Chapter Twelve Murieall
Why had I not done as planned?
The question bounced around my mind and unleashed the guilt of the past I strove to keep buried. A memory rose unbidden—ice cracking, a scream, my hands reaching but finding only empty air. Suddenly, I was on the frozen loch by my home, watching as the dark waters claimed my sister.
“Why are ye crying?”
Bess’s voice penetrated my memory and made me blink. Was I crying? I reached up and sucked in a breath at the tears on my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“Ye saved Bess,” Guinn said, confusion clear in her voice. “Why are ye sorry?”
How could I explain? I couldn’t tell them that seeing Bess fall, hearing her scream, having Munro angrily point out how my not sticking to the plan had caused Bess almost to get terribly hurt, had all torn open a wound I’d spent years trying to close.
The sound of ice cracking filled my ears again, as real and terrifying as it was that day.
“Lisette!” My sister’s name tore from my throat, a cry of anguish that startled the birds from nearby trees. “Lisette, nae!”
It was that day all over again. I was there watching the ice give way beneath her feet, the surprise and fear on her face as she fell into the water.
My screams echoed across the frozen loch as I lunged forward to try to save her.
The wool of her cloak brushed my fingertips just before she disappeared.
Terror gripped me, and for one breath, I couldn’t move.
Was that the breath that had cost my sister her life?
I’d tried to warn her once I’d realized the ice was too thin.
I’d told her to stay back, but she’d ignored me.
Pain ripped through me, and I doubled over, trying to push the memories away, but the past wouldn’t be quieted this day.
I saw myself belly-crawling across the groaning ice.
My fingers curled with the remembered cold, and my heart pounded against my ribs.
I moaned at the flash of myself plunging my arms into the jagged hole, searching, searching.
The water numbed my skin instantly, but still I clawed at the darkness, feeling nothing but the cruel bite of winter.
“Lisette!” I screamed again, my voice raw. “Lisette, please!”
A hand on my cheek dragged me back firmly to the present. Bess stood before me, eyes wide with concern. “Murieall,” she said, her voice steady in a way that reminded me she was older than her years, “ye’re scaring me.”
I realized I was still clutching her, and my fingers were digging into her small shoulders.
I released her immediately, scrambling to my feet and away, my breath coming in gasping sobs.
I looked between Bess and Guinn, and then finally to Munro.
He stared at me with parted lips and wide eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out. Shame washed over me in sickening waves.
“I should nae be caring for the lasses. I should nae be trusted with them. I killed my own sister!”
“Ye did nae kill anyone,” Guinn said with a conviction that pierced my grief. “I do nae believe it.”
“Ye’re good,” Bess said, stepping toward me despite my retreat. “Ye make us feel safe.”
“Aye,” Guinn agreed, moving closer as well. “More than anyone since Mama.”
I knew they were trying to comfort me, but their words made it worse.
They were innocent. They didn’t understand.
They couldn’t see that I was broken, dangerous, and cursed.
Just as I led Lisette to her death through my carelessness, I would bring harm to these sweet lasses if I remained in their lives.
“Nay,” I gasped. “Ye do nae understand. Stay back!”
“Murieall,” Munro said, stepping toward me, but I turned and ran. I had only one thought—put distance between myself and the children. My skirts tangled around my legs, but I pushed forward, my breath tearing from my lungs in ragged gasps.
Behind me, Munro called my name, but I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t face him or the girls. I was unworthy of the trust they had given me.
It was so clear to me now. The earth tilted beneath my feet as I tried to outpace my memories and guilt, and when the ground sloped downward, I struggled to stay steady as my pace increased.
I careened off the hill and into the clearing into oncoming riders, and I froze as men shouted, horses neighed, and I braced myself for the impact of hooves against flesh.
I was jerked backward so hard that my breath was knocked from me.
“God’s blood, woman!” Munro said, his breath warm against my ear. “Are ye trying to get yerself killed?”
For a moment, all I could register was the sensation of being held, of being safe, of being pressed against someone strong enough to stop my headlong flight into disaster.
And then I became acutely aware of his solid arm wrapped around me that sat just beneath my breasts.
His body heat seeped through the layers of my gown, and his scent, fire and wood, invaded me.
Something shifted inside me. Heat pooled at my core, and a tingling trickled through me.
God’s blood, I desired this man. Of all the men and all the times, this was terrible, but I could no more stop my reaction to him than I could my next breath.
The hard planes of his chest pressed against my shoulder blades as my blood rushed through my veins in response.
I was wicked to feel desire when I should feel only grief, to want when I deserved only punishment, and to want a man I was not supposed to. It made me cry harder, great heaving sobs that shook my entire frame. Munro tightened his hold on me and pulled me more firmly against him.
“Easy,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. “Ye’re safe.”
But I wasn’t safe. And I would never be safe again with the ghosts that haunted me, the curse that followed me, and with the unwanted heat that flared within me at his touch.
I struggled against his hold, though part of me, a part that shocked me, wanted to turn into his embrace rather than away from it.
“Let me go,” I pleaded, my voice a broken whisper.
To my surprise, he didn’t release me entirely, but instead turned me to face him, his hands firm on my shoulders.
We were so close that I could see the curl of his lashes, and that his nostrils were flared slightly from chasing me.
His eyes searched mine, and his brow furrowed with what looked to be concern rather than anger.
“Come,” he said, guiding me away from the road and the curious stares of his men, who sat mounted and silently watching us. “There’s a place just there, beneath the oak.”
I allowed him to lead me, my limbs leaden with exhaustion, my mind too fractured to resist. The massive tree spread its branches above us, creating a sheltered bower that felt removed from the world. Munro helped me sit on a raised root, then crouched before me, his expression unreadable.
“The lasses are coming,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.
Shame washed over me anew. “I’m sorry I did nae stick to the plan for the day.”
“Nay,” he said, reaching toward my face, hesitating, then continuing his journey to brush a strand of hair from my cheek.
The calloused pad of his thumb ran along my damp skin, and I fought the urge to lean into his touch.
“I’m sorry for snapping at ye. It’s just, well—” He sat quiet for a moment, and I had the feeling he was deciding what to say.
“I was scared for Bess,” he finally said, “and reacted poorly.” I had the strange sensation he was holding something back, but I let him.
I was keeping my own secrets, after all.
“What happened back there?” he asked, his voice low and surprisingly gentle.
I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came. Instead, fresh tears spilled down my cheeks, and my shoulders shook with sobs I couldn’t control. To my astonishment, a gentle hand brushed over my head.
“Breathe, lass,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”
I tried to obey, dragging in ragged breaths between sobs, fighting for composure as the patter of small running feet grew closer. Guinn and Bess appeared at the edge of our sheltered spot with faces pinched with worry. Munro’s hand stilled on my hair, but he didn’t withdraw it.
“Tell me what happened,” he said, and though it was a command, there was a gentleness beneath it that I hadn’t heard from him before. “Tell me why ye cried out for someone named Lisette.”
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak.
The shadows beneath the oak danced across Munro’s face as he crouched before me, waiting.
The lasses settled on the ground at my feet, their young faces turned up to mine, expectant.
How could I begin to tell this story I’d kept locked away for so long?
The tale of my greatest shame, my deepest wound?
My fingers dug into my palms, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the ache in my heart.
I had to tell it. Something inside of me now demanded its release.
“Lisette was my sister,” I finally said, the words emerging rough and raw. “She was a year younger than me. We were inseparable.” I paused, memories washing over me in waves that threatened to drown me once more. “Until I killed her.”
“I do nae believe ye killed her,” Munro said quietly, and the certainty in his voice surprised me.
His unexpected belief in me nearly undid me all over again, but I forced myself to continue. I needed to make him and the lasses understand.
“It was winter,” I said, my back straightening, shoulders squaring as if preparing for a physical blow. “We had gone to visit old Magda, a cottager who lived on the far side of our lands. She made the most wonderful honey cakes, and we’d spend hours listening to her stories.”
I could see it all so clearly—Magda’s tiny cottage, the fire crackling in the hearth, Lisette’s face alight with wonder as the old woman spun tales of faeries and ancient battles.