“How is she?” Angus croaked.
“Nae good,” Iain managed to say in a steady voice.
“Laird,” Kyla said, “may I be of service?”
He forced a smile. “I thank ye. If ye’d stay with Alanna and Marion, Bridgette and I are going to see Elspeth.”
“Certainly,” Kyla replied and quickly moved past him into the bedchamber.
When the door shut behind her, the questions came at him from every direction. “I’ll explain as we go,” he said, and as the group worked its way to Elspeth’s house—only to find it empty—and then to the kitchen, he told them all he knew.
When he opened the door to the kitchen to find it empty of all the women except Elspeth, Iain knew he had missed something he should have seen long ago. Elspeth was the only one who had not come to attend Marion when word had spread so rapidly of her illness.
“Laird,” Elspeth cried out. “Who killed Marion?”
“Who killed Marion?” Angus bellowed. “She’s nae dead yet.” The older Scot snarled and stepped toward Elspeth, who scrambled away.
Iain reached out and pulled Angus back, though it was hard to see with the anger clouding his vision. He handed Angus to Lachlan and motioned to Graham and Archibald. “Seize her.”
The men had Elspeth by the arms just as she let loose a shriek. Iain ignored her screams and went with Bridgette to Elspeth’s workstation. Bridgette began to poke around, shaking her head and mumbling. “I don’t see anything,” she said, slamming her hand against the counter. A tankard fell from the edge, landing between Bridgette and Iain’s feet, and dark blue berries poured out. Bridgette gasped and knelt to the ground, carefully picking up a berry with the edge of her skirt. She rose and nodded as her face twisted into a mask of fury. “This is belladonna.”
All the blood rushed from Elspeth’s face, and she suddenly went limp in Graham and Archibald’s hold. Iain stared down at the woman. He wanted answers, but now that Elspeth would be safely locked away, she could wait. Marion needed him.
“Put her in the dungeon,” he told Graham and Archibald and then stepped around her without a backward glance and headed back to Marion.
He spent the night watching his wife, who lay still as death until she was suddenly screaming and delirious. She thrashed on the bed and tried to claw at her skin, which had broken into a red, angry rash. He held her until the fit had passed, and then he took the sponge that Bridgette silently handed him and dabbed her until his eyes were so blurry he had to close them.
Iain woke with a start at the hand on his shoulder, and when he glanced up, Fiona looked down at him. He stood and inhaled a deep breath, stilling as a familiar scent filled his nose. Swiveling back toward Marion, he leaned over and started to lower his head to her chest when Bridgette spoke. “She lives. Barely. Fiona just arrived.”
He swallowed. Suddenly, he was back at Catriona’s deathbed, and he recalled clearly the sticky-sweet smell of death, hanging heavy in the air like an overly ripe fruit. He shut his eyes tight and then opened them once more to find Fiona brushing past him.
For several long silent moments, she examined Marion, and then she started talking to—or rather barking orders at—Bridgette, telling her what she needed and to make haste. Bridgette scurried from the room, and Iain moved to Marion’s side and took her hand with one of his. He brushed the other over her forehead.
Fiona stood still beside him as he looked down at Marion. “Yer sister did this. She tried to kill Marion,” Iain said. He turned to look at Fiona. “Have ye any idea why she would do such a thing?”
Fiona gaped at him, but after a spell, she managed to speak. “I imagine she wanted to have ye for her own. I’ve thought on why she did what she has done to me, and that is what I concluded. I think it’s why she stirred the other clanswomen’s hatred of me and why she tricked me into being the one to actually give Marion Catriona’s gown. I vow I didn’t plot it, but I did do the deed, and my envy is unforgivable.”
Iain nodded, not ready to offer any sort of forgiveness, in spite of her apparent regret.
Fiona took in a long rattling breath. “I think Elspeth was intending to rid herself of me from the very start because she knew I hoped to marry ye,” she said bluntly, casting her gaze down as her cheeks pinked. “When ye returned with a new bride, I suppose Elspeth simply altered her plot to include ridding ye of Marion, as well. Have ye spoken to Elspeth yet?”
“Nay. I’m afraid my hands would find their way around her neck.”
Fiona sighed. “I understand. I kinnae imagine what she was thinking to poison Marion. Bridgette told me of it,” Fiona offered before he even thought to ask how she knew. “I hope ye can forgive me one day.”
Iain stared down at Marion, whose breathing was still irregular. “Ye save Marion and I’ll forgive ye.”
The vigil lasted three days. And though it was the second time he’d stood such a vigil, it was not any easier than the first. Perchance it was harder because he knew the pain that might come.
Fiona had stayed by Marion’s side relentlessly, and Iain knew that even if Marion did not live, he had to forgive Fiona. She was as haggard as he was from lack of sleep.
On the third night, moments after his brothers had left the room to report clan news and try to entreat him to let one of them watch over Marion so he could sleep, Marion’s eyes flickered open. The moment they did, her hand fluttered to her belly. The bright joy he felt to see her green eyes fixed on him dulled at the thought that he had to tell her of the bairn. He shoved out of his chair, and Fiona stirred beside him. She blinked her eyes, looked at Marion, and smiled brightly, then hastily got up and scurried from the room, softly shutting the door behind her.
Marion watched as Iain, who looked unkempt and tired with heavy beard growth and dark smudges under his eyes, moved beside her bed. He smiled down at her. “Ye’re awake.”
Her thoughts were not as clear as she would have liked, but she was sure her head would be less muddled once she had a bit of food. She must have eaten something before that had made her ill, but now she was ravenous, which she knew was a good sign for her and the babe.
She glanced at Iain from under her eyelashes, excitement and apprehension stirring in her belly. “Iain, I’ve something to tell ye.”
“So do I,” he replied.
The trembling of his voice made her throat tighten with worry. “What is it?”
His large hand cupped her cheek and held it gently. “I love ye.”
Tears sprung to her eyes at the words she’d thought never to hear from his lips. “What?”
He leaned close to her, his chest brushing hers, and kissed her with a sweet tenderness that made her feel as if warmth flowed through her.
“I love ye, Marion. I hope ye still want my love because I’m overflowing with it for ye, and if ye dunnae want it, I’ll drown.”
Her heart hammered at his words and her hand shook as she raised it and pressed it to his cheek. “I want it. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted from you.” She could not imagine anything better than this moment, except possibly seeing his face when she told him of the babe. “Iain, I’m—” Unmistakable pain flashed in his eyes and stole her breath, and her words along with it. “What’s wrong?”
Wordlessly, he gathered her in his arms and shifted her so she was sitting on his lap. He put one arm around her back and one hand on her stomach. “Marion.” Her name came from his lips raw and aching, and his fingers curled gently into the flesh of her belly. His eyes held hers, the sadness in them bringing tears to her own, and she knew. She knew what he was going to tell her before he uttered a word.
“I lost the babe.” It was not a question, but a statement of gut-wrenching pain.
“Aye.” The word trembled from his lips. “Ye lost the bairn.”
Her stomach turned violently with the loss as his arms encircled her completely and his hands locked against her spine. Sobs started low and, within moments, were racking her body. She felt robbed. Hollow. To
blame. And fearful that his admission of love had been one of pity.
“Let me go,” she said through her tears. Yet he held her tighter and began to rock her while whispering of his sadness for their loss in her ear.
She turned her head from his, but his strong fingers came to her chin and forced her to look at him. “Dunnae deny me my grief, Marion. I love ye.”
“No.” She shook her head, hiccupped with a fresh sob, and blinked at him. “You don’t have to say that. You don’t have to try to make me feel better.”
He stared incredulously at her for a suspended moment, and then he brushed his lips to hers. “I love ye. I would never tell ye so if it was nae true, no matter the pain ye’re in. I’m a clot-heid. I tried to deny it, but I’ll nae deny it any longer.” He kissed her hard on the lips. “A ghràidh. My love.”
Iain’s words were wonderful, yet her happiness was dulled by the agony of losing their child. She nodded at him, wanting to believe him, desperately needing him in this moment. His strength. His arms. His love.
He rocked her as she cried and ran a gentle hand over her head, all the while promising his undying love. It seemed a long while later when she could cry no more. Her eyes were swollen, her head aching, her limbs heavy with fatigue. Iain laid her on the bed and settled beside her, putting his hand once again on her belly.
“One day we’ll make another bairn, and I swear to ye, Marion, I’ll nae let harm come to ye again as long as there is breath in my body.”
Marion settled her hand over Iain’s. “You cannot keep all harm from me.”
“I can try,” he responded.
She nodded, thinking of her lost child and then the seer, of Froste, and her father. She felt sure they would still come, and it would be her responsibility to stop the war her father and Froste wished to start so she could watch over Iain, just as he wished to do for her, until she had no breath left in her body.
Twenty-One
The healing process was slow, both mentally and physically. In the first week of Marion’s recovery, Fiona—much to Marion’s surprise—was a kind and excellent caretaker. The first thing she said to Marion when she saw her awake was that she was sorry. She then begged Marion’s forgiveness for her actions, and Marion forgave her without hesitation, for she could see the truth of Fiona’s regret. Perchance her new marriage would make her happy.
Elspeth was another matter. Marion had not seen her since the woman had tried to kill her, but she intended to see her today, as Iain was about to go downstairs where Elspeth awaited him to decide her fate. Marion wanted to go, but Iain had stubbornly refused thus far, saying he would not chance her relapsing.
Marion took a long breath, determined to make him agree. Iain was beside her on the bed where she was reclined—by his orders. “It is my right to go,” she said with quiet resolution.
Iain shook his head. “Ye could relapse.”
Marion squeezed his hand in hers. “You can carry me down. I’ll not even walk.”
“Nay.”
The man was stubborn, to be sure. Marion would simply be more so. “I will hear from her mouth why she poisoned me, Iain.” When he took a breath to argue, she hurried to speak again. “She made me lose our child, and almost my life. It is my right to hear why face-to-face. It is my right to show her she has not broken me,” Marion finished, her voice shaking.
Iain’s eyes widened, and then he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. “No one would ever break ye, Marion. Yer spirit is strong and bold, which is why ye were the only one that could ever release me from my pain. And ye’re right, I see that now. Ye should be there.”
Marion let out a relieved breath as Iain gathered the blankets around her and then picked her up and wrapped her in one of them. She felt rather silly, but she knew protesting would be futile with her husband.
He carried her downstairs to the great hall and paused outside the door before entering. “Ye’re sure?” he asked her, concern lacing his tone.
She nodded as she peered into the large space. Sitting on the dais by the far wall were all Iain’s brothers, Rory Mac, Angus, Neil, and two older MacLeods. Together they made up the clan council. The council would give Iain their opinions regarding Elspeth’s fate, but the final decision would be Iain’s.
In front of the raised dais, Elspeth stood with two clansmen flanking her.
“I’m ready,” Marion said, sensing Iain was waiting on her.
When he walked in, the men talking on the dais ceased. They all stood and Elspeth twisted around. Marion’s breath caught in her throat. The woman’s brown hair was a mess, and she had dirt all over her face. Her gown was torn and her eyes were glazed, but they seemed to clear and flare with hatred upon seeing Marion. Iain’s fingers curled tighter around Marion’s legs as he strode past Elspeth and to the dais, where Angus offered his spot to Marion.
She shook her head. “You’re part of the council.”
“I’m nae so old that I kinnae stand behind ye,” Angus growled. “Ye’ll sit here or I’ll carry ye back upstairs myself.”
Marion’s heart swelled with love for Angus, for everyone up on the dais, as they nodded their agreement and each rose, offering their chairs one by one.
“Sit here, my lady,” Graham said. “Ye are one of us.”
“Nae, take my seat,” Lachlan offered. “Ye are as a sister.”
“Take mine,” Rory Mac demanded with a smile. “Ye are part of our family.”
On it went, with Elspeth watching and scowling. Marion could not help but smile as Iain settled her beside him and she looked to her left and right at her new family. She was a MacLeod in more than name alone.
Iain called the meeting to start, which began with him narrowing his eyes at Elspeth for several long moments. He then read out her crimes. “Elspeth MacLeod, ye’re charged with the crime of attempting to murder Marion MacLeod by poisoning. Ye’re also charged with the murder of my and Marion’s unborn bairn.” Iain’s voice did not give the slightest hint of his torment, but his hand found Marion’s under the table, and he squeezed her fingers hard before continuing. “What say ye? Guilty or nae?”
“I should have been yer wife,” Elspeth crowed rather than answering to the charges. When she tried to take a step toward the dais, Marion tensed, but the men flanking Elspeth quickly restrained her. She spat on the ground and twisted her arms to no avail, finally stopping when she must have realized she’d not get loose. “I should have been yer wife!” she screeched louder. “All my life no one ever paid me heed. No one ever even looked me in the face except ye. Ye always looked at me as if I mattered,” she cried out to Iain. “And on yer wedding day, ye told me that ye were blessed because ye got two beautiful sisters to defend and honor. I kenned then that ye wanted me.”
Marion stole a sideways glance at Iain. His jaw ticked furiously. “I was being nice to ye, Elspeth. It did nae mean I wanted ye. I remember ye looking fearful standing there alone.”
“Nay!” Elspeth shrieked. “Ye wanted me. I kenned it. And when Catriona died, I knew ye would want to marry me, but Fiona…” Elspeth twisted around, and Marion only then realized that Fiona stood in the back of the room with the man that surely had to be her new husband since they were holding hands. “Fiona started plotting to steal ye. She thought it her right! But I fooled her! I won. Or I would have!”
Marion’s heart ached for Fiona as the woman lowered her head in shame, but Fiona’s husband raised her hand to his and kissed it. She lifted her head and smiled at him. He swiped away the tears sliding down her face, and Marion knew Fiona would be fine. She had found happiness. She had never really wanted Iain, and she would have never harmed Marion. She just wanted to be loved, which Marion could understand fully, and Iain—with his kindness and honor—had a habit of making women love him, or think they loved him, without intending it.
“Elspeth MacLeod,” Iain boomed, “have ye anything else to say?”
“Ye’re mine!” Elspeth shouted over and over.
Behind Marion, Angus’s hand came to rest on her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze.
Iain shook his head at Elspeth’s protestations, and then looked to the council. “What say ye, council members? Banishment or death?”
Death?
Marion’s gut clenched. In spite of what Elspeth had done, Marion did not wish her dead. The woman’s mind was warped. She held her breath as each member spoke. They were split down the middle with four wanting death and four wanting banishment. Marion stared at Iain, who had the final word.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and then locked his gaze on Marion. “What say ye? What do ye wish?”
He was asking her opinion? It was the greatest honor he could give her, and she loved him all the more for it. “Banishment,” she said, her voice clear and loud.
He nodded and turned to look at Elspeth. “Ye are hereby banished for life from the Isle of Skye and Dunvegan Castle to the farthest point in Scotland from this spot. If ye ever stand on MacLeod land again, ye will be killed on sight. Ye will await departure in the dungeon. Take her,” Iain commanded and motioned to the guards. And then Elspeth was dragged out of the room screaming and flailing her arms. Fiona followed, Marion supposed, to say her farewells.
“Cameron,” Iain said, as he stood and gathered Marion into his arms and pulled her close to his chest. “Ye will go with the guards to see Elspeth settled.”
“As ye wish, brother.”
Without another word, Iain strode from the dais and up to their bedchamber. He set Marion on the bed, and to her surprise, he joined her.
“What are you doing?” she said, laughing. “Do you not need to attend to clan business?”
“Aye. But it can wait. I’ve been creating something just for ye in my head.” Iain stretched out his long legs as he reclined beside her and took her hand in his. Then, to her astonishment, he began to sing a ballad, and as he started to tell the story, she realized it was about them. He sung of a laird who’d lost his ability to love and the proud, half-English beauty who awoke first his lust and then his heart, and patiently taught him how to love again.
When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) Page 29