Page 30 of The Highlander Who Loved Me

“James.” She whispered his name, then extended her hand to him. “I dinnae want to anger ye or stir up any bitter memories. If ye believe nothing else, ye must believe that is the truth.”

He gazed down at her hand for a long moment, then looked away without touching it. Without touching her. Davina felt a fist close around her heart.

“Our memories shall remain where they belong,” he declared. “Buried in the past.”

“I’m not yer enemy, James.”

“Truly?” He cocked his head. “I’m not so certain.”

Lightning cracked and flashed through the open archway window, the white light illuminating James’s features. Davina felt herself pull back. He was as handsome as the devil, but the harsh line of his jaw and the hardness in his eyes frightened her. His hard gaze held her captive for a long moment.

Listening to his voice in the darkness, she could momentarily fool herself into believing all would be right between them, but seeing him in the bright, shocking light clearly brought the reality into focus.

He was not the lad she had loved; he was a hardened, bitter warrior. And she was no longer the lass she had been. Hearing the pain in his voice made her knees feel weak. She had not been the only one to suffer these past few years. Knowing she was the cause of James’s pain made her guilt surge.

Another crack of deafening thunder hit, quickly followed by a bolt of lightning. Davina felt as though it struck her body, straining every nerve and muscle.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” she promised, knowing it was the least she owed him.

“Aye,’tis what I expected. After all, that’s what ye do best.”

“Best?”

“Aye. Run away,” he said softly.

Davina felt herself stiffen defensively. But curiosity won over pride. “I thought that would please ye. Do ye not want me to leave?”

He cleared his throat. “I have little care fer yer comings and goings. It makes no difference to me if ye stay or go.”

With those parting words, James turned on his heel and left.

Shaken, Davina struggled to gather her wits. A loud cough from above alerted her to the changing of the watch. Fearful of being found lurking in the hall, she hurried back to her chamber. Once safely inside, she pressed her back firmly against the solid wood, willing her heart to slow and her breathing to return to a normal rhythm.

She climbed silently back into bed. She forced her eyes to close, but sleep would not come. She turned to prayer, for strength and guidance, and then offered a prayer of hope that tomorrow would be a better day.

For surely ’twas impossible for it be worse than today.

Chapter Eight

Despite a near sleepless night, James came awake as the first rays of morning light entered his chamber. Remaining still for a moment, he rolled his head toward the door and took in his surroundings. A table with two chairs around it, three windows lined with heavy glass, a thick carpet in a pattern of blue adorning the floor, a cozy fire burning in the hearth.

’Twas only one place in the world he knew that boasted such luxury.

McKenna Castle. Home.

He was surprised at the rush of pleasure he felt at the realization. Five years ago the idea of returning here had been unthinkable. The shame too great, the guilt too strong.

He had struggled mightily under the weight of dishonor that plagued him for being unable to defend Davina. It had taken years, yet gradually James realized he would carry that burden no matter where he laid his head each night. And thus, tired of the battles, blood, and death that had been his companions for far too long, he had come home.

To what felt like a more intense inferno.

James grit his teeth, rotated the tightness out of his shoulders, and got out of bed. A sudden rush of dizziness told him he had drunk far too much last night, and he fought to remain on his feet.

Staggering, he made his way to the door and flung it open. The leather hinges squealed, the irritating sound reverberating through his aching head. Annoyance spiked anew at the sight of a young page sulking in the hall. Clearly, the lad had been assigned to wait upon him, a lowly task that somehow did not appeal.

James dragged a hand over his face, then pressed his fingers against his temples. “Fetch hot water fer washing, a pitcher of ale, and something fer me to break my fast,” he barked.

Terror replaced the sulking expression on the lad’s face. Eyes wide, he took off at a run. Cursing beneath his breath, James watched the lad scamper away. His throat was parched and his belly growling for food. He only hoped it would not take an unreasonable amount of time for the lad to gain the courage to return.

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