Banished & Welcomed: The Laird's Reckless Wife (Love's Second Chance Book 14)

by Bree Wolf

  Hanging her head, Moira sighed, “Aye,” she whispered before lifting her head and meeting the girl’s eyes once more. “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “At the time, I believed it to be the right thing.”

  Inhaling a deep breath as though to better absorb what she had been told, Blair nodded. “Ye made a mistake.”

  “A grave mistake,” Moira pointed out, knowing that Ian as well as the rest of Clan MacDrummond had a very good reason to distrust her. After all, she was not an innocent in all of this.

  “Are ye sorry?”

  Sighing, Moira nodded. “Aye, verra sorry.” To this day, she could not understand how she could have been so blind as to not see the wrong of her ways. The thought to be mistaken like that again, to act against others, believing she was doing the right thing, was constantly with her. After all, she had not seen it coming the last time either.

  What if it were to happen again? What if this time someone did get hurt? The mere thought sent a shiver down her back.

  A smile came to Blair’s face. “Good.” And with that, the issue seemed to be resolved for her. “Do ye like flowers?”

  Moira nodded.

  “I’ll pick ye some,” the girl exclaimed as she jumped to her feet.

  “Ye dunna need to,” Moira said, trying to stop her. She ought not encourage the girl’s kindness. What would her father do if he found out? And judging from the look on Niall’s face, he would.

  “But I want to,” Blair replied with a smile.

  “Yer parents will worry about ye if ye spend yer time with me.” Moira did not quite know what to say, how to dissuade the enthusiastic little girl, but she knew she at least needed to try.

  Blair shook her head. “My mother always tells me to be wary of strangers, and ye’re not a stranger,” she reasoned, not a hint of doubt in her young eyes.

  Moira smiled at the girl as her thoughts strayed to Maggie MacDrummond, who was the complete and utter opposite of her husband. Friendly to a fault, Maggie treated everyone with kindness and respect. She was a warm and loving woman, and Moira was always happy to exchange a word or two with her as Maggie had a way of making those around her feel at ease.

  Still, Maggie’s kindness toward her had initially surprised Moira for she had learnt that the dainty, young woman had not been born a Scot. In fact, she had grown up in England and had then married Ian MacDrummond upon visiting her mother’s clan years ago. She had found a new home in the Scottish Highlands and loved its people with a fierceness that had long ago made her a true Scot in the eyes of her clan’s people.

  Still, she had been English once, and considering that Moira had been banished because she had conspired against her laird’s English wife, she had expected Maggie to despise her more than anyone else.

  But Maggie had not.

  Moira wished she knew why.

  “Come!” Blair’s red-headed brother called, a stern tone to his voice as he took a careful step closer. “We needa head home.” His green eyes were wary as he watched Moira as though he expected her to jump up and swallow him whole at any moment.

  Blair merely shrugged, then all but rolled her eyes and whispered to Moira, “He’s afraid of ye, but I dunno why.”

  Forcing a smile onto her face, Moira said, “Perhaps he too thinks I’m a witch.”

  Blair laughed as though the mere thought was ludicrous. Then she mumbled a quick goodbye and skipped up the small slope toward her brother.

  Taking his sister’s hand, Niall once more glanced over his shoulder before he leant down to Blair. “Ye know Father doesna approve. Why do ye always have to go and talk to her? She’s a dangerous woman; perhaps even a witch.” A shudder seemed to grip his small shoulders.

  Blair snorted, “I’m too old to believe in fairy tales, and ye should be too.” And with that she raced ahead, leaving her brother behind looking a little forlorn.

  Despite the severity of the situation she found herself in, Moira could not help but smile at the girl’s reply, wishing deep down that Blair’s words could be true. If only her gift was something out of a fairy tale. Something that was not true, was not real, and could not hurt anyone. It certainly would have kept her from making the biggest mistake of her life and it would not constantly force her to make impossible decisions.

  Always had her dreams come to pass, and Moira had come to trust in them without hesitation. And then her world had crumbled around her, teaching her a painful lesson. Blind faith would not be rewarded. Nevertheless, she knew she could not ignore her dreams.

  After all, they came when they chose. What was she to do? How was she to know which to trust and which to be wary of? Which spoke of a danger to be prevented? Or of a promise that needed her aid to be fulfilled? And which were only a taunt, a tease, a test?

  Each time, a new dream found her, Moira wished they would simply leave her alone. Long ago, she had felt honoured to have had such a gift bestowed upon her. But no more. Now, she had rather be like everyone else: unburdened and free.

  Still, she had no say in the matter. The only choice she did have was whether to act…or not.

  Again, she allowed her thoughts to stray to the dream that had come to her the night before wondering what she ought to do. Ought she pretend it had never happened and keep two people from finding one another? Or ought she to try and help and point them in the right direction?

  Moira sighed. What she had always thought of as helping, others might call interfering.

  Others like Ian MacDrummond.

  And if he found out, he would not look kindly on her.

  2

  A Favour Asked

  Cormag’s eyes lingered on the golden-haired, young woman sitting beneath the small grove of trees. He saw little Blair run up to her, a smile on her young face, and he noted the way her elder brother Niall watched the two of them with the same hateful distrust Cormag often saw in the lad’s father.

  Sighing, Cormag pressed his open palms to the rough stone of the parapet wall as he stood atop the walkway, which granted its visitors a spectacular as well as strategic view of the land surrounding Seann Dachaigh Tower.

  Ian MacDrummond had always been a friend, a good friend, and Cormag cherished his friendship as much as he cherished Garrett’s and Finn’s. Despite their differences in temperament and character, the four of them had always walked through life side by side: training together, studying together, growing up together.

  Now, they all were trying to find their place in this world. While Ian had married young, becoming a husband and father, Cormag had always known that he himself would take over as laird of Clan MacDrummond upon his father’s passing.

  That had been three years ago, and life had been different ever since.

  No longer could Cormag allow the twists and turns of every day to guide his feet. While Finn and Garrett seemed to drift here and there, not bound to anything but their clan, Cormag knew that he needed to follow his head instead of his heart. He had a duty now. A duty that always came first.

  It had to.

  For the good of the clan.

  As he watched Moira speak to little Blair, Cormag knew that when it came to the young woman from Clan Brunwood, he often failed to remain emotionally detached. Not that anyone would notice, for over the years Cormag had learnt to perfect a mask of interested indifference, one that had served him well in his position as laird.

  No doubt, his mask was as perfect as it was because he worked every day to maintain a certain distance between himself and others, keeping it fixed in place to ensure that his head decided wisely without regard for his heart’s momentary desires. Unfortunately, that distance seemed to slip away whenever Moira drew near.

  The day she had walked into his study two years ago, Cormag had known that something was different. He had felt her standing on the other side of his desk, and without even laying eyes on her, he had sensed her spirit, her strength, her sorrow, but also her pride, her defiance, her recklessness. He had known that life would
never be the same again if he allowed her to stay.

  And yet, he had.

  Cormag remembered well the moment he had drawn in a deep breath, bracing himself for the heart-stopping sensation of having her eyes looking back into his. He had turned with apprehension, and the moment he had seen the shimmering blue of her dark eyes, he had known that his life would never be the same again.

  Indeed, it had been a constant battle ever since.

  Closing his eyes, Cormag willed himself to turn away from the scene before him, and with determination, he strode down the wall-walk and headed back into the castle. His footsteps were heavy as he turned down the staircase and found his way back to his study. And all the while, his heart pounded with a fierceness that made him grit his teeth and curse the day Moira Brunwood had come to Seann Dachaigh Tower.

  Closing the door behind him, Cormag strode purposefully toward his desk. After all, there were matters that needed his attention. Clan matters. People depended on him, and he would not let them down.

  Focusing his thoughts in such a manner had often helped Cormag retrieve the balance he needed to be the laird his clan deserved. He knew what needed to be done. He knew his place, his purpose, and he would not allow anyone to interfere.

  For the good of the clan.

  An hour passed, and slowly Cormag felt his balance return. His heart beat steadily in his chest, and his mind was focused as it ought to be. However, just as he allowed a sense of relief to spread across his limbs, he sensed an emotional turmoil drawing near.

  Someone was coming.

  Someone agitated and distraught.

  Cormag braced himself for the onslaught.

  Ever since he had been a lad, Cormag had had the misfortune of reading others’ emotions. He felt them as though they were his own, and as a young boy, he had often been overwhelmed by the sorrow and fear of those around him. His father, with his calm demeanour and strong voice, had guided his hand through those years of upheaval, urging him to train his body as well as his mind, to find a balance within himself, to feel but not to succumb.

  Cormag had always been grateful for his father’s understanding nature for he knew well that those who possessed gifts were often looked upon with suspicion.

  As was Moira.

  Perhaps that had been why Cormag had allowed her to stay. Why he had felt protective. Something deep inside him had urged him to keep her near. Still, ever since that day, he feared that this weakness would one day return to haunt him.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Cormag sat up to focus his heart and mind as his father had taught him. “Come in.”

  The door swung open, and in walked Mrs. Brown, Seann Dachaigh Tower’s cook. Her face was flushed as always, but she seemed outwardly calm. Still, Cormag noticed the way her fingers curled all but painfully into her apron, her eyes slightly widened as she fought to remain in control of the fear that now pulsed off her as though in waves. “I apologise for the intrusion,” Mrs. Brown panted, a faint shimmer of sweat lingering on her forehead.

  Cormag felt his own heart tighten as he too struggled for composure. “What can I do for you?” he asked calmly. “Is something wrong?”

  Mrs. Brown nodded. “Aye, my sister sent word. There’s been an accident, and she begs me to come.” She swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath. “I assure ye that all is taken care of in the kitchen. Ye needna worry that−”

  “There’s no need,” Cormag assured her. “Go and see to yer family and promise to send for me if there’s anything ye need.”

  A grateful smile flitted across the woman’s face, and Cormag felt his muscles relax when relief and gratitude lessened the strain her fear had on him. Rising from his chair, he escorted the older woman to the door, gently squeezing her hand as she looked up at him with relief. “I pray that all will be well.”

  Mrs. Brown nodded in agreement before she hurried through the door, her footsteps receding quickly.

  With each step she took down the long corridor, Cormag began to feel more like himself, and he stepped up to the window, knowing the calming view over the rolling hills would bring him peace.

  While everyday emotions now barely affected Cormag, those that went deeper, those that quickened one’s heart and stole one’s breath were still taxing for him, and he often wished he could simply rid himself of the gift the Old Ones had seen fit to bestow upon him. Granted, it gave him an advantage in all kinds of confrontations and negotiations. He simply knew whether others were lying or being truthful, and he could act accordingly, make the best possible decision. However, the price was still a steep one, and some days, Cormag was not certain it was worth it.

  Did Moira feel the same? He could not help but wonder. While his own gift remained a secret−only his father had ever truly known−hers was whispered about near and far. No one knew. No one was certain, but stories flew through the land of her otherworldly gifts. Cormag did not know what was true and what not, but he suspected. He knew how to strip away embellishments and exaggerations and see to the core of things.

  After all, that was his gift.

  Unfortunately, most people did what they always did when faced with something unknown, something they could not understand.

  They allowed fear to take over.

  Cormag sensed that apprehension in almost all his clan members when faced with the blond-haired outcast from Clan Brunwood. Not all were hostile like Ian; however, most were fearful and tended to be cautious rather than too bold and risk harm.

  Again, Cormag remembered the day she had first stepped across the threshold of Seann Dachaigh Tower. Even before she had set foot into his study, he had sensed her approach from up the corridor. Indeed, he had chosen this rather isolated room for his study as it was far away from the hustle bustle of the castle. Here, he could focus his thoughts and be alone with what he felt, unburdened by those around him, for only those who wanted to seek him out had reason to venture into this remote part of the ancient fortress.

  Therefore, whenever someone drew near, whenever he sensed another’s approach, Cormag knew that that someone was coming to see him.

  That day, he had sensed Moira’s remorse, her shame as well as her regret. He had known within moments that what she had done had not been done out of malice. She had been misled. She had been foolish and made the wrong decision, and he was certain she would not do so again. Was that why he had agreed to let her stay?

  Because of a certainty that only he possessed.

  Nevertheless, without revealing his gift to those around him, Cormag had not been able to provide a reason for his decision, and some of his clan members had been openly disapproving. They feared that she was a woman without scruples, that after betraying her own clan, nothing would keep her from doing the same to theirs.

  Cormag could understand their concerns; still, he had been unable to send her away. A fact that still bothered him.

  Returning his attention to the parchment on his desk, Cormag paused when he suddenly felt another’s emotions approach.

  A sense of unease, of nervousness drifted toward him, and he felt his chest tighten once more. Then, suddenly, warmth flooded his being, and he was surprised to also feel…a touch of longing. Or was he mistaken?

  Rounding his desk, Cormag stepped closer to the door, curious who was coming to see him and why. His pulse sped up on its own accord as the one outside in the corridor stepped closer, then knocked. “Come in,” he called, willing a mask of control back onto his face for despite his own intrusion into another’s heart, Cormag feared nothing more than to have another look at him and know how he felt.

  The door slid open, revealing−to his great surprise−the slender, young woman from Clan Brunwood.

  Moira.

  A frown drew down her brows, and her bright blue eyes were downcast as though she did not dare look at him. Then, rather absentmindedly, her right hand rose, and he watched almost entranced as the tips of her fingers brushed down the side of her temple and then tucked a golden curl b
ehind her ear. Her lips parted, and she inhaled a deep breath before finally lifting her gaze.

  The moment her eyes met his, the air lodged in Cormag’s throat, and he found himself altogether incapable of uttering a greeting.

  Never had Moira come to see him. Whenever they had met, it had been coincidental. Out in the courtyard passing each other. In the great hall during a celebration. From afar when she had been down in the meadow and he had been up on the wall-walk.

  Never had she sought him out. On the contrary, he always had the impression that she sought to avoid him for whenever they did happen upon one another, she always hurried onward as though afraid to linger.

  Did she fear him?

  Cormag swallowed the lump in his throat when he realised that he could not tell.

  Instead of feeling overwhelmed by a flood of emotions crossing the barrier from her to him, all he felt in that moment was his own heart beating wildly in his chest. He felt nervous and unhinged, and yet, strangely intoxicated with her presence. He wanted her to leave, and he wanted her to stay. He wanted…

  Why could he not feel her? Had he not felt her only a moment ago? Was it her gift? Did she somehow prevent his intrusion into her heart? To protect herself? Or had his own gift deserted him suddenly? Why else could he only feel what lived in his own heart?

  “I apologise for the intrusion,” Moira said, a slight tremble in her voice. She seemed hesitant and somewhat reluctant as though she thoroughly disliked being in his presence. Still, her blue eyes shone with determination, and it was clear that there was something specific she wished to address.

  Trying his utmost to ignore the way his pulse quickened at the sound of her voice, Cormag stepped farther into the room, gesturing for her to follow. “What can I do for ye?” To his relief, his voice revealed none of his inner turmoil, and he silently thanked his father for his guidance.

  Clearing her throat, Moira squared her shoulders and took a step forward. “I’ve come to ask for a favour.”

  A frown drew down Cormag’s brows as he watched her, unfamiliar with the notion of not knowing what lived in another’s heart. All he could do was guess based on the way her eyes held his, pride shining in them, refusing to let her back down. “A favour?” he repeated, stalling for time as he tried to make sense of her sudden appearance in his study. “What kind of favour?”