When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) (33 page)

Iain woke with a start at the hand on his shoulder,
and when he glanced up, Fiona looked down at him. He stood and inhaled a deep
breath, stilling as a familiar scent filled his nose. Swiveling back toward
Marion, he leaned over and started to lower his head to her chest when
Bridgette spoke. “She lives. Barely. Fiona just arrived.”

He swallowed. Suddenly, he was back
at Catriona’s deathbed, and he recalled clearly the sticky-sweet smell of
death, hanging heavy in the air like an overly ripe fruit. He shut his eyes
tight and then opened them once more to find Fiona brushing past him.

For several long silent moments,
she examined Marion, and then she started talking to—or rather barking orders
at—Bridgette, telling her what she needed and to make haste. Bridgette scurried
from the room, and Iain moved to Marion’s side and took her hand with one of
his. He brushed the other over her forehead.

Fiona stood still beside him as he
looked down at Marion. “Yer sister did this. She tried to kill Marion,” Iain
said. He turned to look at Fiona. “Have ye any idea why she would do such a
thing?”

Fiona gaped at him, but after a
spell, she managed to speak. “I imagine she wanted to have ye for her own. I’ve
thought on why she did what she has done to me, and that is what I concluded. I
think it’s why she stirred the other clanswomen’s hatred of me and why she
tricked me into being the one to actually give Marion Catriona’s gown. I vow I
didn’t plot it, but I did do the deed, and my envy is unforgivable.”

Iain nodded, not ready to offer any
sort of forgiveness, in spite of her apparent regret.

Fiona took in a long rattling
breath. “I think Elspeth was intending to rid herself of me from the very start
because she knew I hoped to marry ye,” she said bluntly, casting her gaze down
as her cheeks pinked. “When ye returned with a new bride, I suppose Elspeth
simply altered her plot to include ridding ye of Marion, as well. Have ye
spoken to Elspeth yet?”

“Nay. I’m afraid my hands would
find their way around her neck.”

Fiona sighed. “I understand. I
kinnae imagine what she was thinking to poison Marion. Bridgette told me of
it,” Fiona offered before he even thought to ask how she knew. “I hope ye can
forgive me one day.”

Iain stared down at Marion, whose
breathing was still irregular. “Ye save Marion and I’ll forgive ye.”

The vigil lasted three days. And though it was the
second time he’d stood such a vigil, it was not any easier than the first.
Perchance it was harder because he knew the pain that might come.

Fiona had stayed by Marion’s side
relentlessly, and Iain knew that even if Marion did not live, he had to forgive
Fiona. She was as haggard as he was from lack of sleep.

On the third night, moments after
his brothers had left the room to report clan news and try to entreat him to
let one of them watch over Marion so he could sleep, Marion’s eyes flickered
open. The moment they did, her hand fluttered to her belly. The bright joy he
felt to see her green eyes fixed on him dulled at the thought that he had to
tell her of the bairn. He shoved out of his chair, and Fiona stirred beside
him. She blinked her eyes, looked at Marion, and smiled brightly, then hastily
got up and scurried from the room, softly shutting the door behind her.

Marion watched as Iain, who looked unkempt and tired
with heavy beard growth and dark smudges under his eyes, moved beside her bed.
He smiled down at her. “Ye’re awake.”

Her thoughts were not as clear as
she would have liked, but she was sure her head would be less muddled once she
had a bit of food. She must have eaten something before that had made her ill,
but now she was ravenous, which she knew was a good sign for her and the babe.

She glanced at Iain from under her
eyelashes, excitement and apprehension stirring in her belly. “Iain, I’ve
something to tell ye.”

“So do I,” he replied.

The trembling of his voice made her
throat tighten with worry. “What is it?”

His large hand cupped her cheek and
held it gently. “I love ye.”

Tears sprung to her eyes at the
words she’d thought never to hear from his lips. “What?”

He leaned close to her, his chest
brushing hers, and kissed her with a sweet tenderness that made her feel as if
warmth flowed through her.

“I love ye, Marion. I hope ye still
want my love because I’m overflowing with it for ye, and if ye dunnae want it,
I’ll drown.”

Her heart hammered at his words and
her hand shook as she raised it and pressed it to his cheek. “I want it. It’s
the only thing I’ve ever wanted from you.” She could not imagine anything
better than this moment, except possibly seeing his face when she told him of
the babe. “Iain, I’m—” Unmistakable pain flashed in his eyes and stole her
breath, and her words along with it. “What’s wrong?”

Wordlessly, he gathered her in his
arms and shifted her so she was sitting on his lap. He put one arm around her
back and one hand on her stomach. “Marion.” Her name came from his lips raw and
aching, and his fingers curled gently into the flesh of her belly. His eyes
held hers, the sadness in them bringing tears to her own, and she knew. She
knew what he was going to tell her before he uttered a word.

“I lost the babe.” It was not a
question, but a statement of gut-wrenching pain.

“Aye.” The word trembled from his
lips. “Ye lost the bairn.”

Her stomach turned violently with
the loss as his arms encircled her completely and his hands locked against her
spine. Sobs started low and, within moments, were racking her body. She felt
robbed. Hollow. To blame. And fearful that his admission of love had been one
of pity.

“Let me go,” she said through her
tears. Yet he held her tighter and began to rock her while whispering of his
sadness for their loss in her ear.

She turned her head from his, but
his strong fingers came to her chin and forced her to look at him. “Dunnae deny
me my grief, Marion. I love ye.”

“No.” She shook her head, hiccupped
with a fresh sob, and blinked at him. “You don’t have to say that. You don’t
have to try to make me feel better.”

He stared incredulously at her for
a suspended moment, and then he brushed his lips to hers. “I love ye. I would
never tell ye so if it was nae true, no matter the pain ye’re in. I’m a
clot-heid. I tried to deny it, but I’ll nae deny it any longer.” He kissed her
hard on the lips. “
A ghràidh.
My love.”

Iain’s words were wonderful, yet
her happiness
was dulled by the agony of losing their child. She nodded
at him, wanting to believe him, desperately needing him in this moment. His
strength. His arms. His love.

He rocked her as she cried and ran
a gentle hand over her head, all the while promising his undying love. It
seemed a long while later when she could cry no more. Her eyes were swollen,
her head aching, her limbs heavy with fatigue. Iain laid her on the bed and
settled beside her, putting his hand once again on her belly.

“One day we’ll make another bairn,
and I swear to ye, Marion, I’ll nae let harm come to ye again as long as there
is breath in my body.”

Marion settled her hand over
Iain’s. “You cannot keep all harm from me.”

“I can try,” he responded.

She nodded, thinking of her lost
child and then the seer, of Froste, and her father. She felt sure they would
still come, and it would be her responsibility to stop the war her father and
Froste wished to start so she could watch over Iain, just as he wished to do
for her, until she had no breath left in her body.

The healing process was slow, both mentally and
physically. In the first week of Marion’s recovery, Fiona—much to Marion’s
surprise—was a kind and excellent caretaker. The first thing she said to Marion
when she saw her awake was that she was sorry. She then begged Marion’s
forgiveness for her actions, and Marion forgave her without hesitation, for she
could see the truth of Fiona’s regret. Perchance her new marriage would make
her happy.

Elspeth was another matter. Marion
had not seen her since the woman had tried to kill her, but she intended to see
her today, as Iain was about to go downstairs where Elspeth awaited him to
decide her fate. Marion wanted to go, but Iain had stubbornly refused thus far,
saying he would not chance her relapsing.

Marion took a long breath,
determined to make him agree. Iain was beside her on the bed where she was
reclined—by his orders. “It is my right to go,” she said with quiet resolution.

Iain shook his head. “Ye could
relapse.”

Marion squeezed his hand in hers.
“You can carry me down. I’ll not even walk.”

“Nay.”

The man was stubborn, to be sure.
Marion would simply be more so. “I will hear from her mouth why she poisoned
me, Iain.” When he took a breath to argue, she hurried to speak again. “She
made me lose our child, and almost my life. It is my right to hear why
face-to-face. It is my right to show her she has not broken me,” Marion
finished, her voice shaking.

Iain’s eyes widened, and then he
leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. “No one would ever break ye,
Marion. Yer spirit is strong and bold, which is why ye were the only one that
could ever release me from my pain. And ye’re right, I see that now. Ye should
be there.”

Marion let out a relieved breath as
Iain gathered the blankets around her and then picked her up and wrapped her in
one of them. She felt rather silly, but she knew protesting would be futile
with her husband.

He carried her downstairs to the
great hall and paused outside the door before entering. “Ye’re sure?” he asked
her, concern lacing his tone.

She nodded as she peered into the
large space. Sitting on the dais by the far wall were all Iain’s brothers, Rory
Mac, Angus, Neil, and two older MacLeods. Together they made up the clan
council. The council would give Iain their opinions regarding Elspeth’s fate,
but the final decision would be Iain’s.

In front of the raised dais,
Elspeth stood with two clansmen flanking her.

“I’m ready,” Marion said, sensing
Iain was waiting on her.

When he walked in, the men talking
on the dais ceased. They all stood and Elspeth twisted around. Marion’s breath
caught in her throat. The woman’s brown hair was a mess, and she had dirt all
over her face. Her gown was torn and her eyes were glazed, but they seemed to
clear and flare with hatred upon seeing Marion. Iain’s fingers curled tighter
around Marion’s legs as he strode past Elspeth and to the dais, where Angus
offered his spot to Marion.

She shook her head. “You’re part of
the council.”

“I’m nae so old that I kinnae stand
behind ye,” Angus growled. “Ye’ll sit here or I’ll carry ye back upstairs
myself.”

Marion’s heart swelled with love
for Angus, for everyone up on the dais, as they nodded their agreement and each
rose, offering their chairs one by one.

“Sit here, my lady,” Graham said.
“Ye are one of us.”

“Nae, take my seat,” Lachlan
offered. “Ye are as a sister.”

“Take mine,” Rory Mac demanded with
a smile. “Ye are part of our family.”

On it went, with Elspeth watching
and scowling. Marion could not help but smile as Iain settled her beside him
and she looked to her left and right at her new family. She was a MacLeod in
more than name alone.

Iain called the meeting to start,
which began with him narrowing his eyes at Elspeth for several long moments. He
then read out her crimes. “Elspeth MacLeod, ye’re charged with the crime of
attempting to murder Marion MacLeod by poisoning. Ye’re also charged with the
murder of my and Marion’s unborn bairn.” Iain’s voice did not give the
slightest hint of his torment, but his hand found Marion’s under the table, and
he squeezed her fingers hard before continuing. “What say ye? Guilty or nae?”

“I should have been yer wife,”
Elspeth crowed rather than answering to the charges. When she tried to take a
step toward the dais, Marion tensed, but the men flanking Elspeth quickly
restrained her. She spat on the ground and twisted her arms to no avail, finally
stopping when she must have realized she’d not get loose. “I should have been
yer wife!” she screeched louder. “All my life no one ever paid me heed. No one
ever even looked me in the face except ye. Ye always looked at me as if I
mattered,” she cried out to Iain. “And on yer wedding day, ye told me that ye
were blessed because ye got two beautiful sisters to defend and honor. I kenned
then that ye wanted me.”

Marion stole a sideways glance at
Iain. His jaw ticked furiously. “I was being nice to ye, Elspeth. It did nae
mean I wanted ye. I remember ye looking fearful standing there alone.”

“Nay!” Elspeth shrieked. “Ye wanted
me. I kenned it. And when Catriona died, I knew ye would want to marry me, but
Fiona…” Elspeth twisted around, and Marion only then realized that Fiona stood
in the back of the room with the man that surely had to be her new husband
since they were holding hands. “Fiona started plotting to steal ye. She thought
it her right! But I fooled her! I won. Or I would have!”

Marion’s heart ached for Fiona as
the woman lowered her head in shame, but Fiona’s husband raised her hand to his
and kissed it. She lifted her head and smiled at him. He swiped away the tears
sliding down her face, and Marion knew Fiona would be fine. She had found
happiness. She had never really wanted Iain, and she would have never harmed
Marion. She just wanted to be loved, which Marion could understand fully, and
Iain—with his kindness and honor—had a habit of making women love him, or think
they loved him, without intending it.

“Elspeth MacLeod,” Iain boomed,
“have ye anything else to say?”

“Ye’re mine!” Elspeth shouted over
and over.

Behind Marion, Angus’s hand came to
rest on her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze.

Iain shook his head at Elspeth’s
protestations, and then looked to the council. “What say ye, council members?
Banishment or death?”

Death?

Marion’s gut clenched. In spite of
what Elspeth had done, Marion did not wish her dead. The woman’s mind was
warped. She held her breath as each member spoke. They were split down the
middle with four wanting death and four wanting banishment. Marion stared at
Iain, who had the final word.

He scrubbed a hand over his face
and then locked his gaze on Marion. “What say ye? What do ye wish?”

He was asking her opinion? It was
the greatest honor he could give her, and she loved him all the more for it.
“Banishment,” she said, her voice clear and loud.

He nodded and turned to look at
Elspeth. “Ye are hereby banished for life from the Isle of Skye and Dunvegan
Castle to the farthest point in Scotland from this spot. If ye ever stand on
MacLeod land again, ye will be killed on sight. Ye will await departure in the
dungeon. Take her,” Iain commanded and motioned to the guards. And then Elspeth
was dragged out of the room screaming and flailing her arms. Fiona followed,
Marion supposed, to say her farewells.

“Cameron,” Iain said, as he stood
and gathered Marion into his arms and pulled her close to his chest. “Ye will
go with the guards to see Elspeth settled.”

“As ye wish, brother.”

Without another word, Iain strode
from the dais and up to their bedchamber. He set Marion on the bed, and to her
surprise, he joined her.

“What are you doing?” she said,
laughing. “Do you not need to attend to clan business?”

“Aye. But it can wait. I’ve been
creating something just for ye in my head.” Iain stretched out his long legs as
he reclined beside her and took her hand in his. Then, to her astonishment, he
began to sing a ballad, and as he started to tell the story, she realized it
was about them. He sung of a laird who’d lost his ability to love and the
proud, half-English beauty who awoke first his lust and then his heart, and
patiently taught him how to love again.

Marion’s throat ached with unshed
tears of happiness as he finished the ballad. When he was done, he smiled shyly
at her and pressed his lips to hers.

“I did not know you could sing.”

“Oh, aye, but dunnae tell anyone.
Lairds do nae sing,” he said most seriously. “My father always told me so.”

Marion frowned. “What else do lairds
not do?”

Iain rubbed his knuckles over his
chin as he looked thoughtful. “Lairds dunnae cry, and lairds always put the
clan first, above all else.”

“Was your father a hard man?” she
asked, thinking of her own.

Iain nodded. “He was hard, but he
was good and honorable, and showed us he cared for us.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “But never
told you so?”

“Nay. Lairds dunnae talk of
emotions, either.”

She snorted at that, but the
conversation went far in explaining why Iain had not spoken to her of how he
felt sooner. If the rules about lairds were firmly established early in life,
and he’d lived them for so long, it was no wonder it had been so hard for him.
“I’m glad you are a different sort of laird from your father.”

“Different but the same,” he
replied. “Speaking of how I feel is difficult, but I’ll do it for ye. But only
ye.”

She grinned. “Will you continue to
sing for me?”

He chuckled. “Aye. But only for
ye.”

Before she could respond a knock
came at the door. “It’s Lachlan. May I enter?”

“Aye,” Iain called.

Lachlan strolled into the room with
a casual grace that made Marion see why Bridgette was infatuated with the man.
Though Marion did not find him as handsome as Iain, he was certainly an
attractive man with his thick russet hair and his bright-green eyes, which
always looked as if he had a secret.

He paused at the foot of the bed
and shook his head. “I never thought I’d see the time come that ye would spend
all day abed.”

Iain laughed. “Now ye have. Have ye
come simply to annoy me or do ye want something?”

“Well,
neo-bhriste laird
,”
Lachlan drawled with a mischievous smile and a mocking tone. “Ye’ll nae hold
that title much longer if ye dunnae train. Or have ye forgotten ye’re wanted
dead by the English, and yer wife—” he winked at Marion “—is simply wanted.”

“I’ve nae forgotten,” Iain replied
with a scowl. “We’ll train tomorrow.”

Lachlan nodded and turned to go,
but when he reached the door, he faced them. “Marion, thank ye.”

“What for?” she asked in confusion.

Lachlan grinned. “For nae fleeing
from Iain after ye first met him. Ye’ve made him happy.”

“It dunnae show, does it?” Iain
asked with an indignation that made Marion laugh.

“Nay.” Lachlan rolled his eyes and
left.

As Iain wrapped Marion in his arms,
she looked up at him. “What does
neo-bhriste laird
mean?”

She stared at him until he finally
answered. “Unbroken laird. The men call me that because I’ve never been
defeated in battle.”

He sounded as if he didn’t like it,
which confused her. “You don’t care for it?”

“Nay. I think it’s bad fortune to
give yerself such a title, as though I’m asking for God to strike me down for
being too proud.”

Marion nodded. “If I had a coin,
I’d give it to you for an indulgence.”

Iain roared with laughter until he
complained that his stomach hurt.

Later that night, after a quiet
game of chess, Marion studied the candlelit bedchamber and a thought came to
her. “Dance with me, Iain,” she said, wanting to forget her heartache from the
loss of their babe in his arms.

“I dunnae ken how.”

“You don’t know how to dance?” she
repeated, stunned.

He smirked at her. “Dancing is nae
on the list of things to teach a young Scottish lad who is to be laird.”

She nodded, understanding, but…
“Surely you danced with Catriona?”

“Nay,” he responded, his usual
haunted look no longer in his eyes, to her relief. “Catriona did nae care to
dance.”

“I’ll teach you!” Marion exclaimed.

He looked as if he’d rather eat
dirt, which made her burst into laughter. “Please,” she begged. “It will be
lovely and will make me so happy.”

“It will make ye happy?”

She nodded, eager to start.

“If ye feel tired, ye must tell
me,” he ordered.

“I vow it, but I truly do feel
quite well.”

He helped her up, and they moved to
the middle of the bedchamber where she taught him the steps of a country-dance.
The fire crackled and roared in the grate, giving the room a toasty warmth. By
the time she arranged them in their positions and showed him some steps
involved, they were both perspiring.