Chapter Twelve Murieall #2
“We stayed too long,” I continued, my voice flat now, stripped of emotion as a protective measure.
“Da had a rule that we were to be home before dark, always. The days were short, and we knew we’d broken his rule.
He would be angry, perhaps even forbid us from visiting Magda again.
” I inhaled a ragged breath. “There was a loch between Magda’s cottage and our home,” I said.
“The path around it that we were supposed to take, that we had agreed on that morning when we set out to take, would make us late if we went that way. We would nae reach the stronghold before dark if we stuck to our plan.” I pressed my fingertips to my now pounding temples.
“The loch was frozen solid. It had been for weeks.”
“And ye thought to cross it,” Munro said. It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. “I told Lisette we should take the shortcut across the ice. That it would save us time, get us home before dark.” I had to pause because my throat was tightening mercilessly, and I needed to swallow. “It was my idea. My decision to change our plan.”
“Did ye force her?” Munro asked in a gentle but probing tone.
I blinked at him, and I could feel my brows pull together. “What?”
“Did ye force yer sister to walk across the ice?” he clarified. “Did ye drag her? Threaten her?”
“Of course, nae,” I said, shaking my head. “But I was the elder. I was responsible—”
“Did she agree to the plan?” Munro interrupted. “Did she choose to follow ye?”
I knew what he was trying to do, and something inside me rebelled against it. “She trusted me,” I said fiercely. “She always trusted me to keep her safe.”
“That’s nae what I asked,” he persisted. “Did she make her own choice?”
“Aye,” I admitted reluctantly, the word scraping my throat. “She said it was a good idea. She was excited by the adventure of it.”
Bess shifted closer to me, her small hand coming to rest on my knee. Her light touch anchored me to the present.
“We were nearly across,” I continued, the words coming faster now.
“The shore was in sight. I remember thinking we’d been clever, that Da need nae ever ken we’d been late at all.
And then—” My voice broke, and I had to force myself to continue.
“The ice cracked beneath Lisette’s feet.
I tried to reach her,” I whispered, staring at my hands as if they still dripped with icy water.
“I crawled toward her, but the ice kept breaking. She went under before I could grab her hand. I plunged my arms into the water, searching for her, but she was gone.”
A tear dropped onto my hand. “By the time help came, it was far too late,” I finished.
“They had to drag me from the loch. I would nae leave, would nae stop searching for her.” I looked up at Munro, meeting his eyes directly for the first time.
“Do ye understand now? I broke from our planned route home. I suggested the shortcut. And because of that, my sister died.”
Munro’s face had grown darker with each word, his brow furrowing deeper until he looked almost fierce. “God’s blood,” he erupted, rising to his full height to tower over me, “is that why ye plan everything? Ye fear nae doing so?”
I blinked up at him, startled by the question, by its accuracy. Slowly, I nodded, unable to deny the truth he’d somehow divined from my story.
“Aye,” I whispered.
He clenched his hands at his sides, and he began to pace before me. “Ye can nae live yer life so rigidly!” he exclaimed. There was a passion in his voice I’d never heard from him before. “It does nae leave room for real living, for spontaneity, for joy! For possibility!”
He stopped abruptly, turning to face me, his eyes burning with an intensity that made my breath catch. “Plans will nae keep ye safe, believe me,” he continued, softer now but no less fervent. “I’ve seen many men die in battle trying to stick to the original plan when they should have adapted.”
His words struck at the very foundation of the careful, measured life I’d built since Lisette’s death. A life where surprises, where deviations, where spontaneity led to disaster, just as making that choice to steal the goblet had. And yet, had I not made that rash choice, my mama would have died.
Still, I didn’t like the way he was pushing at the boundaries I’d created for my life. “Ye’re a fine one to give advice,” I retorted, rising to my feet to face him, my own passion kindling in response to his. “Ye live drowning in rage and sorrow. That’s nae a life at all. Ye might as well be dead!”
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. They were too harsh, too cutting, too close to the bone for this man who had lost so much. I expected anger in return, perhaps even an order to leave his lands immediately. Instead, his lips twitched, almost imperceptibly.
“Aye, well, ye, too!” he retorted, the words so childish coming from this warrior that for a moment, I could only stare at him.
“Ye, too?” I repeated, incredulous. “Is that truly the best ye can manage? Ye, too?”
His eyes widened slightly, as if he were as surprised by his response as I was. Then, to my further astonishment, a low chuckle escaped him.
“It seems ye’ve reduced me to the wits of a lad,” he said.
Before I could respond, Bess said, “Ye two like each other!” It was announced with the simple confidence of a child stating an obvious truth.
“Aye,” Guinn agreed immediately, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Just like the stable master and the baker’s daughter. They yell at each other too, and then they sneak kisses behind the grain store.”
Both girls dissolved into giggles at this observation, their laughter ringing in the quiet.
“We do nae!” Munro and I protested in the same instant, our voices blending in unified denial. We glanced at each other and then quickly away, the synchronicity of our response only adding credence to the lasses’ observation.
Heat rose to my cheeks, I could feel but couldn’t control. From the corner of my eye, Munro shifted uncomfortably and fixed his gaze firmly on the ground as if the patterns of roots and fallen leaves held some fascinating secret.
“Yer face is all red, Da,” Bess pointed out, which made Guinn laugh harder.
“That’s quite enough,” he said, but there was no real anger in his tone. He glanced at me, then away again just as quickly. “The sun will be setting soon. We should return to the castle for the evening meal.”
He offered a hand to help me rise, and I took it without thinking. His palm was warm and calloused against mine, the touch sending an unwelcome flutter through my stomach. I withdrew my hand as soon as I was standing, smoothing my skirts to hide my discomfort.
“Thank ye,” I said.
“For what?” he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.
“For…” I hesitated, unsure how to articulate what I was feeling. For understanding? For not condemning me? For making me understand, however inadvertently, that we were both struggling to find our way back from loss?
“For nae sending me away,” I finally said, the closest I could come to the truth without revealing too much of my heart.
Something unreadable flickered in the depths of his eyes. “Aye, well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Let’s get the lasses back.”
As we walked toward the castle, Bess and Guinn skipped ahead of us, and I found myself wondering about the path that led me to this stronghold, to this broken family, to this man who seemed to understand loss as intimately as I did.
Perhaps Morgana was wiser than I’d given her credit for.
Perhaps making Munro feel again would possibly not only break my curse but heal something in me as well.
At supper, I kept my eyes fixed on my trencher, pushing the food around without eating, acutely aware of Munro and how he was avoiding me just as I was him.
We hadn’t spoken since we’d sat down. It was as if the afternoon’s conversation had left something sensitive and exposed between us, like skin rubbed raw from a long day’s ride.
I wasn’t eager to examine the wound, and clearly, he wasn’t either.
Guinn and Bess, however, showed no such restraint.
They cast knowing glances between us throughout the meal, occasionally dissolving into poorly concealed giggles.
Each time, Munro cleared his throat and took another long drink from his cup, while I found some fascinating detail in the tablecloth to study.
“Ye’ve barely touched yer food,” Lady Magdalene observed, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “Are ye unwell, Murieall?”
“I’m fine,” I replied, forcing myself to take a bite of the venison to prove it. “Just tired from the day’s events.”
“Indeed,” she said, her gaze flicking between Munro and me.
“Word travels quickly about such dramatic events. A fall from a tree, a headlong flight across the grounds, a touching scene beneath the old oak.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“How fortunate that our laird was there to comfort ye. There’s nae been such castle gossip about Muro since he courted Isabella. ”
“Enough,” Munro bit out.
Heat rose to my cheeks, but before I could think how to respond, James said, “May I have the honor of a dance, Murieall?” I glanced behind me, surprised to see him standing there with his hand extended.
But I was more than happy to escape Lady Magdalene, who clearly had taken a dislike of me.
“Of course,” I said, perhaps too eagerly.
As I rose from my seat, my gaze inadvertently met Munro’s.
His blue-gray eyes were more gray than blue at the moment.
They reminded me of a sky before a storm, and he was scowling at James.
Was Munro jealous that James asked me to dance?
The thought sent an unwelcome thrill through me, which I quickly suppressed.
James led me to the open area where other couples were already moving to the music of pipes and drums. His hand settled at my waist, respectful but firm, as we joined the dance.
“I heard about this afternoon as well,” he said.