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

by Bree Wolf

  Finally, back in her cottage, Moira sank onto one of the chairs around the small kitchen table. Her knees felt weak and her breath came fast as she remembered all that had happened that morning. Her fingers curled into Maeve’s cloak, hiding the torn dress beneath.

  As much as Moira would have expected the laird’s mother to lash out at her for seducing her son−After all, was she not the traitor? The witch? −she could not deny that the kindness in Maeve’s manner had not come as a surprise.

  Never had a bad word left Maeve’s lips, and Moira wondered why that was. Instead of lashing out at Moira, would she later speak to her son, make him see reason?

  Moira’s heart and mind were a mess, and as she sat there staring out the window, she did not know how to feel.

  I care for ye, Cormag had whispered, and yet, he had warned his mother not to breathe a word of their shared night. Was he truly afraid to ruin her reputation? Not that that was truly possible at this point. Or was he afraid that he would be honour-bound to marry her and thus ruin his own standing within his clan?

  For even if Cormag did truly care for her, how long would they survive with something as dark and threatening as her past looming over them?

  Not long was the sad and utterly devastating answer.

  Ian would make certain of that.

  Tears rolled down Moira’s cheeks when she realised that although she might have found love after all, it was too late to claim it. She could not be selfish again and ruin the lives of those she cared for simply because she wanted Cormag.

  She had done so with Connor, and it had led to disaster.

  Then, too, she had been convinced to be doing the right thing, that all would turn out well, that the ends justified the means.

  And she had been wrong.

  So, so very wrong.

  “I need to leave,” Moira whispered into the silence of her kitchen, which once again echoed the loneliness she had fought to escape ever since coming to Seann Dachaigh Tower three years ago. She had known it before, and she had tried to leave only the night before, but Cormag had stopped her.

  He truly cared for her, did he not?

  Moira’s heart smiled as more tears clouded her vision. “If only,” she whispered, knowing that these thoughts served no purpose. In truth, it did not matter whether he cared for her or not. All that mattered was that he allow her to leave.

  She needed a plan. She could not sneak away in the night. He would follow her, of that Moira was certain. He needed to allow her to leave. He needed to accept that it was for the best. But where could she go? Where would she be safe? To start over?

  Moira blinked when she saw Maggie walk past her window, the woman’s face taut and her eyes downcast, an echo of the deep ache in Moira’s heart. Was this a sign? She wondered, pushing to her feet and hurrying toward the door.

  “Maggie!” she called, flying out into the bright morning sun, her loud voice in stark contrast to the silence that lingered over the land. After the festivities of the night before, most of the MacDummond clan were still asleep, their limbs exhausted and their hearts and minds in need of rest.

  Flinching at the sound of Moira’s voice, Maggie turned, her quick hands brushing tears from her pale cheeks. “What are ye doing up so early?” she asked in a quiet voice when Moira reached her side. “Ye look…sad.”

  Moira swallowed. “As do ye.”

  Sighing, Maggie continued down the small path that led through the village. “Come, walk with me.”

  Moira fell into step beside her, and the two women walked on in silence until they reached the small stream. “Where are ye headed?”

  Maggie shrugged. “Nowhere. Away.” Gazing at the gently lapping water, she sank into the grass and wrapped her arms around her bent legs. Gone was the gleam that always rested in Maggie’s eyes. Gone was that enchanting smile that always lingered on her lips. Gone was the flittering fairy that had always seemed so magical, almost out of this world.

  “What happened?” Moira asked, seating herself beside the young woman.

  “Nothing.”

  Long ago, Moira had sensed Maggie’s sadness, a sadness she hid well, a sadness she kept locked away because it served no purpose. What good would it do her to break down? To mourn something that would forever remain lost to her? But to ignore the pain that lingered took strength, and sometimes there was simply none left.

  Who had been the man who had broken Maggie’s heart? Moira wondered, realising in that very moment that it was true; love did not always find a way. It did not overcome all obstacles. Sometimes love was not enough. Sometimes it failed.

  It was a harsh truth, but a truth, nonetheless.

  Maggie knew that, and Moira was coming to accept it as well. “Can I ask ye a favour?” she whispered into the soft silence that lingered over the gently rushing stream.

  Sighing, Maggie looked at her. Then she nodded.

  Moira gave her a small smile that spoke of deep gratitude for Maggie had been a true friend to her. It was more than Moira ever could have hoped for. “Ye were born in England, were ye not?”

  A slight frown came to Maggie’s face as she nodded her head yet again.

  “D’ye still have family there?”

  Maggie’s frown deepened. “Why−? Ye wish to leave,” she concluded, her blue eyes lingered as though trying to look deeper. “Why? Why now?”

  For a moment, Moira buried her face in her hands. “I canna stay here. I understand that now. If I leave, all will be well here. There’ll be no reason for…” She sighed as the thought sunk in.

  “Ye dunna wish to go.”

  Moira shrugged. “I dunna know.”

  “He willna let ye leave.”

  Moira’s gaze rose and met Maggie’s, her blue eyes clear and seeing. “He will if he knows that I’ll be well,” Moira finally said, willing it to be so. After all, what other way was there? “Once he knows that I’ll be safe. I’ll explain it to him, and he’ll see reason. He will understand it’ll be the right thing to do. He’ll see the wisdom in it. He always does.”

  Maggie snorted, “That doesna mean he’ll let ye leave. He might understand, but he won’t let ye go.” She sighed, and a wistful smile came to her lips as she looked at Moira with distant eyes. “He canna. Not ye.”

  “Why not?” Moira asked, knowing full well what answer she wished to hear. It was foolish to ask, and it would be torture to know and continue down the path as she had reasoned would be the right course of action. But foolish or not, Moira wished to hear it, nonetheless.

  “Because he loves ye,” Maggie whispered, and her blue eyes sparkled, suggesting that she knew equally well why Moira had asked and what her answer meant to the other. “Do ye love him as well?”

  Moira hung her head. “Do ye not know?”

  Maggie laughed, “I do, but he doesna, and he might care to know.”

  Clasping her hands together until her knuckles stood out white, Moira fought the urge to give in, to hear Maggie’s words and the promise that echoed within them. She knew she had to be strong. This was a matter of the mind after all. Was that not what Cormag had told her? That once out of control the heart would be almost impossible to rein in again. Was that not what he had feared? What he still feared?

  “I wish to go to England,” Moira whispered, her gaze focused on her clenched hands. “It’ll be far enough away, and perhaps one day I’ll be able to forget what I left behind.” She turned to look at her friend. “Can ye help me?”

  Maggie sighed, “If ‘tis truly what ye wish.”

  Moira nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  For a long while, the two women sat side by side, gazing out at the soft ripples of the water, each lost in their own thoughts. It was peaceful, but lonely as well, and Moira could not deny that she wondered how Maggie made it from one day to the next and had for the past years.

  A strong heart beat in the dainty woman’s chest, but how much longer could it shoulder the loss she had suffered.

  When t
he sound of children’s voices echoed closer, Maggie rose to her feet, brushed the tears off her cheeks and met her son and daughter with a smiling face. “How can ye be hungry, ye wee rascals? If I’m not at all mistaken, ye ate half the food coming out of the kitchen last night. Is that not true?”

  Both Niall and Blair laughed as the three of them headed back up the small path. Looking after them, Moira knew that she had made the right choice.

  She needed to leave.

  Rather today than tomorrow.

  29

  A Futile Confrontation

  “Enter!”

  The door opened, and Ian stepped across the threshold, his face grim and the look in his eyes one of utter betrayal. He walked with quick, measured steps, approaching Cormag’s desk without hesitation. Still, from the suspicion Cormag sensed within his friend. he knew that Ian was aware why Cormag had asked him here.

  “Tell me why,” Cormag demanded, his gaze hard as he looked at his friend, knowing that Ian responded to strength alone.

  “Why what?” Ian retorted; still, from the look of defiance in his eyes, Cormag could tell that his question had merely been asked to shift the balance of power. To point out that he had something Cormag wanted.

  Needed.

  As headstrong and impulsive as Ian could be, he was far from a fool.

  “What is yer grievance with Moira?”

  Ian scoffed. “Grievance?” he demanded as a dark red crept up his cheeks and his hands balled into fists, trembling with the rage that took him once more. “The woman is a witch. She−”

  “I’ve heard all I want on this subject.” Lifting his hand to stop his friend before he could once again work himself up into a frenzy, Cormag stepped around the desk, his gaze seeking Ian’s. “I know all yer reasons for hating her, for mistrusting her, for speaking out against her at every turn.” His jaw clenched. “For frightening her. For attacking her.” Cormag knew that his mask was slipping, that anger began to shine through. He saw it in the slight widening of Ian’s eyes, in the spark of surprise that flashed across his face.

  Still, Cormag remembered only too well the marks on Moira’s neck. He remembered the way she had stood upon the parapet wall, ready to fling herself to her death. He remembered the night she had run from the castle, fear in her eyes, and how she had later sought him out, her heart desperate for comfort and safety. He remembered countless other things, but they had no bearing in this matter.

  And Cormag knew that above all, he needed to keep a clear head.

  “How can ye deny that she’s bewitched ye?” Ian snarled. “How can ye−?”

  “I willna hear this again!” Cormag thundered in a way that closed Ian’s mouth instantly. “I’ve heard ye. Be assure of that. However, I’ve not heard all ye have to say for the true reason why ye hate her with such fervour remains to be seen.”

  Ian swallowed; however, the look of defiance remained. “The reasons I’ve given ought to be enough for ye to see that I’m right. There’s no need−”

  “Is it about Maggie?” Cormag asked, remembering what Moira had told him the night Garrett and his family had returned home.

  The wave of shock that engulfed Cormag as Ian’s face all but fell apart was answer enough. So, it was as Moira had said, as he himself had begun to suspect. Still, he did not know what on earth Moira could have done to sever whatever bond might have existed between Ian and his wife.

  If ever there had been one, for Cormag could not remember ever having felt love in Maggie’s chest. At least not toward her husband.

  Unfortunately, Cormag could not reveal his own conclusions to his friend. Or could he? Would it do any good if he confided in Ian and told him the truth? Or would it turn his friend against him for good?

  Ian’s lips thinned into a hard line, and Cormag knew that he would not reveal whatever had turned his heart against Moira.

  “Fine. Keep yer secrets,” Cormag told him, his eyes full of warning. “However, I insist that ye treat her with respect.” Ian’s lips turned into a snarl. “If ye dunna wish to speak to her, then dunna. However−”

  “How can ye demand this of me?” Ian asked, his face suddenly pale. “She went after my daughter. Blair almost−”

  “She didna,” Cormag thundered, exhaustion washing over him at the futile attempt to make his friend see reason. “’Twas an accident. And,” he lifted a finger, “if I recall correctly, ‘tis yer daughter who seeks out Moira. Not the other way around. So, if ye dunna want them speaking, talk to Blair.”

  Ian rolled his eyes, and Cormag almost laughed for as young as Blair was, the lass had a fierce spirit, and he was certain that she would only ever do what she deemed right.

  Never mind her father’s warnings.

  “Ye’ve changed,” Ian commented dryly, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I canna believe ye dunna see this.” Then he turned and left.

  Sighing, Cormag strode to the window, his eyes gliding over the familiar green hills, and he knew that Ian was right. He had changed. He could feel it every time he laid eyes on Moira. Every time he thought of her. Every time he heard her name spoken out loud.

  I care for ye, he had told her, baring his heart and soul, and it had felt right.

  Oddly enough, it had.

  Still, since that morning when his mother had stumbled upon them, Cormag had barely seen Moira. More so than before she kept to herself as though she feared to meet his gaze, and he had to admit that it hurt. Not only did his heart ache for her, ache to hold her again, to look into those endless blue eyes, but it also shuddered at the thought that he might have misunderstood after all.

  Moira had said that she trusted him, but she had never once said that she cared for him. Perhaps avoiding him was her way of letting him know that his feelings were one-sided.

  Perhaps, he truly ought to let her go.

  Hanging his head, Cormag rested his forehead against the cool windowpane and closed his eyes, fighting the pain that cut into him at the thought of never seeing Moira again. Still, was that not what one did for someone one cared about? To be selfless? To think about them more than about oneself?

  Perhaps, it was.

  But it would also cripple him in ways he had never thought possible.

  30

  The Essence of Life

  A knock on her door roused Moira from her thoughts.

  “Coming!” she called as she rose from the chair, her gaze sweeping over the list she had made, detailing all that needed to be done before her departure. Maggie had promised to write to her brother, asking him to find her a position within his household. Moira could only hope that she would not disappoint and that this would be a new beginning.

  Opening the door, Moira stilled, eyes wide as she found Maeve standing on her doorstep. “G-Good morning,” she stammered as her cheeks began to warm with the memory of the last time she had seen Maeve.

  “Good morning, dear,” Maeve greeted her, a knowing smile gracing the woman’s lips. “Would ye mind terribly if I came in?”

  Shaking off the daze that had claimed her, Moira stepped aside. “Of course not. Please do.” Still, a frown tugged on her brows as she realised Maeve had a very specific reason for seeking her out. If only Moira knew what it was.

  Seating herself in the chair across from the one Moira had vacated a few minutes before, Maeve glanced around the small kitchen before her eyes settled on the small sheet of paper on the table. “I see ye truly intend to leave.”

  Shocked, Moira snatched up the paper. “How do ye know?”

  Maeve chuckled, “’Tis my clan, my home. Nothing happens here without me finding out about it.” She sighed, and her dark green eyes swept over Moira’s face in a way that made her skin crawl. “Why?”

  Moira frowned, slowly sinking onto her chair. “Why what?”

  “Why do ye wish to leave?”

  Staring across the table, Moira watched the other woman with care. There was something deeply powerful and fearless in her gaze as though nothing ever surprise
d her, as though nothing ever dared to go against her plans. Maeve was a kind, generous and cheerful woman, but behind that smiling facade lived an iron will. Moira could see that now. “That is none of yer concern.”

  An amused smile came to Maeve’s lips, and she leant back in her chair, her eyes intent on Moira. “There’s no need to be defensive, dear. Believe me, I have no intention of conspiring against ye.”

  “Then why are ye here? Why do ye care whether or not I leave?” Crossing her arms, Moira wondered if Cormag’s mother would answer her honestly. Always had she wondered about Maeve’s kindness toward her when the rest of their clan had watched her with distrust.

  “Because of my son, of course,” Maeve replied without hesitation as though the answer should have been obvious. “He cares for ye, and it’ll break his heart if ye leave.”

  For a long moment, Moira simply stared at the woman across from her, her heart torn between joy and regret.

  “Come now, dear, dunna act as though ye dunna know,” Maeve chided. “I believe he has said as much to ye. Has he not?”

  Moira swallowed. “That is none of yer concern.” She made to rise, but Maeve reached out and grasped her wrist, urging her back down.

  “Ye’ve spoken to Maggie,” Maeve said, her green eyes softening as she spoke of the dainty, young woman. “Ye’ve seen what a broken heart can do to one.”

  Moira swallowed, and her eyes closed as the image of Maggie’s heartbreak drifted before her eyes. “Aye,” she whispered, feeling a cold chill travel up and down her arms, sending a shiver through her body.

  Maeve sighed, and her hand released Moira’s wrist as she sat back in her chair. “Ye’ll survive,” Maeve whispered, and her gaze grew distant with memories, “but the wound will never close. It’ll pain ye daily. Occasionally, ye will manage to ignore the pain, praying that the day will come that ye can forget.” She shook her head, and her eyes once more focused on Moira. “But that day doesna come. The pain always returns and stronger after a longer absence.”

  Watching a myriad of emotions dance over Maeve’s face, Moira wondered about Cormag’s father. A man she had never met. A man who had been a kind and strong father. A man who had been a beloved husband. “It doesna always have to be like th−”