by Jayne Castel
Her parents and sister shifted their attention from Heather then, their gazes all swiveling to the back of the hall. And when she saw how her mother’s face paled, how her father’s mouth thinned, and how Aila’s delicate features grew strained, she knew they’d all recognized him.
“I thought ye said he was dead?” There was no mistaking the accusatory edge to her mother’s tone. Although the meeting between them could have gone worse earlier, there was still friction between mother and daughter. Iona didn’t trust her—and to have Iain Galbraith return from the dead when she’d told everyone she was a widow didn’t help matters.
She knew how it looked. Her mother thought her a liar.
“I believed he was … when he never returned to Fintry,” Heather replied, swallowing the hard lump in her throat. “No word reached me, or his kin there. Even his brother here in Dunnottar believes he’s dead.”
A little of the tension in her mother’s face eased at this, although the glower on her father’s darkened. “What kind of man deserts his wife?”
A cruel one.
The words were unspoken, yet they hung in the air between the four of them. Heather remembered well the nervousness she’d felt as she waited for Iain’s return. They hadn’t been getting on well, and his mercurial temper frightened her. Frankly, she’d been relieved when he joined the cause. But when some of the other men returned to Fintry, and he didn’t, she’d begun to worry.
What little coin he’d left her with was almost gone. She’d done her best to grow as many vegetables in the plot behind their cottage as she could over the summer, yet they wouldn’t sustain her over the winter. Still, she’d waited for him, month after month. But eventually, hunger and cold had driven her to The Bogside Tavern in search of work.
“So … all this time he’s been with the Wallace?” Aila asked finally, breaking the heavy silence that had descended upon the table after her father’s question.
Heather drew in a ragged breath. “It would seem so.” Her gaze swept over the faces of her kin, desperate. “Please … I don’t want to go back to him.”
She cursed herself for her ungratefulness earlier, for her wish for more out of life than merely remaining here as Lady Gavina’s companion. Such a life was infinitely better than returning to Fintry as Iain Galbraith’s wife.
Heather’s throat constricted. God was punishing her for her ingratitude.
“He may not want ye back, lass,” her father pointed out, his grey eyes shadowing. “After all … he probably never expected to see ye here.”
A little of Heather’s panic ebbed at her father’s answer. He was a steadying influence, a practical man who always looked for solutions instead of getting flustered.
“Da’s right,” Aila soothed. “He may avoid ye while he’s here.”
Heather’s belly clenched. “If that’s the case, then why’s he staring daggers at my back?”
Aila’s mouth compressed. “Maybe, he’s just surprised.”
Her sister was trying to find some certainty to grasp onto, yet her words made Heather’s pulse accelerate further. “I can’t go back to him,” she vowed, her gaze dropping to where her fingers still grasped the table edge. “I can’t.”
“Ye are afraid of him,” her mother observed quietly. Her tone had lost its sharp edge. Instead, Heather could hear the worry in her mother’s voice. And when she looked up, and their gazes fused, she decided to tell the truth.
“Aye,” she murmured. “He’s got a bad temper … and he’s not shy of using his fists. I seem to have a knack for enraging him.”
Iona De Keith’s grey-green eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. “Don’t worry,” she replied, drawing herself up. “Ye won’t have to go back to him.” She cast her husband a sharp look. “Will she, Donnan?”
The steward shook his head. His gaze shadowed, although it never wavered from his eldest daughter. “Of course not,” he replied.
As soon as the meal was over, Heather and her family quickly rose from their seats and hurried from the hall. Usually, after a banquet like this one, Heather’s parents would linger, for there would be sweet apple wine poured, more music, and some dancing.
This evening, Donnan De Keith limped from the hall without a backward glance.
Head down, Heather followed him.
The party of four left the long rectangular-shaped chamber and entered a wide gallery that led down to where the turret stairs awaited them. As the stairwell neared, Heather started to hope that her father was right. Perhaps Iain had stared at her merely out of shock; maybe, he would avoid her for the rest of his stay here.
“Where are ye going, Heather?”
Just a few yards from the stairs, a rough male voice echoed out over the corridor, and Heather’s hope shattered.
Heart pounding, she skidded to a halt. The urge to flee boiled up within her, yet she wasn’t a coward. She’d faced this man down many times in the past, and she’d do so again.
At least this time she had her family with her.
Iain wouldn’t want them to see him at his worst.
Turning, her gaze alighted upon the tall man who strode toward her.
He was as handsome as ever, with wild auburn hair, piercing green eyes, and a lantern jaw; although his time away had roughened his looks a little, and there was a thin, pink scar across one cheek that hadn’t been there when they’d parted ways.
“Iain,” she greeted him, cursing the rasp in her voice. “Ye are alive.”
He favored her with a wide, harsh smile. “Aye … as ye can plainly see, woman.”
“Why didn’t ye ever send word to Fintry, or to yer brother here? These past two years, we all thought ye had fallen.”
Iain’s smile faded. He stopped a few feet back from her, and Heather noted that he was leaner than she remembered. His work at the forge had bulked him up, yet his new life as a soldier honed his muscles differently.
“I’ve been in France with the Wallace,” he said, irritation edging his voice. “Busy with important matters.”
“More important than letting yer wife know ye still breathe?” Donnan De Keith’s voice was a growl in the silence of the corridor. Although she didn’t shift attention from Iain, Heather knew her father stood at her shoulder. Never had she been so grateful to have his support. Still, fear coiled in the pit of her belly when she saw how Iain’s face darkened in response.
“The cause supersedes everything, De Keith,” he replied, his lip curling. “Or maybe ye aren’t as loyal to Scotland as I am?”
“I’m just as loyal as ye,” her father replied, no trace of rancor in his voice. However, there was a hardness to it that Heather hadn’t heard before. “I just know how a wife should be treated.”
The curl in Iain’s lip intensified, twisting his mouth into an unpleasant sneer. Casting the steward a dismissive look, his gaze settled upon Heather once more. “I can see why ye were so keen to leave these people.” He thrust out a hand toward her. “Come on … let’s go, wife.”
Heather shrank back, shaking off the hand that grasped for her forearm. “No, Iain. I’m staying here with my kin. Our marriage is over.”
Iain Galbraith went still, disbelief rippling over his face. “Ye don’t get to say when it’s over,” he replied, his voice roughening. “We made vows before God.”
“Aye … and ye broke them when ye couldn’t be bothered to tell me ye were alive … when ye left me at yer forge with no means to support myself.”
He snorted. “I knew ye’d survive. One of my kin would have taken ye in.”
Heather swallowed, trying to force down the hot anger that now bubbled up within her. “Yer uncle turned me away when I asked him for help, although yer cousin Cory said I could live at Culcreuch Castle … provided I warmed his bed.” Iain’s gaze narrowed at that, but Heather pressed on. She’d had enough of minding her tongue. She’d had enough of this man. “I ended up serving ale at The Bogside … it was the only place I could find work in the village.”
&n
bsp; Her mother’s stifled gasp behind her warned Heather that, of course, Iona had no idea of how she’d earned a living since Iain’s departure. She’d get a tongue lashing from her mother later for this revelation.
“I’d forgotten how much ye have to say for yerself.” Iain took a threatening step toward her. “I’ll enjoy shutting that insolent mouth of yers.”
“Leave her be, Galbraith.” Donnan De Keith growled. Glancing at her father, she noted that his hands were balled into fists at his sides. Her father was a big man, and a fierce fighter in his day, yet he wouldn’t be a match for Iain—a soldier in his prime. “Heather is staying with us.”
“Step back, old man,” Iain replied with a sneer. “I’m taking my wife back to my quarters.” He made a grab for Heather then, but she cringed back from his touch.
Behind Heather, her mother let out an enraged hiss, while her sister gasped. None of them could believe this man was going to drag her away by force—but Heather believed it. The violence in Iain Galbraith simmered near the surface, and he held his temper on a short leash.
A sickening realization welled up within Heather then. By asking for her father’s protection, she’d inadvertently put him in danger.
“Enough!” Iain snarled. He reached for Heather once more, his fingers clasping over her forearm and digging in.
“No!” Heather’s terrified cry rang out over the corridor. The fear he’d used to control her in the past barreled into her, but this time she wouldn’t be held prisoner by it. She balled her free hand into a fist and struck him hard in the mouth.
XXX
NOT DONE
EVERYTHING TURNED TO chaos, the moment Heather punched him.
Iain reeled back, blood streaming from his split lip, his green eyes wide with shock. She’d never have dared hit him in the past, but something had snapped within her. No longer would she cower before him. Maximus had taught her how important it was to stand up to bullies.
“Whore!” He lunged for her, but this time, her father barred his way.
And an instant later, the two men were swinging punches at each other, their curses ringing off the surrounding walls.
Heavens, no!
Heather stumbled back, her gaze fixed upon where her father now slammed Iain against the wall, using his superior bulk to his advantage. But Iain was younger, fitter, and more vicious. He head-butted the steward, sending him reeling back, before he drew a dirk from his waist and went after him.
“No!” Heather screamed, rushing forward. “Stop!”
If she didn’t do something, he’d slay her father.
She’d almost reached Iain when a strong hand clasped about her shoulder and hauled her backward. And then, a tall, lean figure clad in pine-green and black hurtled past her.
Heather stumbled against her sister, gasping in shock. Maximus. Where had he appeared from?
Her father had hold of Iain’s wrist now as he struggled to keep the dirk from his throat. Donnan’s face was red from the strain, although his gaze was murderous. Fury had rendered him fearless.
Maximus moved fast, with the grace Heather had already seen in those fights with Cory. His fist collided into the side of Iain’s face.
Iain hadn’t seen the attack coming, and his head snapped sideways from the force. His grip on the knife released, just a fraction. But that was all her father needed. He shoved the blade away from his exposed neck and wrenched it from Iain’s grip before throwing it to one side. The dirk clattered onto the stone floor, but Donnan De Keith ignored it.
Instead, he punched Iain in the throat and sent him reeling.
Heather noted that Maximus stepped back, letting her father retaliate without interference.
Iain slumped to the ground on all fours, choking and retching as he clutched at his injured throat.
“I suggest you leave things be now,” Maximus told Iain, his hand straying to the sword at his waist to prove his point. “Or the laird will hear of this.”
With a choked curse, Iain heaved himself to his feet. Blood trickled down his chin from his split lip, and his eyes had a glazed look. Still grasping at his throat, his gaze settled upon Maximus. It raked up and down the length of him, taking the measure of the man who’d dared to interfere in his business.
His attention then shifted to Heather. She stared back, although the fury in those green eyes made her belly cramp. She’d always fear this man.
“We’re not done, Heather,” he croaked. Then, with one last malevolent look at Maximus and Donnan De Keith—a stare that promised retribution, Iain Galbraith stumbled away.
A hollow silence followed his departure.
Breathing hard, Donnan rubbed at his forehead. Iain had head-butted him hard, and his eyes watered in the aftermath. However, the steward’s gaze shifted to Maximus, and he favored him with a nod. “I thank ye, for stepping in when ye did … and for letting me finish it.”
Maximus inclined his head and smiled.
The steward’s gaze narrowed as he scrutinized his savior. “Ye must be new to the Guard … I don’t think I’ve seen ye before?”
“You haven’t,” Maximus replied. “I just started today.”
“This is the man who escorted me north, Da,” Heather interrupted, casting Maximus a grateful, if shaken, smile. “Maximus Cato, may I introduce ye to my father … Donnan De Keith, steward of Dunnottar.”
Heather was aware then that both her sister and mother were now staring at Maximus as if they’d just received new pairs of eyes and were trying them out for the first time. He was rakishly attractive in the Guard uniform and held himself with that unconscious male arrogance that drew a woman’s eye.
“Maximus,” she continued, gesturing to the two women behind her. “This is my mother, Iona, and my sister, Aila.”
Still smiling, he favored both of them with a nod.
“Thank ye for yer assistance,” Iona De Keith murmured, her voice unnaturally meek. The fight had cowed her.
“You’re welcome,” Maximus replied, holding Iona’s eye for a moment. He then shifted his attention to Heather. “Who was that man?”
Heather drew in a shaky breath. “My husband.”
Maximus’s gaze grew wide.
“I know,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. Her knees weakened then as the full weight of the situation settled upon her. “I thought he was dead … but it seems he isn’t.” She drew a trembling hand over her face. “I’m so sorry, Da … I had no idea he’d react like that.”
“It’s alright, lass.” Stepping close, her father placed a hand upon Heather’s shoulder. “I shall speak with Captain Gaius … and ensure that man doesn’t come near ye again.”
Relief flooded through Heather. “Thank ye, Da,” she whispered.
“Come on.” Her mother murmured, backing away toward the turret stairs. “We should go up to our rooms, lest that odious man returns.”
“He won’t,” Maximus assured her. Yet his attention never strayed from Heather. “Can I talk to you alone for a moment?”
All three of her family members tensed at this request, but Heather reassured them with a wan smile. “All will be well … ye can trust him.” She waved them toward the stairs. “Go up … I will join ye shortly.”
They moved away, although Donnan was frowning. Maximus had come to his aid, but he was still worried about his daughter being compromised. Yet, since Maximus had saved his life, he couldn’t really protest too vigorously.
Maximus and Heather remained in silence in the hallway, waiting until the sound of her family’s retreating footsteps on the turret stairs faded. Then Maximus stepped close, his gaze snaring hers. “Did you really have no idea he was alive?”
Heather caught the note of disbelief, the slight edge of accusation, in his voice. Like her parents, he suspected she’d lied to him. Since their arrival at Dunnottar, Maximus had started to lower his shields. Their emotional kiss earlier proved it.
But this changed everything. Her throat tightened when she
saw how his gaze shuttered. Swallowing, Heather raised her chin. “I told ye the truth. Do ye think I would have been serving ale at The Bogside … or that I would have lain with ye … if I’d believed my husband lived?”
“I don’t know what to think.” He raked a hand through his hair, and Heather realized he was agitated. This discovery had upset him. “But I do know yer kin have just earned themselves an enemy.”
“As have ye,” she replied softly. “I saw the look he gave ye.”
Maximus arched an eyebrow. “I’m not worried about the likes of Iain Galbraith,” he replied with that arrogance she found equally compelling and frustrating.
“All the same … be wary of him. Just like Cory, he never forgets a slight.”
The mention of Iain’s cousin made Maximus frown. It was a reminder of their journey to Dunnottar, of a forced proximity that had bonded them. But this revelation had caused that bond to fray. Heather could feel it, and she wondered if he could too. It was hard to believe just a few hours earlier she’d been in his arms. He’d kissed her as if she was his world.
But that was before Iain crashed back into her life.
Maximus didn’t need to spell the situation out. Her husband’s presence here drove a wedge between them.
Disappointment constricted her chest. “It was fortunate ye were here,” she said after a pause, hoping he didn’t sense how upset she was. “What were ye doing in this corner of the keep anyway?”
His mouth curved, although his gaze remained cool. “I was looking for you … although I should have known I’d find you in the midst of trouble.”
Heather swallowed. He wasn’t wrong there. Strife seemed to dog her footsteps these days. “Have ye seen the Wallace?” she asked, desperate to shift the focus from herself once more.
“I have,” he replied.
“Why do ye think he’s here?”
“Dunnottar has always held a strategic position on the edge of the Highlands.” Maximus sighed then and rubbed the knuckles of his right hand, which he’d used to punch Iain. “William Wallace will be waiting to see what the English do next.” He paused, meeting her eye once more. “And my friend Draco now serves as his right-hand.”