by Bree Wolf
Footsteps echoed closer, and a moment later, not only Maggie, but also Finn and Emma burst into the room. Maggie’s gaze swept over them and she quickly took in the situation before turning to her husband. “Ian, please come back to the festivities. Yer uncle will miss ye.” Then she reached for his hand.
Ian, however, stepped back and out of reach, his eyes hard as he looked at her as though she were a stranger. “I do what I must in order to protect ye, all of ye. Why can ye not see that? Why do ye believe her word over mine?”
12
An Abyss Awaits
Moira could see the loneliness in Ian’s eyes and remembered what Maggie had told her not long ago as they had sat out in the meadow under the small grove. Though she still feared him, feared what he might do if provoked, Moira understood him now.
Ian had married a woman who did not love him, who could not love him, and because he had wanted her, had wanted the idea of a future with her, he had refused to see that marrying her would be a mistake. And now, he was trapped in a life he had foolishly chosen, and he needed someone to blame.
Moira knew that feeling. She knew what it felt like when anger surged in her blood, seeking to chase away the loneliness that lingered. She knew how easy it was to give in, to simply forget one’s own fault and blame another.
It eased the pain.
But it was wrong.
“Her word?” Finn asked, and his gaze moved from Ian to Moira and back again. “What do ye mean? What’s this about?”
Ian snorted, and his eyes settled on Moira, a challenge in them. “Tell them! Tell them yer lies!”
Feeling her heart thudding wildly against her ribcage, Moira glanced at Cormag. His face was calm and his eyes gentle as they rested on her. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, granting her permission to speak if she should wish to do so. And then, just as she was about to answer, Cormag moved and came to stand by her side.
Warmth flooded her at this simple gesture of comfort, and the loneliness receded if only a little. He did not even know what she had come to ask, not the details, and yet, here he stood in support of her.
Blinking back tears, Moira smiled up at him, grateful beyond words. Then she turned to face the rest of the room, fighting to stay in control as she prepared herself to reveal her gift in a way she had never done before. “Last night,” she began, feeling all eyes on her, “I saw glimpses of Garrett.”
While Ian snorted yet again, Finn’s and Emma’s eyes widened in confusion. Only Maggie seemed unsurprised.
“He’s found his wife…and soon they’ll be heading north−”
“He did?” Finn exclaimed as he turned to Emma, reaching for her hand.
“This is nonsense!” Ian snarled, crossing his arms over his chest as he began to pace, angry strides carrying him up and down the room.
Moira nodded, seeing contemplative faces looking back at her. “But there’s danger ahead. If he doesna receive help, he will lose her again.”
“How?” Cormag asked, his gaze searching hers as he looked down at her.
Moira shrugged. “I dunna know, but−”
“Ha!” Ian exclaimed. “Now, ye suddenly dunna know? How convenient!”
“Let her speak, Ian,” Finn interfered before he turned to Moira. “If ye dunna know what that danger is, how do ye suppose we help him?”
“Ye canna truly say ye believe her?” Ian gaped at Finn, shock marking his features. “Has she bewitched ye as well?”
Emma’s lips twitched. “Nay, that would be me.”
Grinning, Finn squeezed her hand and she leant into him. “Aye, never was a truer word spoken.” Then his features sobered, and he gave Ian a warning glance before turning to Moira once more. “What do ye know?”
“I know,” Moira began, “that he’ll be needing a ship.”
“A ship?” Finn gawked. “What for?”
“To sail the seas, I suppose,” Maggie said with a grin. “What else would ye be needing a ship for?”
Finn rolled his eyes at her good-naturedly. “When?” he asked Moira, surprising her yet again. Never would she have thought that he would accept her word so effortlessly.
“A fortnight at most.”
“But we don’t have a ship,” Emma threw in, her gaze sweeping around the room as though hoping someone would object and pull a ship out of their pocket.
Finn nodded. “But Clan McKinnear does. They have several.” He turned to look at Cormag. “We need to send word.”
Moira felt her heart leap into her throat as she stared at Finn. Never would she have expected this. As she looked from one face to the next, she found no suspicion there, no doubt, merely surprise, and Moira wondered how this was possible.
“Ye canna seriously think to include Clan McKinnear in this?” Ian snapped. “They’ve been our allies for generations. They’re our friends. Our kin. How dare ye endanger them?” His stare drilled into Moira as he approached, anger balling his hands into fists. “Have ye not done enough? Do ye seek to destroy one clan after another?”
Forcing herself not to retreat, Moira met his eyes. “I understand why ye would be suspicious of me, and I dunna blame ye. All I can say is that I speak the truth.” She glanced at Cormag, who had moved closer upon Ian’s approach. “The decision is yers.”
Cormag nodded in acknowledgement. “’Tis not an easy decision for we know verra little,” he said, and for a reason Moira could not name, she knew that he was merely trying to be diplomatic and not doubting her word.
“That is precisely why we should do nothing!” Ian insisted. “We have no facts. All we have are her claims.” Again, he glared at her as though he wished the earth would simply swallow her whole so he could be done with her.
“We can’t do that,” Finn objected, and his hand tightened on Emma’s. “If there is a chance that Garrett will lose the woman he loves again, then we must act!” He looked at his wife. “He would do the same for us.”
Emma nodded.
As did Maggie.
Moira looked at Cormag. His jaw held tension, and she would not be surprised if the hands he held linked behind his back were clenched into fists. Indeed, this was not an easy decision to make. After all, they could not be certain, not the way she was.
“I canna believe ye all,” Ian all but whispered, shock paling his features as he looked at his wife, his friends, the people he called family. Moira knew that he felt betrayed, and she knew that he would blame her for it.
As though he had read her thoughts, he turned his gaze to her, measured steps carrying him closer.
Moira cringed and fought the urge to avert her eyes. Although Cormag moved half in front of her, protecting her from any physical harm Ian might feel compelled to inflict, he could not shield her from the hatred that burnt in Ian’s eyes.
“Ye dunna belong here,” he snarled. “Ye’re not one of us, and ye never will be. Ye dunna deserve to be.”
“Ian!” Cormag warned.
“It might take time,” Ian continued undeterred, “but one day people will see ye for the monster ye are. I will ensure that they do, believe me. I willna rest until ye’re exposed for the liar and traitor ye are.”
“Leave!” Cormag growled, stepping in front of his friend, his large body a towering wall between Moira and the man who hated her with every fibre of his being. “Now!”
With a last growl, Ian stalked from the room, his angry footsteps echoing down the corridor.
“I shall think on it,” Cormag told the rest of them. “Thank ye for yer counsel.”
One by one, Maggie, Emma and Finn left to return to the festivities, their whispered voices slowly receding as their feet carried them away. Moira could only hope her aunt’s wedding would not be overshadowed by the emotions that had run high in this room.
“Are ye all right?”
Blinking, Moira looked up and found Cormag standing in front of her. His grey eyes swept over her face, and his brows crinkled in concern. “I’m fine,” Moira whispered, feeling the corner
s of her lips rise in imitation of a smile. “I should…I should be going.” A lump settled in her throat, cutting off anything else she might wish to say, and a familiar cold began to crawl up her spine.
Moira had felt it before.
Now and then.
As Cormag took a step toward her, his hand rising to reach for her, Moira shrank back, afraid to break down in front of him. She could feel her resolve weaken, feel the cold spread through her body, bringing with it the same hopelessness and fear that had overwhelmed her before.
Turning on her heel, she hastened from the room.
The moment she stepped across the threshold, tears began streaming down her face as Ian’s words echoed in her head. Ye dunna belong here. Ye’re not one of us, and ye never will be. Ye dunna deserve to be.
Ever since she had been banished from her own clan, Moira had felt alone, and she knew that she deserved to be. Ian’s words, spoken out loud, had cut deep especially after the warmth of acceptance she had felt from the others if only for a moment.
A rare moment.
A moment she had hoped for but never dared believe in.
And then Ian had spoken up, destroying that little spark of hope, crushing it and pushing her over the edge into an abyss she had known before.
Most days, Moira managed to persevere. Despite her loneliness and her guilt, she knew not to dwell on what she had lost, on what would never be again, but to concentrate on the simple tasks of her daily life and be grateful for the small blessings she had received.
Most days, Moira was in control.
Most days, she knew how to keep the cold at bay.
Today was not one of those days.
Today, desperation pulled at her.
As Moira rushed down the corridor, her feet all but stumbling as she tried to see through the curtain of tears clouding her eyes, her heart beat wildly, painfully in her chest. It felt as though it might stop at any moment. A threat that lingered. A threat that all might be over soon. A threat, and yet, it was also a promise.
Of peace.
Of the end of her struggles.
Of the absence of loneliness.
A large staircase loomed before her, and Moira rushed toward it as she had before, her feet carrying her higher and higher as she hastened toward the spot that had seen her break down before.
Her limbs began to ache with the strain of carrying her upward, step by step, the hard-stone wall scraping against her skin as she tried to keep her balance with one hand out to the side. Her breath came fast and ragged, and her chest began to hurt−if from exertion or despair she could not say.
And then she burst through the door and out into the warm summer air, the bright sunlight momentarily blinding her. She stumbled onward until her body slammed into the outer wall and her ribs ached from the impact.
Still panting, Moira clung to the rough stone, her gaze reaching over the wall and downward until it came to rest on the courtyard far below.
Up on one of Seann Dachaigh’s tall towers, Moira knew that she had once more found a fork in the road. Thrice already she had found her way up here, a choice placed at her feet: to go on or to end it here and now.
A voice deep inside whispered that she was a coward, seeking the easy way out. Still, Moira wondered how much pain one could bear before losing any resemblance of the person one had once been. It was not the guilt or the shame that had brought her here, not now and not before. No, it was the loneliness, the distance to those around her, the cold that settled on her bones even in the height of summer.
If only there were one person−only one! −who still cared, who would take her hand and walk with her. One person to confide in. One person to whom she could turn. One person to embrace, to hold, to…love.
Moira thought of Alastair and knew that if he had not turned from her, she would have had the strength to stand against the despair that grew in her heart. Still, that thought alone−accusing in its nature−brought guilt to her heart as she knew she had no right to fault him.
No, it had been her doing.
Hers alone.
And loneliness was her punishment, fitting somehow, tormenting in a way nothing else ever had been.
So, why continue?
It was the one question Moira found harder to answer with each time her feet carried her up here, and one day, she was certain she would not find it anymore.
Was this day today?
13
A Price to be Paid
Pacing the length of his study, Cormag knew he ought to re-join the festivities. Still, his thoughts lingered with Moira, contemplating all she had said, all she had asked him to do, knowing he needed to decide.
Deep down, he knew he believed her. He thought of Garrett and the joy his friend had felt upon returning from Gretna Green. He had been in love, and the way he had spoken of his new wife had resonated within Cormag.
That had been Moira’s doing.
She had sent Garrett down a path that had led to his happiness.
Was that not reason enough to do as she asked once again?
For Cormag, it was. Still, he was not acting alone. He was the laird; he needed to do what was best for his clan. He knew he could not act without reason. He knew his clan would need an explanation or whispers would begin anew. Eventually, whispers would lead to doubt, and doubt was poison.
If his clans people doubted him, his competence, his dedication, then the stability and safety of their clan was threatened.
Cormag knew if he granted Moira’s request, Ian would not remain quiet. He would make his displeasure known, and who knew what would come of that.
Still, if Cormag did not, what would happen to Garrett? Would he lose his wife for good?
Resting his head against the cool windowpane, Cormag blew out a long breath. Perhaps he ought to speak to Moira again. Perhaps there was more she could tell him. Perhaps there was another way.
A compromise: something to help Garrett and pacify Ian at the same time.
Cormag chuckled, knowing well enough that life did not usually work like that. No, he would have to decide, and he would have to pay its price.
Returning to his desk, Cormag sat down and leant back in his upholstered armchair, momentarily closing his eyes. He needed clarity, and so he concentrated on evening his breathing, on shutting out the dim sounds of the festivities drifting over from the great hall.
Slowly, his pulse calmed. The slight throbbing in his temple receded. He breathed in and out, feeling himself relax. His hands unclenched and rested calmly on the tabletop as a sense of peace came over him.
And then a jolt of something dark and threatening surged through his heart and his eyes flew open. “Moira!”
Cormag did not know how he knew, but he was certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that something was wrong. That she was in danger. That there was no time to lose.
All but lunging from his chair, Cormag rushed out into the corridor and hastened toward the sound of laughter and joy, his mind churning with what to do. Had Ian found her once again? Was he the threat Cormag had sensed?
A frown came to his face, and he wondered that he had felt anything at all. Usually, he could not feel her. Usually, he did not know what lived in her heart. What had changed? Why was it that he had felt her if only for a split second?
Stepping into the great hall, Cormag paused, willing himself to think. He needed to stay calm and act with thought, like his father had taught him. So, he allowed his gaze to sweep over the crowd, their faces laughing; their feet dancing to the cheerful tunes echoing through the vaulted room. He looked from face to face, along the walls and dipped into corners as he knew that Moira liked to keep to the sides.
Still, he could not find her among them.
Unlike Ian.
His childhood friend stood in the far back, Finn by his side, their faces taut as words flew back and forth from their mouths.
Cormag breathed a sigh of relief, and yet, the questions remained: where was Moira and what had brou
ght such terror to her heart?
Not knowing what to do, Cormag stepped outside into the gentle evening air. The sun was slowly dipping lower, its warm golden rays casting a beautiful light over the green hills. Still, Cormag’s heart was in an uproar, and his eyes swept over his surroundings with an almost desperate need.
And then, he felt it again, a mild echo of what had surged through his chest before, and his head jerked upward.
Why he did so, he did not know. All he knew was that the moment his eyes came to rest on the eastern tower of Seann Dachaigh, blind panic filled his heart.
Up there, on the parapet wall stood Moira, her arms stretched wide as the wind tore at her dark green skirts and pulled on her golden tresses as though it wished to tumble her into an early grave.
Moments later, Cormag found himself rushing up the spiral staircase, taking two steps at a time in his haste to reach her before…
He did not remember rushing to the side entrance, avoiding the large crowd that would have hindered his progress. He did not remember making a conscious decision. All he knew was that he needed to reach Moira before she would be lost to him for good.
His heart beat painfully against his ribcage as he pushed himself to go faster, his breath panting in his own ears. Upward, he surged, and a slight dizziness engulfed him at the spiralling movement. But he continued, doubling his efforts when he spied the wooden door at the top of the stairs.
In the last moment before he would have burst through it, Cormag cautioned himself, pulling short and stilling his feet, his breath, his heart lest he rush forward, startle her and…
Gritting his teeth, Cormag reached out a hand and forced himself to open the door slowly. He stepped out into the waning light and carefully turned toward the outer edge, knowing exactly the sight that awaited him. Still, the moment his eyes fell on her, balancing precariously on the parapet wall, his heart slammed to a painful halt.
For a second, he froze, unable to move, his eyes only seeing the way she swayed in the wind, her soft tresses dancing on the breeze like a leaf carried higher and higher into the sky. But then a gust caught hold of her skirts, and she tipped forward, her arms paddling frantically to force herself back.