Chapter Fifteen #3
And as I was leaving the room, Kade entered it. I almost bumped into him but caught myself, skirting him, saying nothing. If he registered my sorrow, he did not address it; he nodded a curt greeting, preoccupied with his own agenda, and I left him to it.
Not far behind Kade, Laird Morrison followed, flanked on either side by two of his daughters: none other than Maisie and Stella.
Both women had red-rimmed eyes and clearly looked upset about whatever discussion had prompted their appearance here at the doorway of Laird Mackenzie’s private den.
Laird Morrison barely noticed me, so intent was he to meet with his ally about the sticky matter of securing a husband for one of his daughters.
The topic was one that had been fraught, even I knew, with many thwarted plans and false hopes.
And Laird Morrison’s face reflected each and every one of those disappointments.
The deal would be made, here and now. Determination brought a rise of color to Laird Morrison’s features as he ushered his daughters along with him.
“Enough is enough,” he was murmuring angrily.
“There will be no more plotting, scheming nor negotiating. This alliance will be sealed once and for all.”
I tried to sneak past them through the shadows without being noticed, but Maisie’s eyes caught mine and held.
Her dark eyes gleamed with disappointment, and, as soon as she saw me, fury.
I guessed that she had heard the news: Wilkie would not marry her, after all her attempts to lure him and to persuade her father that she should be next in line.
Her expression was shattered enough to recognized that she was aware that Stella, instead, was destined to secure the new laird.
After all, it was Stella’s birthright, as second oldest, if Clementine had opted to live out her days in a convent.
And if Maisie wasn’t alluring enough to capture Wilkie Mackenzie, then Stella would be offered in her place; Stella, with her unmatched splendor, would succeed where Maisie had failed.
Maisie’s stare promised death as I hastily brushed past her.
Hatred and a burning jealousy. I could read the blame in her eyes.
It was I who had upset her careful plans.
She’d been so close to claiming Wilkie as her own, but I, some outcast servant, some unknown whore, had stolen him and undermined his resolve.
He’d indulged her and agreed to consider her as his wife—until I came along.
Because of me, his lingering doubts had alerted the lairds to the precariousness of the important alliance.
“You’ll never have him again,” she seethed, so low I could scarcely hear her words. “Never. I’ll make sure of it, even if he’s not mine.” Her words deepened my agony. If she was to suffer, then so would I.
I was reminded of the story Wilkie had told me, of the king’s vengeful wife and her quest to see her husband’s mistress and child killed.
Maisie would have similar resources. I envisioned my own end as Wilkie’s offcast lover, hiding my illegitimate baby from Maisie’s henchmen, once again hunted.
It was no way to raise a child, and I hoped with that part of my heart that Wilkie had not already planted his baby inside me.
And then I saw Stella’s face, painted by the light of a quivering flame, heartbreakingly beautiful. Instead of anger, I could see fear and sadness. Pining, perhaps, for her stable boy, if Christie’s information was correct.
All the relevant parties were in attendance, to discuss the family matter at hand and to lay all questions to rest.
There was no place for me here. I was an outsider, once again.
I took my leave of them, traversing along the narrow dim hallway, blindly.
The heartache! It fairly stunned me. My body felt leaden and stiff. My heart suffered its lazy beat fretfully as though it was truly broken.
I took little notice of my surroundings, feeling strangely numb and senseless.
I reached Wilkie’s chambers and closed the door behind me.
I removed my dress and laid it carefully on the bed, allowing myself one last touch of its fine fabric.
I retrieved my old trews and tunic from the antechamber, and my weapons, which I had placed in a folded pile on a small forlorn chair, where they had sat for some time now, unnoticed.
I had thought once or twice of throwing them away, thinking hopefully that I no longer had need of bulky men’s clothing to hide behind, or of weapons, to protect myself.
Then, I’d been reborn, reveling in the feeling of being wanted instead of hunted.
But it was not meant to be. I could not fight against the laird’s orders.
And I didn’t want to. Wilkie was duty-bound but also entitled and driven.
I didn’t want to undermine his purpose. Helping his family and clan prosper, and avenging the death of his father: these were certainly far more honorable pursuits than keeping a whispered promise to a lost and lonely servant, whose secrets, once revealed, would no doubt bring a decisive end to a brief love affair.
He would build a life with Stella and find happiness with her eventually, when she bore him a son, perhaps, or even sooner.
She would be a good match for him. She was as beautiful as he was and would bear him handsome children.
She would charm him with the loveliness of her face, her multihued hair, her amber eyes.
He would forget me and live his life as it was intended: as a laird, a leader, husband to a noblewoman.
His happiness would be encouraged by the knowledge that he was living his destiny as it was meant to be, and that he was doing the right thing for his family and his clan.
I hoped he would recognize that and make peace with it.
My own destiny was equally clear.
I took one last look around the room, remembering the details of my many days and nights spent within its protective walls: the most beautiful and defining days and nights of my life. And they would remain as such.
Taking care to remain as inconspicuous as I could, I made my way back down the stairs, through hallways, finding a side door to the manor that I knew about from my days spent with Ailie and Christie.
I would miss getting to know them, rejoicing in their blossoming friendship and marveling at the prospect of one day counting them as sisters of my own.
Silently, I closed the door behind me.
I was out-of-doors. Always before I had reveled in the first rush of fresh air, the coolness and the freedom. No longer. This air felt cold rather than cool, and alarming in its frank abandon. This air would not provide me with freedom, but with exile.
I allowed myself a small detour as I walked toward the gates of the keep.
I approached a small pear tree, which stood somewhat separated from the others.
Much of its fruit had been harvested, but there were still a number of scattered pears to choose from.
I picked two. I wouldn’t need food where I was going.
I continued to walk. And I almost couldn’t bring myself to eat them.
The taste of them brought tears to my eyes.
Too delicious and bittersweet: the taste of all I was not and all I would never be.
I ate all of them, as a small reward and also a punishment, even swallowing the seeds, in a perverse tribute.
And by the time I had finished, I’d reached the gates, which were closed and guarded.
My tears might have made my request more authentic. “Laird Mackenzie has ordered me gone this night. Please allow me to pass.”
The guards looked at me skeptically, and I could read their thoughts. Wasn’t this the lass they’d been ordered to protect? The one who’d been nearly abducted, and was the very reason the walls had been fortified and doubly manned?
“I am no longer under the laird’s protection,” I continued. “Trust me when I say he would like nothing better than to see me outside these walls, and as soon as possible.”
They surveyed my outfit and my weapons. Then the head guard barked, “Open the gates.”
And there I was, back outside the Mackenzie keep, alone under a star-studded sky. The clanging clash of the gates as they shut me out echoed in my ears even after the sound had long ceased.
I headed back to my cave.