Page 62 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
“I dinnae wish ye tae be interrupted. I ken this story of yers will contain sadness.” He met her eyes, which already shone with unshed tears.
She nodded. “I’ll dae me best tae tell ye all I ken. But there is much I dinnae understand, even though it is me own life I recall. There are some puzzles, yet.”
Regaining his seat, he turned the chair to face her.
She took a deep breath and shifted in her chair as if needing to find the most comfortable spot before she began what he knew would be most uncomfortable in the telling.
“First, I recognized that terrible man. She paused, and he nodded for her to continue. “Ye named him MacKinnon. ‘Faither,’ I called him.”
His jaw gaped. “Are ye telling me that Murchadh MacKinnon, that dastardly man, is yer faither?”
She nodded, a single tear trickling down her cheek.
Everard got to his feet, his hands forming fists. He paced in front of the fire. “I dinnae ken, Davina. It is against nature fer a faither tae attempt tae end the life of his child. That is beyond me understanding. And yet, I heard his evil words and saw his evil deed, tumbling ye intae the bay. Ye’d have met with certain death?—”
“If ye’d nay been there tae rescue me.” She looked up, meeting his eyes, and he felt himself burn inside. How was it possible that anyone could wish to do her harm?
He took his seat again, leaning his elbows on his knees, his hands cupping his chin, wanting to catch every one of her words.
“Was it yer faither who banished ye tae the Prior at Iona?”
She shook her head. “Nay. ‘Twas me braither.”
“Ye’ve a braither?”
“His name is Tòrr. I recall his face, although it is a dim memory. What I remember is that he was kind. When I was little more than a babe, he would sit by the fire with me and play.” She looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “He used tae make me laugh. And when me faither…”
The tears flowed at the mention of her father. Everard’s heart went out to her. His father had been cruel, and even though he, himself, had felt his own father’s harsh punishment at times, doing this to a daughter was not something Everard could not understand. Everard’s father also had not loved Raven, Everard’s sister, but he had married her away. He hadn’t tried to kill her.
He reached for Davina’s hand, holding it firmly in his.
“And yer faither?”
Mayhap he should never have asked her, for her tears turned to sobs and she turned her face up to his, clutching a napkin to her cheeks. “Methinks that what occurred yesterday between meself and the Laird MacKinnon when he was bent on ending me life, had happened before.”
Everard waited until the sobs had turned into hiccups. He had no intention of pressing her further, what she’d said so far hadtaken a toll. It was clear she was exhausted. Reliving the horror of her childhood was causing her intolerable pain.
Davina gave her nose a lusty blow. She turned her head away and stared into the fire, as if struggling with the memories that tormented her.
His heart went out to her and his rage toward MacKinnon took on a new and fearsome magnitude. If he could have gotten his hands around the man’s throat at that moment, he would have wrung the very life from his body.
He took a deep, steadying breath, at last trusting himself to speak. “Can ye tell me how it was that ye came tae Iona?”
She nodded, the tears beginning to streak her cheeks once more. Turning red-rimmed eyes to him, she whispered. “As I said, I wish tae tell ye everything I remember.”
“If it brings more tears, ye dinnae have tae tell it tae me now.”
Clutching his sleeve, she shook her head. “Nay, fer all I ken the memories willnae stay. I must tell ye while they are still fresh in me mind.”
Reclaiming her hand, he nodded.
“I cannae recall a time when me faither wasnae angry wi’ me. I dinnae think he was aught but disgusted by me very presence. He was caught in a wild temper whenever I was in his sight.” Shegave a little snort of laughter. “I became very quick at making meself as small as a mouse and hiding meself away whenever I heard his footsteps approaching.”
Everard stroked her hair, picturing the wee bairn’s fear. He marveled at the strength it must have taken the lass to escape from the Priory as she did. He cleared his throat, swallowing the lump that had formed there as he’d listened to her talk.
“What of yer maither? Was she nae able tae keep ye safe from yer da’s temper?”
“I dinnae recall me maither. All I have is the sweet scent of roses when she was near, and the warmth and comfort when she held me. But she was gone one day, and I had naught left of her.”
