Page 35

H ow dare he!

Clara strode across the landscape, anger driving her forward. After leaving Marsaili in Elspeth’s care, the urge to remove herself from this godforsaken castle had been too strong.

I’m a fool to have believed I could ever have been happy here—with him!

The ground sloped more steeply upward, and she paused to catch her breath. She’d long since lost sight of the path.

Damn. I’m lost.

She picked her way over the rocks, then slipped and fell to the ground, turning her ankle and cursing at the spike of pain.

Then she heard a noise from behind.

“Leave me be!” she cried. “Haven’t you done enough?”

A whine came in response, and she turned to see the huge deerhound standing behind her, his ears flattened. He stepped forward and nudged her with his nose.

“Sorry, Buck,” Clara said, struggling to her feet. “I didn’t mean you .”

She scratched him behind the ears, and he let out a growl of satisfaction.

Then he leaped ahead, his claws scrabbling on the rocks, and trotted ahead before pausing to look back.

Clara followed. But before she caught up, he leaped off again, stopping to wait farther up until, after moving out of reach several times, he lay down, his ears upright. When she reached him at last, she spotted the path.

“Bless you, Buck,” she said. “You’re my best friend, aren’t you?”

The path disappeared into a cluster of firs, and she recognized the route to the ghillie’s cottage. A thin column of smoke rose into the air.

Duncan must be at home.

Did he know the laird was no more?

Icy fingers crawled across her skin as the wind rose and the trees uttered a harsh whisper, recalling the laird’s final demand to Murdo.

Rid yerself of that whore .

Murdo had promised to honor his father’s deathbed wish. He would abandon her for the sake of honor.

Would Duncan abandon her also?

The dog at her heel, Clara followed the path to the ghillie’s cottage. Male voices came from within, and the scent of wood and smoke filled her nostrils.

She knocked on the door and the voices stopped. Then Duncan opened the door.

“What are ye doing here, lass?” he said, frowning. “Are ye alone?”

“May I come in?” Clara said.

Duncan glanced back inside, then shook his head. “Another time. It’s best ye go.”

“It can’t wait,” she said, her eyes stinging with tears. “Please let me in.”

“No, lass.”

“Would you curse me also?”

“ Curse ye?” he said. “Whatever for?”

Behind the ghillie, Clara caught a glimpse of a male form sitting on a bed.

“Who’s that with you?” she asked. Then she drew in a sharp breath. The man on the bed was James.

“Duncan, what the devil are ye doing ?” James said, fury and fear in his eyes. “Get rid of her!”

“James,” Clara began, “I—”

“Come to spy, have ye?” he snarled. “Haven’t ye caused me enough misery?”

“Greater misery than what you’d have endured married to Shona McCallum?” Clara said. “I did you a favor, and you know it!”

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

“Shona didn’t love you,” Clara said. “She loved another man. As do you.”

Duncan frowned and shook his head. “Och, lass, ye shouldn’t speak such foolishness.”

“Why not?” Clara said. “Why shouldn’t a man be permitted to love whom he wants?”

“Be quiet!” James cried, panic in his voice. “Ye’ve dishonored the clan and defied my father—he’ll punish me for what ye’ve done.”

“No, he won’t.”

“He will,” James said. “He’s—”

“He’s dead,” Clara said.

The color drained from James’s cheeks.

“Sweet Lord Almighty! Is Murdo…”

He pitched forward, and Duncan caught him.

“No…” James whispered, shaking.

“Murdo’s alive and well,” Clara said. “But your father…”

The ghillie caught his breath. “Master Angus ?”

Clara nodded. “He had a seizure in the night. Marsaili was with him.”

James clung to the ghillie, dipping his head until it rested on Duncan’s shoulder. Then he let out a long, low moan.

“Now then, Master James,” the ghillie said, “ye’ve had a shock. Let’s get ye on the bed.”

James lifted his head, and for a heartbeat Clara saw nothing but the most intense relief in his eyes. Then a flicker of fear shone in their depths. He glanced at the crumpled sheets on the bed then back at Clara.

He withdrew from the ghillie’s embrace. “I must go home. I-I’m the laird now.”

“You’re not just the laird,” Clara said. “You’re free .”

“Free? I’ll never be free.”

“Don’t you see?” Clara said. “As laird, you can do what you want, love whom you want. Your father’s death has—”

She broke off as James stepped toward her, raising his arm.

“What did ye do to him?” he said. “Sweet Lord, woman, I swear I’ll whip ye raw if ye…”

He fisted his hand, but the ghillie grasped his wrist.

“Leave the lass alone, James. She’s not to blame.”

James wrenched himself free and backed toward the bed. “Did you kill my da, woman?” Then he stiffened. “Brother!” he cried. “Did she kill our da?”

Clara turned, and her stomach clenched as she saw her husband in the doorway.

He entered the cottage, his dark-emerald gaze fixed on his brother. He glanced toward the ghillie, then Clara. Then his gaze settled on the crumpled bed, and his expression hardened.

“What’s going on?” he said.

Duncan glanced toward James.

“Sweet Lord, save me!” James whispered, and Clara’s heart ached at the raw terror in his eyes.

“It was me!” she said.

Murdo frowned. “What were ye doing, wife?”

“Brother, I—” James began.

Rid yerself of that whore, lad.

I promise.

“I-I was unhappy,” Clara interrupted, her husband’s vow in her ears. “Y-you don’t love me—you never have. You made your father a promise on his deathbed. So I came here. Duncan’s my only friend.”

She stared at him, using defiance to hide her pain.

“And James?” Murdo asked.

Clara glanced at the trembling man. “He—he came to tell Duncan about your father, and…”

Murdo closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they were glistening with moisture. The anger drained from his expression and he nodded.

“He found ye with Duncan,” he said. “It seems I’m too late.”

He turned to his brother. “James, there’s much to be done. I’ll await ye at the castle. There’s no need for either of us to be here.”

His shoulders slumped and he exited the cottage. Clara watched as he trudged along the path then disappeared into the trees.

“Och, lass, ye shouldn’t have done that,” the ghillie said.

“I daresay he’ll recover,” Clara said bitterly. “It’s no great loss, and he’ll be fulfilling his father’s deathbed wish.”

“His what?” James said.

“Your father told Murdo to rid himself of me,” Clara said. “‘That whore,’ he called me with his last breath—as I’m sure you’ve called me many times.”

“Was I wrong? Ye’ve just broken my brother’s heart.”

“Your brother has no heart for me,” Clara said. “He never did.”

“That’s where ye’re wrong, lass,” the ghillie said. “Did ye never wonder why Master Angus hated ye so much?”

“Because I’m English, and the daughter of the woman he violated.”

“Plenty of Sassenachs have married Highlanders, lass,” Duncan said. “And Master Angus lay with more whores than there are raindrops in a storm. He hated ye because he saw what I’ve seen with my own eyes—that Master Murdo loves ye.”

“Is that why you hate me, James?” Clara asked.

James’s eyes filled with shame, and he shook his head slowly. “I don’t hate ye. I just…” He wiped his eyes. “My da, he…” He shook his head. “I didn’t want him to be ashamed of me.”

“Why would anyone be ashamed of you?” Clara asked.

James shuffled from one foot to the other and glanced at Duncan.

“Love is nothing to be ashamed of,” Clara said. “We cannot help whom we love. All we can do is love them, and give thanks if they love us in return.” She glanced at Duncan. “You both have much to be thankful for.”

“Do ye love my brother?” James asked.

Clara opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again. She blinked and nodded as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“And did my da really tell my brother to rid himself of ye?”

Clara nodded.

“Then,” James said, “my first order as laird will be to the whole clan—to welcome ye as one of our own.”

“And Marsaili?” Clara said.

“What of her?”

“She’s pregnant.”

“Och, poor lass.” Duncan shook his head. “Free of him at last, but burdened with his child. James, ye must reassure Marsaili she’s not to be cast out, that her bairn will be cared for.”

“Aye.” James nodded.

Pride shone in Duncan’s eyes. “Ye’ll be the finest laird Clan McTavish has ever had,” he said. “And yer brother will be there for ye.” He turned to Clara. “Master Murdo will be there for ye also, lass.”

James tucked his shirt into his breeches and wrapped his plaid around his body. Then he extended his hand to Duncan. “Come with me.”

The ghillie hesitated. “Are ye certain?”

James glanced at Clara and smiled.

“Aye,” he said. “As the lass says, we should be free to love whom we want. Are ye coming, lass?”

Clara shook her head.

“Forgive my brother,” James said. “He and I lived in our da’s shadow. We all did. But now that shadow’s lifted, we can be the men we were meant to be—I, the laird, and he, the man who can love ye freely. Because he does love ye, lass.”

Clara glanced at the path in the direction her husband had gone.

Then she shook her head.

“But not enough.”