A short time later Angus rose and stretched. “Enough,” he said, failing to keep the excitement from his voice. “’Tis time I showed my future wife that I am more of a man than the MacKenna laird.”
A loud cheer rose from his companions, along with lewd words of advice. Angus noticed Seana and strutted over to her, staggering slightly. “Have you been here long?”
“Aye, you were too interested in dicing and drinking to notice me. You doona have to go to Gillian, you ken. While I am eager to please you, I doubt Gillian will welcome you.”
Angus puffed out his chest. “Bedding Gillian has naught to do with you and me. She was meant to be mine, and I shall have her, even if I have to force her. Mayhap her husband will set her aside after we become lovers. If that happens, the feud will continue and Braeburn will be mine.”
“I doona ken how Braeburn will be yours. Gillian has three living brothers and a father. They would have to die before Braeburn would fall to Gillian.”
Angus’s eyes gleamed with malice. “They will die; I will make sure of it.”
Because their minds worked in the same way, Seana understood immediately what Angus planned. “You intend to kill them yourself,.”
Angus shrugged. “Men die in battle. Who is to say who killed whom?”
Admiration glowed in Seana’s eyes. “We think alike, Angus Sinclair.”
Angus sent her a puzzled look and strode off. Seana calmly picked up the piece of embroidery she had been working on and, smiling savagely, pierced the cloth with the needle.
Seana heard Angus’s howl of outrage filtering down from the upper reaches of the keep, and her smile widened. A few minutes later Angus came bounding down the stairs, his face white as a sheet. She jumped from her chair.
“Angus, what’s wrong?”
“The bitch has killed herself!” he shrieked as he flew out the door. “Follow me,” he called to his kinsmen, who were staring at him as if he had lost his mind. To a man, they rushed out after him.
An hour passed before the lot of them returned. Angus stumbled to the hearth and subsided into a chair, looking defeated.
“What happened?” Seana asked innocently. “How did Gillian kill herself? She had no weapon. What did you expect to find outside?”
Someone handed Angus a mug of ale. His hands shook as he brought it to his mouth and drank deeply. “She leaped to her death,” he said shakily. “We found a piece of her gown caught on the rocks below. She must have fallen into the river and been swept out to sea. We didna look farther downstream, for the fall alone would have killed her.”
He grasped Seana’s hand. “I didna want the lass to die, Seana. I wanted to wed her. I wouldna have believed it of her if I hadna seen the proof for myself.” He shook his head. “Gone. Everything I have done to secure my future died with Gillian. What am I going to tell the MacKay?”
Seana made soothing noises as she reached out to Angus. “You still have me, Angus. Come to bed—tet me comfort you.”
Confused and broken, his plan in ruins, Angus rose and followed Seana up the stairs to his bedchamber.
Gillian couldn’t believe Seana had freed her, despite the fact that her motives had been selfish. She kept glancing behind her, waiting for the sound of Angus’s men hunting her down. The horse she rode was neither young nor fast, and the night was dark and moonless. How she hated to leave Silver behind. But she counted herself fortunate not to be afoot.
Seana had been wrong, however, when she assumed that Gillian would go to her father at Braeburn. Nay, she would return to Ravenscraig and Ross. She knew he was angry with her, and prayed he wouldn’t send her away. If he still desired peace between their clans, he had no choice but to let her remain with him. She desperately hoped he would understand why she had lied about being Angus’s lover and realize she had sent him away to save his life.
Gillian picked her way across sweeping moorland made treacherous by a dark sky raining icy pellets down upon her. She was cold, so very cold. How she wished she had her plaid to keep her warm. The thin cloak Seana had given her did naught to keep out the wind. Still, she pushed onward, too numb with cold to realize that snow had begun to fall from the sullen sky, or that she was just scant miles from Ravenscraig.
Shivering uncontrollably, Gillian bent low over her horse’s withers, clutching its mane with stiff fingers to keep from falling from the saddle. When she heard a horn cut through the silence, she glanced up, stunned to see Ravenscraig Tower looming before her. When she tried to call out, naught but a loud croak issued forth. Two large tears ran down her cheeks, followed by another and another. They froze on her face.
Gillian closed her eyes; she was tired, so very tired. Her hands and feet had lost all sense of feeling long ago. Her hold on the horse’s mane loosened, and she started to fall. The frozen ground came up to meet her and she knew no more.
Chapter Fourteen
Ross rolled out of bed in a foul mood. Returning to Ravenscraig without Gillian had left a bad taste in his mouth, even though it had been Gillian’s choice to remain with her lover. Ross shook his head to clear it of unwanted thoughts. Until he decided what was to be done about the situation, he didn’t want to think about Gillian.
Ross washed in icy water, shaved, dressed, and descended to the hall to break his fast. His bleak features and stormy expression must have warned everyone away, for Gordo merely nodded to him and returned his attention to his food. The assembly in the hall turned deathly quiet, until Ross lifted his mug of ale and drank deeply Then the babble of voices resumed.
Ross knew he wasn’t fit company right now, and wondered if he ever would be again. A knife had been thrust into his heart and he was still bleeding. The problem, as he saw it, was whether he should fight for his wife or disavow her. According to the terms of the truce, if Gillian refused to return to his keep, the feud would resume. The good Lord knew their marriage had had a rocky beginning. Perhaps they were just two people who should never have wed.
“Forget her, lad,” Gordo advised when Ross continued to stare into his bowl of porridge without tasting it. “No woman is worth such anguish.”
Ross sent him a stony glare. “Go to hell, Uncle.”
Gordo shrugged and resumed eating. As for Ross, his appetite had fled. If it weren’t so cold and blustery outside, he could work out his frustrations in swordplay. Mayhap he could organize wrestling matches in the hall and take on anyone willing to accept his challenge. Anything was better than sitting in the keep with naught to do but mull over past mistakes.
Forcing himself to forget his faithless wife, Ross began to eat, tasting naught but sawdust.
“We have visitors,” Gordo announced at the sound of a horn. “Who would venture out so early on such a day as this?”
Ross could not bring himself to care. When Gizela hobbled up and pulled on his sleeve, Ross shooed her away. He didn’t want to hear anything Gizela had to say.
Gizela was not so easily disuaded. “Heed me, laird; the flame has returned. She has need of you.”
“Go away, old woman. I am in no mood to listen to your blather.”
Ross knew Gizela referred to Gillian as the flame because of her red hair, but he didn’t want to hear anything concerning his wife.
“She lies near death, Laird Ross. We must act quickly”
“Gillian is with Sinclair,” Ross spat. “Never mention her name to me again.”
Gizela shook her gray head. “Have you no faith in your wife?”
Truly angry now, Ross shoved Gizela aside. “Go away! How can I have faith in a woman who prefers another man’s bed?”
“You must believe, laird,” Gizela persisted. “Do you wish her dead?”
Ross winced. Did he want Gillian dead? Nay, never that. “What are you trying to tell me? What makes you think Gillian needs me?”
Gizela’s eyes clouded over as she gazed toward the front door. She appeared to have gone into a trance. Then she let out a shriek and ran out of the hall.
Ross leaped to his feet so quickly, his chair tumbled backward. “What in God’s name is wrong with her?”
“Best we follow her,” Gordo said, rising. “Gizela wouldna act this way if something out the ordinary hadna happened.”
Rousing himself from his apathy, Ross followed Gordo out the door. He felt the cold bite deep into his bones as he and Gordo raced through the bailey close on Gizela’s heels. If the old woman felt the cold, she didn’t show it as she raced toward the gate.
“What is it?” Ross called up to a man on the wall walk.
“Someone is at the gate. I was on my way to fetch you.”
“Open the portcullis,” Ross shouted when he heard Gizela screeching.
The healer was the first one through. Ross and Gordo were right behind her. Ross saw Gizela fall to her knees beside a crumpled figure lying on the ground.
“Can you see who it is?” Ross asked Gordo.
“Nay, but we had better find out. Gizela seems distraught.”
Intuition told Ross whom he would find long before he saw her flame-red hair fanned out across a blanket of new-fallen snow. It reminded him of blood, and he shuddered.
“ ’Tis Gillian,” Gordo said as Ross bent to scoop his wife into his arms. “What devil brought her to Ravenscraig?”
“She hovers near death,” Gizela cried. “We must hurry”
“Leave her,” Gordo advised.“The world will be well rid of her. It will save you from having to kill her yourself.”
“Nay!” Gizela screamed as she flew at Gordo, her tiny fists flailing impotently against Gordo’s chest. “Fool! All men are fools!”
“Easy, Gizela,” Ross soothed. “I willna let Gillian die here on the cold ground.”
So saying, he carried her into the keep and up the stairs to the solar; her flaming hair trailed over his arm. He remembered how much he enjoyed running his fingers though her silken tresses as he placed Gillian on the bed. “Build up the fire, Gordo.”
Her fragile skin was white, bloodless, and so cold Ross feared they had found her too late. He picked up one of her hands and chafed it between his own, cursing beneath his breath. Why had Gillian ventured out in naught but a thin cloak with no gloves to protect her hands?
“Leave,” Gizela ordered. “I will care for my lady. Send Alice to me with my medicinal chest.”
“I amna leaving,” Ross maintained.
Eyes blazing, Gizela rounded on him. “Nay!You wish my lady ill. Take your uncle and go.”
Gordo grasped his arm and pulled him from the chamber. “Come away, lad. She’s in God’s hands now If her punishment is death, then so be it.”
Ross knew Gordo was right. Gillian had betrayed him, mayhap even conspired to end his life. Still, he didn’t want her death on his conscience. Furthermore, there were too many unanswered questions that would die with her. Why had Gillian abandoned her lover’s bed? What had prompted her to leave Sinclair, ill-prepared to face the elements? Winters were harsh in the Highlands, and well she knew it.
Ross found Alice and relayed Gizela’s request, but instead of returning to the hall, he went to the stables to inspect the horse Gillian had ridden to Ravenscraig. The poor mare had been ridden hard and was nearly done-in. She was also long in the tooth and somewhat malnourished. Why hadn’t Gillian ridden Silver? Naught made sense. He left the mare in good hands and returned to the keep.
Ross subsided into a chair before the hearth, staring into the dancing flames. If Gillian lived, he knew he would never feel the same about her. She had slept with another man, mayhap carried another man’s bairn. According to the law, he could kill her if he wished. But that would mean decades, mayhap centuries of feuding and killing. Tearlach MacKay would not take the slaying of his only daughter lightly. Nor could Ross bring himself to kill or physically harm a woman.
Gillian could never be trusted again; that was a given. But returning her to Braebum would likely also mean the resumption of the feud, assuming, of course, that Gillian would live.
Niall joined Ross and sat down. “What is the MacKay lass doing here?”
“I doona ken. She is in no condition to talk.”
“Will she live?”
“ ’Tis in God’s hands.”
“Gillian deserves punishment, but ... you willna hurt her, will you?”
Ross sent Niall a disgusted look. “You know me better than that, Niall. If Gillian lives, I will probably return her to Braeburn. Never again will I allow her in my bed or give her free reign of my keep.”
Both men stretched their legs toward the heat, lost in their own thoughts. When Alice approached Ross a short time later and whispered into his ear, Ross sloughed off his apathy and climbed the stairs to the solar.
Assisted by Alice, Gizela worked feverishly to warm Gillian’s chilled body. Buckets of warm water had been carried to the solar and poured into a tub, but neither woman was strong enough to carry Gillian from bed to bath. And so Gizela had relented and sent for Ross.