Page 42 of Highlander’s Curse (The Daughters of the Glen #8)
Thirty-one
C olin awoke in a foul, gray mood, more than ready to growl at anyone who crossed his path. He shoved back the heavy, dust-laden draperies with much more force than was necessary to greet a morning that was equally as foul and gray as he felt.
The shutters on the high windows had blown fully open during the night and rain sprayed in, soaking the entire room in a fine wet mist.
It would seem the dry spell had ended.
He rounded the bed to check on Abby and found her still asleep, curled up in a tight little ball with only the thin blanket he’d pulled from the bed last night to provide her protection.
And precious little protection it had been. A fine mist beaded on her hair, and as he approached, he could see that her body shivered with each breath.
Little wonder, since the fire had long ago burned itself out.
Some fine protector he was turning out to be.
He had made the fire his first priority, building it back to flaming warmth before he pulled another blanket from their bed to drape over her body, tucking it close. He’d briefly considered carrying her to the bed and slipping in beside her.
But that would have awakened her, and she needed all the rest she could get.
One last tug to cover her properly and then he slipped into his clothing and quietly out the door, pausing in the hallway to gather his thoughts, doing his best to beat back the guilt that washed over him in waves.
If he managed to get her through this journey and back to Dun Ard in one piece, it would truly be a miracle beyond even the power of the Fae.
Or maybe in spite of the Fae.
Halting his steps, he closed his eyes and dropped his guards, reaching out. He pushed away the cries battering his aura from within the castle, stretching out, far out into the countryside, until he found the one soul he sought.
Black, ragged, stained with evil, it pulsed, taunting him with its nearness.
Flynn. The Nuadian was here.
He’d debated whether to tell Abby that it had been no hallucination she’d suffered in the forest, deciding at last it would only give her one more thing to fear in this world. Instead, he’d spent the rest of that night, sword at his side, daring the Fae to step into the light of his campfire.
Somehow, someway, the bastard had managed to follow them here. And now Colin had no doubt that he hunted Abby.
Too bad for the Nuadian that he didn’t understand Abby belonged to Colin. She was indeed his Soulmate and as such, no one would ever lay hand on her without going through him.
“And that I promise, you black-hearted bastard, will be no easy task,” he vowed aloud.
Emotional walls firmly back in place, Colin stomped downstairs wearing his anger and the unshakable guilt like a heavy moth-ridden cloak, his mood growing darker and fouler by the moment.
With a great shove he threw back the doors to the laird’s hall and swept inside to be met by the ancient chatelaine. Her face a mask of anger, she ran the length of the hall to meet him, her keys jangling at her side even as she lifted a finger to her lips, angrily shushing him.
“What?” he demanded as she reached his side.
“I’d thank you to keep yer voice down,” she hissed. “Our poor laird’s only just managed to nod off and we dinna need you to wake him.”
“I’m no sleeping, you old scold,” Roderick called from the table where he sat without lifting his head from his folded arms. “Leave my guests alone, woman. Be off with you now and send back some food for my friend.”
“What ails you, Roderick?” By the morning’s gray light, it was clear something did.
His friend’s face was drawn and haggard, his hair pushed up on one side of his head as if matted there.
This was not the same man he’d seen only the evening before.
“You look as if you’d spent the night in yer cups rather than in yer bed. ”
“Fine observation, MacAlister.” His host lifted his tankard, his eyes narrowing in disgust when he found it empty. “They’ve stolen away my drink again.”
Colin sat down next to his old friend, asking him yet again, “What ails you?”
In their youth, this man had ridden with him and Dair. Then Roderick’s father and older brother had died and he’d been called home to take over as laird. In short order, he’d married and settled down to the business of running his clan.
“My heart,” Roderick confessed, his voice breaking as he pushed back in his chair. “It’s my heart, MacAlister. It’s broken and will never be right again.”
“I dinna understand, old friend. Are you ill? Where’s yer wife that she’d let you spend yer time wallowing in self-pity and whisky as you have this past night?”
“That’s it exactly!” Roderick slammed his hand down on the table, sending empty cups toppling over as the chatelaine returned with a serving girl and two large trenchers.
“I’ve lost my Karen. She and the wee bairn she carried, both dead, what is it now, Madeline?
Six months?” He turned his bloodshot eyes to the old chatelaine as she placed a trencher filled with a thick paste of oats in front of him.
“Aye, yer lairdship, as well you ken. Half a year, today.” Madeline patted the man’s shoulder, casting a reproachful eye toward Colin.
“I’d no heard of yer terrible loss, Roddy. I’m so sorry.” No wonder his friend drank through the night. He remembered the delicate, smiling woman his friend had married. He also remembered the way Roderick’s face had softened whenever he’d looked on his wife.
“You ken the worst of it, Col? It’s what a poor excuse for a husband I was while my Karen lived.” He shook his head, pushing away the comforting hand Madeline offered. “Off with you, woman. Leave me to my misery this day.”
“How can you say that? I saw the two of you together with my own eyes. I never heard tell of you lifting a hand to her or even allowing a negative word to pass yer lips where she was concerned.” Roddy had always been the model of calm and patience.
“That may well be true, but there’s worse a man can do to his wife. It’s in the things I dinna do, Col. The things I thought but never said, the things I meant to do and never did. And now it’s too late.” Roderick dropped his head to his hands.
“I’m sure yer Karen kenned the way you cared for her. How could she not?”
Roddy looked up, his eyes suspiciously glassy.
“Because I never said the words. Dinna you make my mistakes with yer own lovely wife. Dinna you wait for the perfect moment to declare yer love. Tell her often. Tell how her laughter brightens yer day or how her touch comforts when you need it most. Dinna you wait as I did. Dinna you let her slip through yer fingers never hearing from yer own lips that which your heart holds most prized. Dinna you waste one precious moment together. It’s the lost moments that will burden my heart for the rest of my days. ”
Meeting his friend’s gaze, Colin knew there were no words he could offer to ease the man’s pain. Not on this day. No platitudes would lessen the loss for Roddy. Time was the only magic that would help him. Time and perhaps, one day, the love of a good woman.
Abby’s face filled his thoughts then, followed by an empty pang of longing to return to her side upstairs.
It wasn’t just a need to protect her that squeezed his chest. It was a need to see her, to be with her.
An unreasonable need to reassure himself, in the face of his friend’s overwhelming sorrow, that his own love yet lived.
“I thank you for yer advice, my friend. I will take it to heart.”
That seemed enough for Roderick, who pushed back his chair and wobbled unsteadily to his feet. “I’m off to bed, then. It’s sorry I am to miss yer departure, MacAlister, but I’ve no stomach for facing this particular day alone.”
By the time he reached the end of the table, two young boys had appeared through the back doors as if they’d been waiting for this moment. One on either side of him, they assisted their laird into the hallway and out of sight.
Colin pushed back from the table and stood, his appetite vanished. Pain such as he’d just witnessed could not easily be forgotten. At least there would be no fires chasing them today.
Abby wiped the mist from her face and tugged the heavy plaid lower over her head exactly as Colin had shown her to do when he’d helped her to put it on.
She’d labored a good hour to come up with something even vaguely approaching a positive thought for this day’s ride, and lack of fire was still the best she could manage.
Miserable had taken on new proportions on this day when the long-absent rains had returned to the Highlands.
The constant precipitation, ranging from heavy drizzle to a fine, face-stinging mist, wore her down.
Thank goodness the plaid was more water-repellent than it looked.
“That’s two,” she muttered. Two positives she’d managed to find in this oppressively gloomy day.
“What’s that you say?” Colin pulled his mount closer to hers and tilted his head in her direction.
“Nothing,” she countered, maintaining the unspoken battle of wills between them this day.
He might have shaken his head at that; she couldn’t be sure, considering the plaid wrapped around him like a cocoon. She liked to think he had, anyway.
With no further word, he pulled his horse ahead of hers again, picking up the pace once more.
It had been this way between them all day long, the tension from last night’s unresolved conflict hanging over their journey as heavily as the gray skies above them.
Had they said more than twenty words to each other all day?
She very much doubted it. But it wouldn’t be she who broke down first. Colin was the one who needed to make amends, not her.
Hours passed, one blending into another in the silence of the gray rain. Abby’s mind had glazed over, as numb as her bottom by the time Colin dropped back beside her on the trail again.