Cathy Maxwell - [Chattan Curse 03] (19 page)

A shot rang out. Rowlly stiffened, and then let go of Heath. He turned to where Maggie stood in the stable door, her pistol in her hand. “She shot me,” he said to Heath in disbelief.

“She does that,” Heath answered, feeling absolutely no remorse.

Rowlly nodded. His face was turning pale. And then he placed his hand on his chest and dropped to the ground.

Coughing from the smoke, Heath leaped over the body to rescue Dara, managing to remove her cloak before throwing her over his shoulder, and running from the stall.

Maggie was opening the barn doors, urging the horses to rush out. They were difficult. They were afraid, but Maggie managed to coax them outside.

“I had to shoot him,” she called out, coughing. “He would have murdered you.”

“You did the right thing,” he said.

After carrying Dara outside and lying her on the ground, Heath prepared to go back for Margaret. Flames danced across the roof of the stable.

People were coming from all areas now, drawn by the fire. Irwin and his mother were two of the first to arrive. “I didn’t do this, Laird,” Irwin called. “I’ve been doing my job. I’ve been doing it.”

“I know you have,” Heath shouted. “Free the pigs in case the fire spreads. We will chase them on the morrow.” He started to charge back into the barn just as Margaret ran out. She held her arm across her face to protect her breathing.

“Thank God you’re safe,” he said, meaning the words. He started for the barn. Margaret caught his arm.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going back for Rowlly.”

“No, you can’t,” she said. “Heath, he’s dead. He’s gone.”

“I should claim his body.”

“No, Heath, it is better this way.”

She was right. He took her in his arms and held her tight as he watched the stables burn. She was right.

Chapter Seventeen

T
he next day was not a good one for the Macnachtans.

The fire had burned throughout the night.

At first light, Heath sent a party of men to search for frightened horses and scattered livestock. Neither he nor Margaret slept the night through, and Margaret didn’t think they would sleep much for days to come.

Neighbors came to help. The animals were safe but all the equipment was lost.

The hardest moment in the day was when Rowlly’s wife, Janet, and their young sons came to Heath. Irwin had just proudly announced that the pigs had all been gathered and placed in one of the many makeshift pens and paddocks hurriedly built for the livestock.

“I have not seen my husband,” Janet said. “Was he here helping with the fire?”

Heath exchanged a look with Margaret and then said, “You lads stay here with Lady Margaret.” He put his arm around Janet and they walked a distance away where they could speak without being overheard.

Margaret watched as he told the woman what had happened to her husband. She collapsed against him. He spoke to her, offering her some thread of hope, Margaret prayed. They talked earnestly for a good long while.

Once Janet recovered, she called for her sons to join them. Heath and she both told them that their father was gone. The boys met the news with tears of loss.

When Heath walked over to join Margaret, she asked, “Did you tell them the truth?”

“About Dara? I told Janet. She should know. If Dara recovers and starts talking, then it is best Janet know. I did not tell her that Rowlly murdered Brodie. That will depend on what happens to Dara.”

“And if Dara doesn’t recover?”

“Then I believe the story of Brodie’s murderer will stay between us.” His gray eyes were bleak.

She touched his arm. “Can you live with that? With his death always being a mystery?”

“It’s not the solving of it I wanted,” he said. “I wished justice . . . and that has happened. No good will come of saddling those boys with their father’s reputation as a murderer. Brodie would have wanted it this way.” His expression was grim. She could tell he held back tears.

“I wish I’d known your brother,” she said.

He nodded, and then, as he had so many times during that day, he touched her as if reassuring himself of her. She found his hand with her own, squeezed it, letting him know she was there for him, and a bit of the tension marring his brow eased.

“Swepston is here,” he informed her in a low tone.

“The man you banished?”

Heath made a dismissive sound. “He’s a clansman. A fight between us is a fight in the family. He’s been helping Irwin collect the pigs and working hard. I understand why he would not want to leave. I shall not say a word to him, but as long as he is one of us, there is a place for him.”

And that is when Margaret fell in love.

The realization of the fullness and completeness of love caught her by surprise. In truth, it had always been there, lingering inside her, waiting for her to open her heart as well as her mind.

She knew of few men who had the capacity to forgive. Usually their conceit demanded the world bow to them. Heath could have been such a man. Instead, he moderated his temper with compassion.

And how could she help but love him?

Love surprised her. She thought she knew the rush of emotions labeled “love.” She’d been “in love” before. Her feelings had been a heady mixture of desire and longing . . . but now she learned that love was a subtle, finer emotion. It came upon her with a sense of purpose and serenity, with a security that she’d not known before. It was as if she had been standing separate and apart and now found herself as one, with him.

She valued Heath, needed him, trusted him.

She believed in him.

Heath walked away, returning to the numerous tasks that had to be attended to in the aftermath of the fire. Margaret watched him go, feeling as if she’d been changed forever. Her feelings were certain and intense.

And tomorrow, she would love him more. She had that much of it to give. Love was not finite, she realized. It was a well that never went dry. Nor did it exist for just the here and now, but was truly forever.

“Are you all right?” she heard Anice ask. “You have the funniest expression on your face.”

“How is that?”

Anice smiled. “You stood there as if you had been struck by a thunderbolt.”

“I have been,” Margaret admitted. “Right to the core of my being.”

Anice did not mistake her meaning. “I knew there was something between you and Heath. All that nonsense yesterday about having to marry. You
want
to marry him. You love him.”

“Can you tell?” Margaret asked, a bit puzzled by how quickly Anice had read her.

“You glow with love,” Anice said. “I hope someday to feel that way about a man.”

Anice’s description was exactly how Margaret felt on the inside—glowing and more alive than she could ever have thought possible.

Margaret threw her energy back into helping clean up the fire damage. She now felt accepted by Heath’s clansmen. Several times, the women came to her for suggestions. She felt productive, and it was a reward in and of itself to have purpose. It was a gift to the man she loved to work beside him.

Three hours later, Laren came down to the stable yard with the grim news that Dara had died from her burns.

Owen Campbell had not sent an inquiry about the fire, or about Dara.

That, too, Margaret thought, was justice.

And that night, in bed, she listened for Heath to go to his room. She’d sensed his disquiet. It had been building as the day and the cleanup had progressed and she worried for him.

When after two hours she didn’t hear anything, she decided to check on him. Perhaps he had gone to bed and she had not noticed, but she doubted it. She was attuned to his moods, almost more so than her own. She pulled on her blue woolen day dress from her wardrobe, not bothering with stockings and shoes but walking across the hall to his room barefoot.

He wasn’t in his room. She went in search of him. She found him downstairs in the library, poring over open ledgers. He had removed his jacket. His shirt was open at the neck and the hem hung loose over his breeches. His hair was mussed, as if he’d been raking his fingers through it, the way he was wont to do when challenged by a problem. Ledgers were open on the desk and he was muttering to himself.

She lingered by the door, uncertain of her welcome. She drew a breath for courage and then interrupted him. “They say that talking to oneself is a sign of madness.”

He looked up. “Maggie,” he said, speaking her name as if it was benediction. “You should be asleep.”

Margaret walked into the room to stand beside where he sat at his desk. She glanced at the ledger in front of him. It was covered with marks and cross outs. Heath had been doing a great deal of stewing. She took the quill from his hand. The tip of his index finger was ink stained. “You should be in bed as well. You worked harder than anyone today, and we did not have any sleep last night.”

“The stable was my father and Brodie’s pride. Brodie had a vision that he would build a breeding program. That’s why we have those good mares. Brodie told me he wanted the Macnachtan to have a reputation for something instead of just being known as the poorest around Loch Awe. Now it is all gone. Every bit of it, save the debts, and a good portion of those are in Owen Campbell’s hands.”

He sat back in his chair. “But the debts are not what I’m thinking on. Brodie
loved
Dara.” He looked up at Margaret as he spoke. “He
trusted
her. He worked bloody hard to make her happy. And she didn’t care.”

“She loved someone else,” Margaret said.

“Did she? She was an excellent actress. I believed she and my brother were close. Maggie, I suspected everyone of his murder but never her or Rowlly. Rowlly, Brodie, and I were constant companions when we were lads.”

“She used him,” Margaret said. “I’m not saying it is right, but I’ve witnessed men and women in society do terrible things in order to capture someone’s attentions.”

He nodded as if accepting her words. “I am a bit unnerved to realize how close we all were to true evil, only it isn’t what I had ever imagined it to be. It was born out of lust and jealousy.”

He gave himself a shake as if silently ordering himself to leave such thoughts. He looked back to his ledger.

Margaret placed her hand upon it. “Come to bed, Heath.”

“I will, but first I need to add this column. It’s a list of all that was destroyed in the fire and how much I still owed on it.”

“And it doesn’t matter,” she said. “I meant what I said to Owen Campbell. I’m a wealthy woman.”

“And you would give up the rest of your life to settle my debts? Maggie, it would be like selling your soul, and you deserve better. In fact, I’m certain your brothers will have something to say about the matter.”

If there had been a false nobility about him, she would have been angry. Instead, he was somber, honest . . . caring.

“I make my own decisions, Heath Macnachtan,” she informed him, but what she really wanted to shout at him was
I love you
.

There it was, a truth so shining only wisdom kept her from speaking it aloud. He must say it first. She knew that. She’d witnessed women pressing men and she didn’t want to be one of those. Their men never respected them, and she wanted Heath’s respect. She wanted every facet of him.

He took her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing her palm. She felt his grief as keenly as if it was her own. “Then you should make better choices,” he answered. “I will not hold you to a marriage,” he said. “I do have pride.”

As did she.

And for a moment, she felt like every sort of fool.

He was pushing her away. She’d had every eligible bachelor in London at her feet, and the man she wanted, the man she loved, did not want her.

“I see,” she said, straightening. She pulled her hand from his, for once in her life not bothering to hide her feelings. She was disappointed, devastated. Hurt. “I don’t understand, but I accept.”

She turned, determined to walk, no, run out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster—

He rose from his chair and grabbed her arm, making her face him.

“You don’t ‘see’ anything,” he said. “I love you, Margaret. I think I’ve loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you. I was in a London street and you went by me surrounded with a gaggle of admirers. You didn’t even know I was there, and I fell in love.”

“That is
not
love,” she threw at him. “That’s infatuation. It’s simple and doesn’t require anything of you. With infatuation, you don’t have to care for the person or consider her or involve yourself.” She flung her arm up so that he had to release his hold, but instead of leaving, she stood her ground.

“Love,” she said, “is admiring a person not because he has two eyes and nose and mouth fashioned in a pleasing and even form, but because he has a heart that cares about
something other than himself.
” She emphasized her words by pressing her palm against his chest over his heart. “That he isn’t afraid,” she continued, “to speak out when there is injustice and champions with kindness those who are weaker. Love happens when you witness this person building something that has meaning for people and striving to make the world a little bit better place for all. Love is discovering that here, at last,
finally
, is a person I can trust, someone I know will never hurt me and yet will always be honest with me. That’s what is behind love. Not some ‘Oh look, my eyes see a woman. She is pretty.’ ”

He was staring at her, his brows raised as if stunned by her response, as she was herself.

She’d put every emotion she had in her words, and she now felt as if her heart was beating outside her chest, as if she was completely exposed. She’d opened herself in a way she’d never done for anyone else in this world.

Dear God, she prayed he was worth it.

There was a long beat of silence, and then Heath said, “I’d always heard the Chattans didn’t know how to love.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “Perhaps what we know is how to love
too
well.” Her heart lay bare in front of him.

He was quiet a moment, pensive.

“I don’t come alone,” he warned, as if wanting to be certain she understood. “Besides my debts, Margaret, I’m responsible for a host of the oddest characters and I’m related to most of them so there is no escape.”

“I don’t call them odd,” she said. “I prefer the term ‘endearing.’ ”

Her response made him smile. “Yes, they are. Even Irwin. I can’t leave them. My role is to protect them as much as I can.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? They will come to the woman who would be my wife for every third concern in their lives. There will be times when they will wear you down.”

“Do you believe I am not equal to the task?” she dared him.

“I know you are. I saw it today in the way you organized and prodded them in the cleanup and I found myself marveling that not too long ago, they spit on the ground every time they heard the name Chattan. Today, they honored you by doing as you asked.” He placed his hand on the back of her neck beneath her hair to bring her closer to him. “And, yes, when I look at you, I see your beauty but it is your spirit I respect. In turn, I’m nothing more than a miserable man.”

“You are not miserable—”

He shushed her protest by saying, “Maggie, I fail a hundred times a day. But with you by my side, there is nothing I cannot achieve. I love you—not the you the world sees,” he hastened to add. “I love the woman who has the courage of a lioness. Who would go to the ends of the earth for her family. And who isn’t afraid to battle demons, both those we can see and those we can’t. I love
you
, Margaret.”

“And
I love you
,” she said, the words finally bursting out of her. “I believe you are the bravest, most marvelous man in the world.”

He laughed and released his hold on her to take her left hand in his. “We both may be fools for this, Maggie, but now I’m doing the asking.” His expression sobered as he said, “Margaret Chattan, I’m a poor man with a big heart and a houseful of relatives. Will you marry me, my love?” He paused. His brows gathered. “Will you be by my side through whatever life tosses at us? Will you always speak your mind whether I want to hear it or not? Will you bear my children, Maggie, and teach them to be as bold and headstrong as you are?”