Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
H ow things changed in a week. The keep was quiet, heavy with grief as Kate walked through the corridors, feeling the weight of sidelong glances following her path. Where once she’d begun to find acceptance, now she found closed doors and hushed conversations that stopped when she approached.
“Nae good can come of a lass arrived wi’ the storm and a dead man at her back,” an old woman muttered as Kate passed, not bothering to lower her voice. The words sliced through her like a blade, but she kept her head high and her face impassive.
Cameron had been buried, laid to rest beside his father in the small cemetery behind the chapel. The clan had gathered, somber and silent, as Connor spoke the words of farewell. Kate had stood apart, knowing her place was not among the family. Even then, she’d felt the distance growing between herself and Connor.
Now, as she made her way to the kitchen, she wondered if that distance would ever close again. After their passionate kiss in the cave, she’d thought they were moving toward something serious. A relationship. But since Cameron’s funeral, Connor had withdrawn completely. She’d tried to ask him if something was wrong, but he’d merely shaken his head, muttering that all was well even as he avoided her eyes. He no longer sought her out during the day, no longer asked her opinion on clan matters.
Had she been too forward? Had their kiss in the cave crossed some invisible boundary? Or was it something else entirely? Rumors had a way of spreading through the keep like wildfire, and she’d caught whispers suggesting her arrival had brought ill fortune to the clan. First the MacDonald assassin’s death at her hands, then Cameron’s passing so soon after his return, and Elspeth losing the baby. Some even muttered that she was a witch or a banshee, bringing death in her wake.
Kate swallowed hard against the knot in her throat. She’d finally begun to feel like she belonged here, but now she felt more alone than ever.
Moira was in the stillroom, grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle, her eyes distant. She hesitated in the doorway, then stepped inside.
“Can I help with anything?” she asked softly.
Moira looked up, her expression unreadable. “Nay, lass. I’ve no need of help just now.”
“I could prepare some broth for Elspeth,” Kate suggested, trying again. “I heard she’s still refusing to come out of her chamber.”
“Elspeth needs peace,” Moira said sharply, then sighed. “And no more ghosts. The poor lass has enough haunting her.”
Kate flinched at the word “ghosts.” Was that how they saw her now, a harbinger of death and misfortune? Thank the stars she hadn’t told Connor the truth, that she was a time traveler. Then everyone would be calling her a witch.
“How is Connor?” she asked, changing the subject.
The healer’s hands stilled. “He doesna eat. Doesna sleep. He carries the weight of his brother’s death like a millstone.” She looked directly at Kate for the first time. “He carries many burdens now.”
The unspoken accusation hung in the air between them. She nodded, understanding she’d been dismissed, and backed out of the kitchen. Her throat felt tight, and she swallowed hard against the threat of tears.
The day dragged on, each hour heavier than the last. Kate tried to make herself useful, mending torn clothing, helping Nessa with the linens, but everywhere she went, she felt unwelcome. By evening, she retreated to her small chamber, but the walls seemed to close in around her.
It seemed everywhere she went, Kenna’s eyes followed, sharp as flint. More than once Kate heard her voice in the corridors, low and urgent, whispering to the laundress or to Moira, always with glances that darted away when Kate appeared. At first, she brushed it off as more of the uneasy gossip that seemed to collect about her like mist at dawn. But it grew harder to ignore when she saw two of the younger girls crossing themselves as she passed, and one even spat on the floor behind her.
That evening, desperate for an escape, Kate retreated to her chamber. She paused with her hand on the door, hearing the sound of someone inside, then the unmistakable crackle of flames. She pushed the door open to find Kenna crouched before the hearth. The girl straightened, eyes wild in the firelight, as a cascade of unfamiliar fabric slipped through her fingers. Her sweatshirt, jeans, and bra, her last links to home. They smoldered on the coals, curling up in bits of black.
“What are you doing?” Kate cried, rushing forward. She reached out to grab them, but it was too late, the delicate material was destroyed.
Kenna glared at her, chin raised defiantly. “Ridding the keep of your cursed things,” she spat. “Witch’s rags. No decent soul wears cloth spun of shadows.”
Kate stared at the burning remnants of her life, words failing her. “Those are mine! They’re not dangerous?—”
Kenna cut her off with a hard, hollow laugh. “No, but you are.”
Without another word, the girl brushed past Kate and out into the corridor, the door banging shut behind her. She stared into the fire until the burn of smoke forced her back from the hearth. Only then did she let herself sink onto the bed, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees and burying her face in the coarse wool blanket. Tears threatened, but she held them back. She didn’t know what she’d done to earn Kenna’s hatred, but she felt it, raw and unyielding, trailing her everywhere she went.
Unable to bear the solitude any longer, she slipped out into the night. The moon was hidden behind clouds, the courtyard in shadow. A light rain had begun to fall, and Kate welcomed the cool drops on her heated skin.
She found herself drawn to the stables, where a single lantern still burned. Peering inside, she saw Connor standing beside his horse, one hand resting on the animal’s neck, his gaze fixed on something she couldn’t see.
“Connor?” she called softly.
He turned, and the emptiness in his eyes made her heart ache. This was not the man who had held her through the night after she’d killed the assassin. This was not the man who had kissed her in the cave with such tenderness. This was a hollow shell, full of grief, and distant.
“You should be inside,” he said, his voice flat.
“I couldn’t sleep.” She stepped closer, searching his face for any sign of the connection they’d once shared. “I thought maybe we could talk.”
“About what?”
“About Cameron. About what happened.” She hesitated. “About us.”
Connor’s jaw tightened. “There’s naught to say about Cameron that hasn’t been said. He’s gone.”
“I know you blame yourself?—”
“I said there’s naught to say,” he cut her off, his voice hard. “Not now. Not to you.”
She recoiled as if he’d struck her. “I’m only trying to help.”
“Help?” He gave a bitter laugh. “Aye, you’ve helped enough, have you not? My brother is dead. My sister nearly followed him. The clan looks to me for answers I dinna have.”
“None of that is your fault or mine,” Kate retorted. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”
“Couldn’t I?” He turned away, shoulders rigid. “I am laird. Everything that happens to this clan is my responsibility.”
She reached out, her fingers hesitating just above his arm. “Let me be here for you,” she whispered.
He flinched away before her fingers could make contact. “I canna talk right now, Kate. Not to you.”
The rejection stung worse than any physical blow. She withdrew her hand, curling her fingers into her palm. “I understand,” she said, though she didn’t. Not really.
So she left him there, alone with his grief and his guilt, and stepped back into the rain. It was falling harder now, soaking through her dress and plastering her hair to her skull. She didn’t care. The physical discomfort was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.
Kate wandered aimlessly, eventually finding herself at the kitchen door. The main hearth would still be warm, she thought. A place to dry off and gather herself before returning to her chamber and trying to sleep.
Over the past week, she’d been dreaming of home. Hot showers, pizza, cars, grocery delivery, and, of course, her parents and sister. Did they think she was dead? How awful it would be to lose someone and not know what had happened to them. Not to have closure. Did they bury an empty casket?
The kitchen was dim, lit only by the dying embers in the hearth. At first, Kate thought it was empty. Then she noticed a figure huddled on a stool near the fire, a cup clutched in trembling hands.
Kenna. The maid had always been cold toward Kate, avoiding her whenever possible, spreading rumors that had gotten to Connor. Now she looked up with red-rimmed eyes, her face tear-streaked and blotchy.
“Come to gloat, have ye?” Kenna’s words slurred, and Kate noticed the bottle on the floor beside her.
“I just came in to get warm,” she said cautiously.
Kenna laughed, a harsh, broken sound. “Warm? There’s no warmth here. Not anymore, witch.”
Kate should have left. Every instinct told her to turn around and walk away. Instead, she moved closer, drawn by something in Kenna’s voice, a raw pain that echoed her own.
“Are you all right?” She asked, knowing it was a foolish question even as the words left her mouth.
“All right?” Kenna took a long swallow from her cup. “You think you’re the only one haunted by death?”
She stilled. “What do you mean?”
“I saw you that night. On the battlements.” Kenna’s eyes were unfocused, voice low. “I saw what you did.”
“The assassin,” Kate whispered. “You saw me push him.”
Kenna nodded slowly. “Aye. I saw you murder him.”
Something in Kenna’s tone made Kate’s skin prickle. “He was going to kill one of Connor’s men. He had already killed someone else.”
“His name was Malcom,” Kenna said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “He wasn’t always an assassin. Once, he was just a man. A man who promised to take me away from here.”
Understanding dawned cold and terrible. “You knew him.”
“Knew him?” Kenna let out that broken laugh again. “I loved him. And he loved me. Or so he said.”
Kate felt sick. “You were helping him. Giving him information.”
“Nothing important,” Kenna said quickly. “Just... small things. When the guards changed. Which passages were least used. He said no one would be hurt. He just needed to get inside, to take something valuable. Enough to start a new life. For us.”
“But he killed someone,” Kate said, her voice hardening. “He was going to kill others.”
“And now he’s dead.” Kenna’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “And so am I, nearly.”
She rose unsteadily, swaying on her feet. “Do you know what it’s like? To be trapped between two worlds? Not to belong anywhere?”
The words hit too close to home. She did know, all too well.
“Kenna, I?—”
“They watch me,” Kenna continued, her voice rising. “All of them. They know something’s not right. They don’t trust me, that’s why I told them ye were to blame. A witch. I’m useless now. Useless to the clan. Useless to the MacDonalds.”
“The MacDonalds?” Kate’s blood ran cold. “You’ve been passing information to them?”
“What else could I do?” Kenna cried. “Malcolm was gone. I needed protection. I needed a way out.”
She lurched toward the door, bottle in hand. Kate followed, alarmed by the wild look in the woman’s eyes.
“Kenna, wait. We can talk about this. We can figure something out.”
But Kenna was already stumbling into the rain, her pace quickening as she headed toward the outer wall. Her heart pounded as she realized where Kenna was going.
The battlements.
“Kenna, stop!” Kate called, breaking into a run.
The rain was coming down in sheets now, driven by a rising wind that tore at their clothing and hair. By the time she reached the stone steps leading up to the battlements, Kenna was already halfway up, clinging to the wall for support.
“Leave me be!” Kenna shouted over her shoulder.
“Please,” Kate begged, taking the steps two at a time. “Whatever you’re thinking, this isn’t the answer.”
“Isn’t it?” Kenna reached the top and staggered to the edge. “What answer is there for me now? I betrayed my clan. I betrayed Malcolm. I’ve nothing left.”
She approached slowly, hands outstretched. “That’s not true. You can make amends. You can start over.” Where were the damn guards?
“Like you?” Kenna’s laugh was lost in a gust of wind. “The sassenach? The woman who belongs nowhere? You’re as lost as I am.”
“I’m trying to find my place,” Kate said, inching closer. “And you can too. Come away from the edge. Please.”
For a moment, it seemed the girl might listen. She turned slightly, her eyes meeting Kate’s through the curtain of rain.
“He would’ve left me too, you know,” she said softly. “Like they always do.”
Before she could react, Kenna stepped on top of the wall and then backward into the empty air.
“NO!” Kate threw herself forward, fingers grasping at air as Kenna disappeared over the edge.
The scream that tore from her throat was primal, a sound of pure anguish that rose above the howling wind. She collapsed at the edge of the battlements, staring down into the darkness where Kenna had fallen.
Time lost all meaning. She didn’t know how long she knelt there, rain and tears mingling on her face. Eventually, she became aware of voices, of torches moving in the darkness below. They had found Kenna’s body.
Kate couldn’t face them, couldn’t bear to see the accusation in their eyes. She fled, feet carrying her blindly through the keep until she found herself in the small chapel.
The stone floor was cold and hard as she sank down before the altar. Her clothes were sodden, her body shivering, but she barely noticed. All she could see was Kenna’s face in that final moment. All she could hear was her voice. You’re as lost as I am.
“I didn’t want anyone else to die,” Kate whispered to the empty chapel. “I never wanted anyone to die.”
But they had. The assassin. Cameron. And now Kenna. Deaths that seemed to follow in her wake like shadows.
Hours later, that was where Nessa found her, curled into herself on the chapel floor, soaked to the skin and trembling.
“Och, lass,” the housekeeper murmured, kneeling beside her. “What have ye done to yerself?”
Kate couldn’t answer. The words were frozen in her throat, trapped behind the knot of grief and guilt that threatened to choke her.
Nessa helped her to her feet, supporting her as they made their way back to Kate’s chamber. She helped her change into dry clothes, wrapped her in blankets, and built up the fire without asking any questions about the fabric remnants.
Before she left, Nessa paused at the door. “They found Kenna,” she said quietly. “The poor, misguided lass.”
She stared into the flames. “It was my fault,” she whispered.
“Nay.” Nessa’s voice was firm. “A guard heard her confess. He ran to fetch Himself, but was too late and that’s why there was no one on the battlements. The lass made her choice. As we all must do.”