Chapter 21 UNDER THE COVER OF DARKNESS
THE CASTLE STILL slept as Fiona padded her way down the spiral staircase. Across her front, she carried a bulging woolen bundle stuffed with her belongings. She’d arrived at Dounarwyse with little, and she would depart the same way.
The laird had bid her to wait for Lady Kylie’s decision at dawn, but she wouldn’t.
She already knew the answer.
She’d suffered enough humiliation tonight. No more.
Halfway down the stairs, she paused upon the landing, just feet away from her workshop. Nothing within that room belonged to her—least of all the tapestry she’d been weaving. She would leave it all.
And yet, there was a part of her that wanted to slip inside, to light a candle and view her work one last time. Her unfinished tapestry. God, the thought of leaving behind her weaving tore her to shreds. Her lovely new life at Dounarwyse was over.
But she needed to be gone, well before dawn. With the sunrise, word would start to spread within the castle. Soon, all would know her shame.
She couldn’t bear it.
Pride dictated that she flee now, under the cover of darkness.
She still felt numb. In shock. It was protecting her from the pain that loomed like a specter—the agony born of humiliation and disappointment.
No. She had to keep it all at bay until she was a safe distance from this place. Her survival now depended on it.
And so, she kept moving, creeping down the stairs to the entrance hall at the foot of them. She hauled the heavy oaken door open and slipped out.
Dawn was closer than she’d expected. The eastern sky was beginning to lighten.
The smoke had cleared now. However, an acrid, burnt tang still permeated the barmkin. And in the torchlight, the bakehouse and the kitchen were a mess. A lengthy repair job awaited.
Fiona couldn’t bring herself to care.
Crossing to the gates, she approached one of the men on guard there. She didn’t recognize him, which was good. Muscular, clad in leather, and with a helmet jammed upon his head, he viewed her suspiciously. “It’s early to be up and about,” he greeted her.
“The laird has bid me to leave … now,” she lied. “Please open the gates.”
“They remain shut until dawn,” he replied, stubbornness creeping into his voice. “Ye’ll have to wait.”
Panic fluttered up. She couldn’t wait.
She couldn’t stand here watching the castle wake and hearing the whispers start to circulate. She had to get out.
“Fiona,” a gruff voice hailed her then, and she turned to see Tay step from the shadows. The rat-catcher had just emerged from his cramped lodgings next to the guardhouse. Midge followed at his heels. He beckoned to her then. “Come here, lass.”
Heart thumping against her ribs, Fiona complied. And as she drew near and caught sight of his grizzled features, gilded by torchlight, her belly clenched.
Christ’s blood. He knows.
“I heard the exchange down here earlier,” he admitted gruffly, concern shadowing his gaze.
Her throat constricted, tears prickling behind her eyes.
The numbness was sloughing away. Hot, prickling humiliation was rising like a tide.
“So, ye understand why I’m leaving,” she whispered back. “Why I have to?”
He nodded. And suddenly, his face looked even older than before. Weary and sad. “How much coin do ye have on ye?” he asked.
“Enough,” she replied hoarsely. “I’ll make it last.”
Another lie. She didn’t have much at all. She’d sent most of her first pay back to her family. What remained would buy her bread and cheese for a few days, little more.
He unfastened a coin purse from his belt and handed it to her. “Here. It’s not a king’s ransom … mostly coppers … but it’ll help ye gain lodgings if yer family won’t have ye.”
Fiona’s throat started to ache, her vision swimming.
It was a kind gesture. Too kind. “I can’t take yer coin, Tay,” she said, even as her voice quavered. “It’s not right.”
“Och, lass. What do ye think I’ve to spend it on these days? Ale and dicing? I have no wife, no bairns. It would please me to know these pennies will help ye.” He hesitated, then thrust the purse out again. “Take it.”
And so she did.
A tear escaped, trickling, scalding, down her cheek.
Then, wordlessly, she stepped in and clasped the rat-catcher in a fierce, brief hug. For an instant, he stiffened under the embrace, shocked by the intimacy. Then he relaxed into it.
A moment later, he patted her shoulder. “Ye’ll be all right, Fiona,” he said, his voice lowering.
“I knew it from the moment we met. Life can be a rough sea to sail … but ye are a survivor. Ye will weather the storm and come back stronger from it. Believe that.” He drew back and raised his fist to his heart, pressing hard. “The strength ye need is here.”
She swallowed, valiantly trying to choke back more tears. “I hope ye’re right,” she whispered.
Tay turned to the nearest guard. “Open the gates for the lass,” he ordered, his tone sharp now.
“But the laird—”
“Will be vexed when he finds out ye disobeyed his orders.”
Grumbling, the warrior moved off. A moment later, the portcullis rumbled up, and the gates opened just enough to let her through.
Tay stepped back, raising a hand in farewell. Midge rushed forward, dancing around her ankles as if this were a morning for rejoicing, not grieving. Usually, she’d have stooped and made a fuss of the wee terrier. But she didn’t have the heart.
And so, without saying anything more, she turned and walked from Dounarwyse, descending the path outside the gates.
Each step felt leaden.
She didn’t look back. She couldn’t bear to. This castle was a reminder of nothing but her folly.
Tay told her she was strong, and she hoped he was right. She’d need strength now, if she was to pick up the pieces of her shattered life.
She’d been caught up in a breathless adventure with Ailean, yet, tonight, all the excitement had sputtered out like a doused candle. She’d known the risks she was taking—and that it would be worse for her than for him if they were ever discovered—but that hadn’t checked her.
It should have.
That awful scene in the barmkin. His painful silence. All of it had shaken her from the fantasy. The truth had slapped her across the face. He was a laird’s son. She was a common-born weaver. His reputation would recover from this scandal.
Hers wouldn’t.
At the foot of the causeway, she halted.
The road here went south to Craignure and her kin, and north to Ardnacross, a village on the border of MacKinnon lands.
She knew the former like the back of her hand.
She’d never visited the latter. In Craignure, everyone knew her.
Everyone would learn of her shame. And that wasn’t the worst of it.
If she went home, her mother would crow.
Her sisters would sneer. Her father would look at her with exasperation and disgust.
She couldn’t bear it.
She’d told Ailean she’d never return to her kin. And she had meant it.
Her gut hardened. Her shoulders straightened. She didn’t know Ardnacross, but better still, no one there knew her either. That made it the perfect place to begin again.
Would they need a weaver? Would there be enough work? Who knew?
But she had to keep moving.
Thanks to Tay, she hopefully had enough coin to pay for lodgings for a day or two. She wouldn’t be sleeping rough. Or forced to take desperate measures to survive. Not yet, anyway.
Drawing her woolen shawl tight around her shoulders, she turned north and began to walk.
“Ye missed her. She left well before dawn.”
Ailean stared at the guard. After leaving his father’s solar, he’d gone straight to Fiona’s bower—only to find it empty.
He’d then gone to her workshop, but she wasn’t there either.
Afterward, he’d visited the hall and looked for her there.
And his search had finally brought him to the gates. “She’s gone?”
“Aye.” The guard, Aengus, gave him an irritated look. “That’s what I said.”
“Where did she go?”
Aengus shrugged. “Who knows? Home, I suppose. Where’s she from?”
“Craignure.”
“Aye, well … that’s where she’ll be headed.”
Ailean swallowed a curse and turned away. Satan’s cods. He couldn’t let Fiona leave. Not like this. Their affair had been discovered, but that didn’t mean she’d be cast out.
She wasn’t supposed to leave. Hadn’t his father made it clear that Kylie would speak to her in the morning? His stepmother was a gentle soul. Aye, she was disappointed that Fiona had gotten involved with him, but she’d forgive her. She wasn’t the kind to cast a servant out without good reason.
But Fiona—the proud, stubborn lass—hadn’t waited to talk to Kylie.
Instead, she fled.
He’d pack a few things, saddle Sgòth, and be on his way too.
However, instead of riding north to Ardnacross, he’d follow Fiona south to Craignure.
He remembered then that she told him of her unhappy home life.
She wouldn’t want to return to Craignure and her kin, but in the face of her humiliation, she had little choice.
And he had to go after her.
He’d messed up and needed to tell her he was sorry. An apology wouldn’t make things right. However, it would be a start. He couldn’t let Fiona walk out of his life without making sure she was going to be all right.
The hurt he’d seen in her eyes earlier before she fled haunted him.
Do ye think ye can explain yer cowardice away? His conscience heckled him. Are there any words that will put this right?
It was true. Fiona would see him as a knave, as she was right to.
He’d truly shat in his porridge—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t go after her.
Kylie would surely welcome her back. And this time, he wouldn’t be around to mess things up for her.
He swiveled on his heel then, intending to stalk back into the tower house. However, his gaze alighted upon a familiar face.
A warrior, with a scar splitting an eyebrow, stood a few yards away, watching him coldly.
Ailean stilled, even as heat ignited in his gut.
Rowan. The shiteweasel.
The man he’d considered a friend until a few hours earlier didn’t look away. If anything, his chin lifted in silent defiance.
“Looks like yer behavior finally caught up with ye,” Rowan drawled. “Someone had to tell the laird. Ye always take what ye want. Always get the girl. Ye don’t deserve her.”
For a heartbeat, Ailean just stared at him.
Then he moved.
Grabbing Rowan by the collar, he drove him back into the wall. His spine thudded against stone. The warrior’s breath burst from him in a startled grunt, eyes flaring wide.
“Thanks to ye,” Ailean growled, “Fiona’s gone.” Rowan’s lip curled, his chest swelling as he readied himself to reply. However, Ailean cut him off. “And I’ve been disinherited. Cast out. All because of yer bruised pride.”
Rowan blinked. The color drained from his face. “What—?”
Ailean leaned closer. “Proud of yerself?”
Silence pulsed between them. Rowan’s mouth opened, then closed again. The smug certainty was gone, replaced by shock and something else. Guilt.
Disgust curdled in Ailean’s gut. He released him with a sharp shove.
Rowan sagged against the stone, shaken. “Ailean,” he rasped. “I—”
“Save it.” Ailean turned—and saw Carrie in the shadows, hands clenched in her apron, staring at Rowan as if he’d just sprouted horns and a forked tail.
For a while now, the lass had pined for the warrior, had waited for him to notice her. But now, in the murky dawn light, she saw who he really was.
Ailean walked away without another word.
He stalked back into the tower house and was just crossing the entrance hall when Lyle appeared on the stairs above.
“Kylie and Da are arguing,” he greeted him gruffly.
“Let them.” Ailean started mounting the stairs and went to push past his brother.
However, Lyle put a hand out, stopping him. “They’re quarreling about Fiona. Kylie just went to check on her and found her bower empty.”
“That’s because she’s left Dounarwyse,” he replied. “And I’m going after her.”
He moved to pass again, but Lyle’s hand held firm. “I had nothing to do with Da’s decision. Ye do know that?”
“Of course, I do,” Ailean snapped. “Now get out of my way.”
Hurt flared in Lyle’s eyes.
Ailean stilled as self-reproach struck him like a quarrel in the chest. Instead of continuing up the stairs, he reached out and put a hand on Lyle’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Ye didn’t deserve that. I brought this on myself.”
Lyle swallowed, releasing his arm and stepping back. “Aye, ye did … but Da’s reaction was too harsh.”
“Aye … he’s a proud bastard. As am I.”
Ailean mounted the stairs to the first-floor landing. Lyle followed in silence.
Ahead, angry voices spilled through the open doorway.
“Ye humiliated the lass.” Kylie’s voice was high and sharp, stripped of its usual calm. “No wonder she ran off!”
“Don’t make excuses for her,” Rae shot back. “Fiona knew what she was doing.”
“But it wasn’t her fault! Ye know what Ailean is like with the lasses. Yer son is relentless.”
Ailean stiffened. Heat crept up his neck. Shame lodged under his ribs, heavy and inescapable. His stepmother’s words struck true, and the truth hurt worse than his father’s anger ever could.
He should keep walking. Pack. Leave.
Instead, he stepped through the doorway.
Kylie stood before the hearth, hands braced on her hips, face flushed. Rae loomed opposite her, anger and regret warring behind his eyes.
Ailean cleared his throat.
Both turned. Rae’s gaze hardened at once. Lyle hovered behind Ailean, forgotten.
“I’m going after Fiona,” Ailean said.
“Good!” Kylie breathed, relief breaking across her face. “Bring her back.”
Rae dragged a hand through his hair and muttered a curse. “Aye. Ye’d better … before Kylie has my balls.” His stare drilled into Ailean. “And then ye ride straight for Ardnacross.”
“Understood.” The word tasted like iron, and without saying anything more, he turned and left the solar.