglas Clan) Page 19