Chapter 27
Cairren woke to the sound of soft snores.
As she blinked her eyes open, she realized that it was past dusk, and she must have slept the entire day away.
She recognized the snores before she looked to find Padraig seated in a chair with his head slumped against his chest. She rubbed her eyes and sat up; the bed creaking.
Padraig jerked awake as his eyes flew open and looked for her.
“Have you been here all day?” Cairren asked.
“Aye. I suppose I was tired too, though I wasn’t asleep the entire time.”
“What were you doing?” Cairren remembered she’d left the parchment, quill, and ink on the table beside Padraig. She was relieved she hadn’t even addressed the missive yet, but it made her wonder if Padraig was even more suspicious of something she hadn’t done. Yet.
“I was watching you sleep. You were so fatigued, and you worried me when you didn’t rise by midmorning. I feared you might fall ill.”
Cairren heard sincerity in Padraig’s voice, but while she appreciated it, she didn’t want to hear it. She wanted him out of her chamber. “As you can see, I was just tired. Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine on my own.”
Padraig didn’t miss the hard edge to her voice, and he knew he deserved it, but he wasn’t ready to abandon hope. “Myrna left this morning.”
“That’s nice,” Cairren nodded and laid back down. She didn’t trust herself to keep her cool facade.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Padraig rose and stepped to the foot of the bed. Cairren sighed and sat up again.
“You know it is. But I told you last night, I’m through trying. Do as you please, Padraig. Have her go, have her stay. I just don’t care anymore.”
“I don’t believe that, Cairren. Not for a moment. We both know something special has developed between us.”
“Yes. We’re good in bed together. But that doesn’t change the fact that you love Myrna, and you will always choose her before you do me.
And I could even live with that if you both didn’t have to humiliate me in the process.
I will live here and be this clan’s healer and midwife to those who will accept my help.
The rest of the time, I will continue to keep to myself. ”
“But that’s not what either of us really wants,” Padraig argued.
Cairren’s temper was frayed to the point where it snapped.
“How dare you presume to know what I want? You don’t give a bluidy damn aboot what I want.
If you did, we wouldn’t be in this mess.
You see only what suits you, and more often than not, it’s me as a disappointment and failure.
I don’t deserve it, but I suppose it’s my lot in life.
But it doesn’t mean I have to subject myself to it unnecessarily. Get out.”
“No.”
“Very well, I will leave.” Cairren made to stand up, but her legs gave out and the room spun. Padraig lunged forward and caught her.
“You haven’t had aught to eat or drink in over a day.
Let me have a tray sent up. Cairren?” Padraig felt Cairren’s body tremble as the tears sounded as though they were wrenched from her soul.
He swept her into his arms before sitting on the bed as she sobbed.
She curled tight into his arms as she continued to cry.
She’d fought for as long as she could, but despair pushed away the last of her control and strength.
She cried for all the hurtful things Padraig had said and done since they met.
She’d cried almost every day when she went for her walks or for a ride, but it had been homesickness that drove those tears and hurt from what the clan members said and did.
This time it was pure grief for the constant upheaval that went along with Padraig being part of her life.
She both loved and hated him, and she couldn’t reconcile the two emotions, each fighting for dominance.
Padraig held Cairren until she cried herself back to sleep, his misery bringing him to tears once he laid her on the bed.
He had clung to a love for the woman he believed he deserved and who he’d intended to marry even though he barely recognized the woman now.
He fought against the love he felt for the woman who had been honest, kind, and self-sacrificing since the moment he met her, and yet he hurt her at every turn.
As he observed Cairren sleeping again, he realized he hadn’t thought of her skin color in so long he couldn’t remember the last time he had.
He’d automatically deemed her unfit to be his wife, and yet she stood faithfully beside him no matter how many times he erred.
He considered Myrna’s departure that morning.
He’d given her half an hour’s notice to pack and be on her horse.
She’d blubbered and begged, but he’d been unmoved by her for the first time.
Not even a hint of sympathy existed for her.
She’d lied unrepentantly, claiming she thought she was certain of what she saw, and that she loved Padraig too much not to protect him from what she believed was the truth.
He’d known she was lying. Her desperation was clear on her face, but he felt no remorse.
In her attempt to hold him close, she’d only pushed him further away.
But now, as he continued to watch the silent rise and fall of Cairren’s chest, he realized he felt betrayed by Myrna just as Cairren felt betrayed by him.
It was a vicious awakening to what Cairren had been trying to point out all along.
It was just as well that Myrna left. He preferred to keep the memories he had of them together during happier times.
She would always have a place in his heart.
When Cairren awoke the second time, it was morning, and her chamber was empty save her.
She climbed out of bed as a knock sounded at her door.
She padded across the chilly floor and opened the door to a line of servants with a tub and hot water, brought at Padraig’s command.
When she finished, she made her way to Wynda’s chamber.
She’d avoided the room since her friend’s death, but she knew no one else intended to sort through her belongings, and she suspected there were items Wynda would want returned to her clan.
As she opened the lid of Wynda’s chest, Myrna and Duncan’s conversation in the woods came back to her.
She recalled how they said Wynda learned of their affair because she intercepted a missive meant for Duncan from Myrna.
She’d also heard that Wynda caught them together more than once.
More memories floated to Cairren as she recalled what she’d heard Myrna telling her maid the three times she overheard them.
Now she knew Myrna hadn’t been speaking about Padraig, but rather Duncan.
That realization eased the pain in her chest a smidge now that she was certain Padraig hadn’t been unfaithful to her.
He’d denied it, but she’d been just as ready to believe the worst about him as he had been about her two nights earlier.
It made her question her right to be so offended and irascible about Padraig’s accusation.
Cairren turned her attention back to Wynda’s belongings.
She lifted out a stack of pristine baby clothes, and she closed her eyes as she thought about the babes Wynda lost, about the babe who died with her.
She put them aside before reaching for the Urquhart plaid that lay neatly folded.
As Cairren lifted it, her brow furrowed as something shifted within the wool.
A stack of missives fell into her lap as she opened the plaid.
At first, she assumed they were from her family, but she recalled Wynda was illiterate, and Duncan’s name caught her eye.
As she turned each over, either the word “Duncan” or a single “D” was inked on the smooth side.
It made no sense to Cairren why Wynda would have Duncan’s personal correspondence until a sick feeling settled in her belly.
She knew what these were, even if she didn’t know how Wynda came by them. She turned one over and opened it.
My Dearest Love,
I received your missive and insisted the messenger wait until I write this to you.
It feels like an age since we’ve seen each other, even if it was only a sennight ago.
One moment I can still feel your touch and the next, I feel empty and needy.
Needy for what only you can give me. I will meet you in our spot tomorrow, just as you requested.
I cannot wait for you to be inside me once more.
Your Loving M
Cairren couldn’t believe how brazen Myrna was to send such a letter to Duncan.
It took little imagination to know that that the only educated woman whose name began with M and who was familiar with Clan Munro was Myrna.
As Cairren looked at the stack of folded vellum, she wondered why Wynda kept them since she couldn’t read.
Cairren was certain Wynda would never use them to blackmail either Duncan or Myrna, so she could only believe she intended to share them with someone else one day.
Would she have shown these to Padraig? Is that why she kept them?
Would she want me to share them, or should I burn them?
Would it even do me any good to show him? She’s gone now. Does it matter anymore?
Cairren felt no remorse reading more of the letters.
If Duncan hadn’t wanted to risk them being found, he should have burned them.
They were among Wynda’s possessions, and no one else in the laird’s family had taken an interest in taking care of Wynda’s personal effects. One in particular caught her attention.
My Dearest Love,
Padraig continues to refuse to do more than kiss me.
I fear I won’t be able to fool him into thinking the bairn is his if he won’t relent.
I won’t be able to stop him marrying that woman the king is sending, and I won’t have an explanation for why I’m carrying.
If he doesn’t bed me before she arrives, I fear I shall have to drink the primrose like last time.
He steadfastly insists that we must wait until our wedding night, but I shall continue to chip away at his honor.
He and I must marry before it’s too late, and as you ken, this is the only way for us to be together.
No one will ever know whether it’s his bairn or yours that I carry.
Your Loving M
Cairren sat in shock as she absorbed what she read.
Duncan had gotten Myrna with child more than once, and she’d ended the pregnancy each time when she couldn’t convince Padraig to couple with her.
Cairren couldn’t help but wonder just how many times that had been over the course of the two years they courted.
She tucked the missives in the loose folds of her arisaid until she made it to her chamber and hid them in the false bottom of her own chest. She felt compelled to inform Padraig of what she discovered between the missives and what she’d seen.
He deserved to know what had been happening beneath his nose, but Cairren hesitated.
She’s gone now. Does it really matter? It won’t make Padraig feel any better to ken they played him for a fool.
It might make me feel vindicated, but it will only hurt him.
But with Wynda gone, Duncan will need to remarry.
What if it’s Myrna? Argh! But does that matter either?
If Micheil agrees, and that’s what Duncan wants, then it’ll irrelevant whether Padraig kens.
Do I tell him to prepare him for that because I suspect that’s exactly what will happen?
Cairren didn’t know what to do as she sat on her bed and looked at the door. She wondered why it even mattered to her. If she didn’t want Padraig, what was the point in fighting for him to move on from Myrna?
Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life living in the shadow of that woman’s ghost. Or worse, living one floor above her for the rest of my life. What will I do if she becomes Lady Munro? She’ll be worse than Mary. At least Mary leaves me mostly alone now. Bluidy hell. What do I do now?