Chapter Seventeen Munro
I stared at the untouched food on my trencher, moving the meat around with my knife, but finding no appetite to consume it.
The great hall buzzed with conversation and laughter, but my thoughts remained fixed on Murieall and her confession this morning.
What was I to do with her? The question circled in my mind, unresolved.
I had opened myself to her, shared my bed, my pain, my secrets.
And she had used me, manipulated me for her own ends.
Or had she? The memory of her face this morning, tears streaming down her cheeks as she confessed, haunted me.
There had been truth in her eyes, or at least what looked like truth.
But how could I trust my judgment when it came to her?
My gaze drifted across the hall to where James sat among my warriors, laughing at some jest. Uncle Gordon’s words from earlier gnawed at me. Could James truly be conspiring with Murieall to undermine me and make the clan believe I was unfit to lead? The very thought turned my stomach.
Uncle Gordon and Aunt Magdalene sat further down the high table, deep in conversation, their heads bent close. What counsel were they sharing now? More suspicions about James? More warnings about Murieall? My head throbbed with the weight of distrust that now colored my every thought.
A burst of childish giggles drew my attention to my daughters, seated at my right.
Guinn leaned close to Bess, whispering something that made Bess’s eyes widen with excitement.
Despite my dark mood, a flicker of warmth kindled in my chest at the sight.
Since Murieall’s arrival, they seemed more like the children they should be, rather than the solemn shadows they’d become after Isabella’s death.
Another pang of guilt twisted in my gut. I had kept my daughters at arm’s length for two years, drowning my grief in wine and meaningless couplings while they suffered their own loss without the comfort of their remaining parent. No wonder they’d latched onto Murieall so quickly, so fiercely.
“Can we help Murieall find more ghosts tomorrow?” Bess whispered, her voice carrying just far enough for me to catch the words.
My hand froze, the goblet halfway to my lips.
“Aye,” Guinn replied, equally hushed. “She said she needs to help as many ghosts as possible.”
The goblet slammed onto the table with more force than I intended, splashing wine across the wood. Both lasses jumped at the sound, turning guilty faces toward me.
“What did ye just say?” I demanded, my voice low but sharp enough to cut through the ambient noise of the hall.
Guinn’s eyes widened, and she glanced at her sister before answering. “I did nae say anything, Da,” she said, dropping her gaze to her plate.
“Do nae lie to me, lass,” I said, leaning closer to them. “I heard ye speaking of ghosts and Murieall. What foolishness has she been filling yer heads with?”
The lasses exchanged another look, this one heavy with unspoken communication. My patience stretched, so I inhaled a steady breath. The last thing I wanted to do was scare the lasses, but I needed the truth. “Girls, the truth, please.”
Guinn nibbled on her lip for a moment, then said, “We promised nae to tell,” to which Bess nodded vigorously.
“Promised who?”
“Murieall,” Guinn admitted reluctantly. “She’s been helping the ghosts, and we promised nae to tell anyone about it.”
Fury at Murieall rose like a tide. How dare she involve my daughters in her madness!
How dare she extract promises from them to keep secrets from me!
The anger that had been simmering all day threatened to boil over.
I clenched my teeth, struggling not to let my anger with Murieall seep into my tone with the lasses.
This wasn’t their fault, but they needed reminding that truthfulness mattered.
“Ye are only as good as yer word, girls,” I said, trying to gentle my voice.
“If ye do nae strive to be truthful, there may come a time people will nae believe what ye say. I ken I’ve nae been the best da since yer mama died, but I also ken she expected ye lasses to be truthful. ”
Bess’s face flushed crimson, her small hands balling into fists at her sides.
“Mama watches us,” Bess said, her voice rising enough that silence fell upon the dais.
“She kens we made a promise to Murieall, and Murieall is helping the ghosts to find things and keep promises so Mama will talk to her again.”
The hall seemed to fall away around me, sounds fading as if I’d been plunged underwater.
“What did ye just say?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Murieall can hear the dead,” Guinn answered, emboldened by her sister’s outburst. “They tell her secrets and messages for people who are still alive. We helped her today. We found a dagger for Fergus, and a recipe for Nessa, and—”
I stood abruptly, the bench scraping harshly against the stone floor.
My face felt cold, drained of blood, while heat spread through the rest of my body like wildfire.
“We’ll talk of this later,” I said, wanting to think just what to say to them not to injure their feelings more as I quite obviously had done, but also they needed to understand—What?
That Murieall was mad? That she was conspiring against me? I didn’t know.
“Da, do nae be vexed with Murieall,” Bess said.
I leaned over and kissed them both on the head, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw my uncle watching me with a strained look.
I suppose he thought I should be harsher with them, but I couldn’t.
The feelings for Bess and Guin that I had ignored were too loud not to listen to now.
“Go to the nursery with yer aunt, lasses,” I said, catching Magdalene’s eye.
She nodded her agreement. “I’ll come to see ye before ye go to bed. ”
The way they lit up at my words twisted my chest with sadness for all the nights I had missed. I couldn’t deny that the moment wouldn’t have happened if it were not for Murieall, but I also couldn’t ignore what she was doing.
My mind reeled with their revelations. Murieall had been filling their heads with lies about their mama watching over them, about Isabella speaking to her. Whether madness or manipulation, this could not continue.
“Do ye want me to send her away?”
I turned to my left, surprised to see my uncle had risen and had moved to stand beside me.
“Nay, this is something I must do alone,” I replied.
At my uncle’s reluctant nod, I descended the dais and started toward the great hall door, but I got only a few steps before James called behind me. each step fueled by righteous anger. As I reached the doorway, James’s voice called out behind me again. “Munro! Wait!”
I didn’t slow my pace or turn to acknowledge him. My uncle’s warnings echoed in my mind. Was James part of this scheme? Had he encouraged Murieall to use Guinn and Bess? I couldn’t believe it, and yet I couldn’t fully dismiss the possibility.
The corridors passed in a blur as I made my way toward Murieall’s chamber, my fury building with each stride.
She’d betrayed me in the worst possible way by using my children, by twisting their memories of their mama, by making them complicit in her lies.
For that, there could be no forgiveness, no second chance.
Come dawn, she would be gone from my lands, from my life, from my heart that she had somehow breached.
The sour taste of loss filled my mouth once more as I approached her chamber door. Loss of trust. Loss of hope. Loss of whatever fragile thing had been growing between us. But I shoved it aside, letting anger burn it away. Anger was safer and would give me the strength to do what I must.
I didn’t knock. My anger moved me forward, allowing for no such courtesy.
My hand slammed against the heavy oak, and the door flew open with such force that it crashed against the stone wall behind it.
The hinges groaned in protest as I stood in the doorway, my chest heaving with exertion and fury.
The chamber was dim, lit only by a few guttering candles and the glow of a small fire in the hearth.
Steam rose from the wooden tub that sat before the flames, and in it sat Murieall.
Her copper hair was piled atop her head, damp tendrils framing her face.
Her naked shoulders gleamed above the water’s surface, droplets catching the firelight against her pale skin.
My words died in my throat, stolen by the sight of her.
Desire, unwelcome and unbidden, rushed through me with a force that momentarily overwhelmed my anger.
Memories of the previous night flooded my mind—the taste of her lips, the softness of her skin beneath my hands, the way she had arched against me as if our bodies had been fashioned to fit perfectly together.
My body hardened, and I hated myself for it.
Hated that even now, knowing what I knew, my traitorous body still yearned for her.
She gasped, arms moving to cover herself as she pressed back against the tub’s rim. “Munro!” Her dark eyes widened.
I forced my gaze away from her to fix upon the wall behind her, unwilling to allow my desire to weaken my resolve.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice small but steady. Water sloshed against the sides to let me know she had gotten out of the tub. I kept my gaze averted to ensure she had enough time to get dressed. Clothes rustled, and then she said, “I’m dressed.”
I turned toward her and had to steel myself against the ache the sight of her caused me.
She was so heartbreakingly lovely with her face flushed, and her wet, fiery strands clinging to her chest, which was barely covered by her hastily tied laces on the bodice of her gown. “What’s happened?” she asked.