Chapter twenty-five #2
“Aye.” Murieall’s voice caught once, then steadied. “Katreine wished to be older than her sister, Millisandre. Katreine fancied herself in love with Alec Buchanan, ye see.”
The words made me flinch to hear.
“But,” Murieall continued, oblivious to how her words affected me, “Alec had chosen Millisandre because Millisandre would inherit Renfrewshire when their da died.” She met my gaze squarely. “Katreine was nae ever betrothed to Alec.”
“Why would he lie?” I mused aloud.
“He’s a cunning man,” Murieall said. “I imagine he saw an opportunity to keep control of Renfrewshire. He was set to lose it, since Millisandre passed and they did nae have heirs. Millicent, the youngest sister, was to inherit it.”
“Until Katreine reappeared,” I filled in, the pieces of what had likely occurred at the king’s court, falling into place so swiftly it made my head spin. Buchanan’s claim of a prior betrothal was a lie, a lever to keep hold of Renfrewshire.
“He’s using her,” I said, the words bitter in my mouth. “To keep the lairdship.”
Murieall nodded. “Aye. It seems so.”
I thought of Morgana then, of the riddles she had given me that I had been too blind, too focused on my prize, to sort out. “The witch told me,” I muttered.
“Morgana told ye what?” Murieall asked, frowning.
“She gave me a riddle of myself, which I kenned, and then one which I now ken was about Katreine. Morgana said, ‘Ancient is she, yet her skin is unlined. She cares for many, but she is nae a mother. She’s bound by invisible strings that she tied around her heart. What is she?’”
“Oh, James,” Murieall cried out softly.
“I’m a fool,” I bit out, my jaw tightening. “The truth was in plain sight if only I’d had the wit to see it.”
“Nay,” Murieall and Munro said as one.
“Why would Katreine have gone along with lying to the king?” I wondered, but as the words left my mouth, the answer hit me, and I surged to my feet.
“She’s afraid!” I said, glancing wildly between Murieall and Munro, hope rising even as black fright for her surged.
“That must be it! Is Buchanan the sort of man who would threaten to expose her?”
“Aye,” Murieall said without hesitation.
“I have to go back,” I said. “Tonight. I must reach Katreine and discover for certain whether she wants this marriage or whether Buchanan is forcing her hand and played me a for a fool.”
Munro was on his feet in an instant, blocking my path to the door. “Ye’re nae in any condition to ride anywhere,” he said firmly. “Ye look ready to drop dead in the road.”
Murieall stood and took my arm, her grip gentle yet unyielding. “Ye’ll nae be of use to Katreine if ye arrive at court half-dead and raving,” she said. “Ye must rest, at least until dawn.”
I shook my head, trying to push past them. “Ye do nae understand. I, I—” I locked eyes with Murieall, then with Munro.
“We understand perfectly,” Munro cut in, sparing me the need to speak what was in my heart to them.
“But ye’ve been riding for two days without sleep.
Another few hours will nae make the difference between success and failure if ye’re clear-headed when ye arrive.
” His hand settled on my shoulder, the grip immovable.
“Ye’ll rest. That’s an order, nae a request, and I will be riding with ye in case of trouble. ”
I looked to Murieall, hoping for support, but her gaze held mine, steady. “He’s right, James,” she said quietly. “I ken ye want to rush headfirst to her, but ye are a strategist, a warrior. Ye ken well ye can nae rush into battle without sleep or a plan.”
They were right. I knew it, but knowing didn’t make the waiting any easier. I nodded once, sharply, and let Murieall steer me toward the door. But at the threshold, I looked back at Munro. “I leave at dawn.”
“We leave at dawn,” he corrected.
“Ye’ll have a hot bath and a meal,” Murieall urged. “Then ye’ll sleep until dawn. Munro will be waiting with fresh horses and provisions for the journey.”
“And fifty warriors,” Munro added.
I gaped at him. “Ye would go to war with Buchanan for me?” I asked, stupefied.
Munro set a hand on my shoulder. “James, ye are my brother. I would go to war with whoever is yer enemy for ye, be it Buchanan or the king.”
“Let us try to avoid invoking the king’s wrath,” Murieall said, her voice beseeching.
Munro kissed her on the forehead as he squeezed my shoulder. “We will try.”
“Enough talk of war,” she said, leading me out the door, down the passage to the chamber that had been mine for as long as I could remember. A tub of steaming water waited, along with bread, cheese, and a jug of ale. The sight touched me that the servants had gone to the trouble for me.
“See, James,” Murieall said, waving a hand toward the feast before me. “Ye are a beloved Ross, and nae just by Munro and me, but by yer men.” She eyed me. “The ones that count. The small, jealous ones do nae count.”
My chest tightened mercilessly. “Thanks ye,” I croaked.
With a smile, Murieall left me with a promise to wake me before first light.
The bath eased the worst of the stiffness in my muscles, and the food settled the hollow feeling in my stomach, but my mind wouldn’t quiet. I lay in the dark of my chamber, staring at the timber ceiling, the furs pulled to my chest, and kept turning over the fact of Katreine’s curse.
She did not age. She would watch those she loved grow old and die while she remained unchanged.
How many losses had she already endured?
How many times had she stood at a graveside, her face unmarked by time, while those around her wept for a life cut short?
Part of me still struggled to accept the truth of it, but another part understood why she had kept herself at a distance, why she had flinched from closeness, why she had run.
The weight of what she carried, of a life stretched well beyond what it should be, and the inevitable loss that went with that, would have crushed a weaker soul. But Katreine had borne it.
I did not care about her curse, except for the pain it caused her.
I wanted her, I loved her, curse or not, stronghold or not.
I thought of the night we had joined, of the way she had looked at me, and my chest grew so tight I had to rub it.
I had told her I wanted her, and I had meant it more than anything in my life.
I only wished I had properly explained that I wanted her for herself.
And now I wished to tell her that I loved her.
I hoped these words might make a difference.
I would not let the demons of my past rob me of a future with the woman I loved.
I stared at the ceiling until sleep took me, my last thought a prayer that I would reach her in time, have the chance to say what was in my heart for her, and that it would be enough to gain her trust and, hopefully, her love.