Page 27 of Sinful Scot
“I,” Rhys began, but then he stopped speaking, as if he thought better of it. “It’s a gut feeling.”
“Well,” Maggie replied as Rhys climbed out of the long rectangular hole they’d dug, then leaned over and held his hand out to her, “I heard much whispering at Kinghorn that Bruce the elder, whom my family supports, would actually have one of the strongest claims. It seems Lord John Balliol is also positioning himself to lay a claim. Yer family is aligned with him, aye?”
Before he could respond, she gasped as she was suddenly struck by a terrible realization. “Oh!” If the young Maid of Norway somehow did not become the next ruler, and a fight broke out among the claimants, her clan and Rhys’s clan would be on two different sides of a war.
“What is it?” Rhys asked, clasping her hand and hauling her out of the hole with such strength and ease that she bumped into his chest. She took a step back, and her eyes widened, fearful she was going to fall backward into the grave.
Rhys’s arms slid around her waist, and his hand pressed firmly to her back as he drew her toward him and into his protective embrace. Her blood seemed to heat with his touch. This, she thought dazedly as she looked up and found his gaze steadily on her, was the passion the other ladies-in-waiting whispered and giggled about when they spoke of men they’d kissed—and done other things with. She blushed just to think it. They were things she had never bothered to consider because she’d known Bellecote would never inspire such feelings of desire in her. She’d resigned herself to the fact that she would have a loveless marriage, and a dull and cold marriage, but now her mind was wandering in dangerous directions—ones she had no business letting it wander considering she still had a duty to her family.
“I’ve got you, Maggie,” Rhys said, and her heart, her foolish, foolish heart flipped at the words. “Why did you gasp before?”
She stared into his eyes, fascinated by the slashes of silver she saw in the gray. She’d never seen eyes like his, except—Something clicked in her mind, and an image came to her of Shona bursting into Grace’s healing room. The first thing Maggie had noticed was Shona’s terror-filled eyes. The next thing Maggie had noticed was their color. Shona MacKinnish had two different colored eyes. One was blue, but the other… The other eye was gray with silver slashes—the exact color of Rhys’s eyes.
“Maggie, did you hear me? Why did you gasp? Are you all right?”
“Uh, aye… It just occurred to me that my family is aligned with the Bruce family and yer clan is aligned with the Balliols. If the two of them are vying for the throne, our clans would be enemies, if it did nae go well,” she murmured still staring at his gray-silver eyes.
Shona is my mother.His words echoed in her head.
She shook her head.Nay, it can nae be. It can nae be true. ’Tis impossible and does nae make any sense.
“Rhys,” she heard herself say, though she felt as if someone else were speaking for her. “Where are ye from?” Her voice shook. Her body shook. She felt Rhys’s hands upon her back like a flame, and she was acutely aware of his strong arms around her. As she stared at him, a light of understanding seemed to dawn in his eyes, followed by indecision and then submission.
“New Orleans, Louisiana.”
She inhaled a long breath, and the cold air made her lungs and chest ache and burn. “I’ve never heard of New Orleans, Louisiana,” she said slowly, waiting for him to explain, not wanting to ask more yet needing to know. There seemed a thousand pieces of the truth floating before her and she needed to put them together, even if they created a picture that scared her.
Better to face yer fears, her father had always said. He hadn’t faced his, and look what had become of him.
Rhys hesitated, watching her carefully, as if measuring her for a moment. Then he took a deep breath. “You don’t know New Orleans because it won’t be founded until 1718. It’s on a continent called North America, which won’t be founded until 1492.”
She studied him, her focus returning to his eyes, which were the exact color as Shona’s. He was speaking nonsense. He must have been Shona’s brother and playing a trick on her. Yes, that was it. It had to be.
She crossed her arms and shook her head. “It can nae be,” she blurted. “Ye are Shona’s brother, are ye nae?”
His face was sad but serene. Not at all like someone who was teasing her. “No, Maggie,” he said calmly. “I’m her son.”
She pulled away from him, careful not to get too close to the edge of the grave. He released her immediately, not moving anything but his gaze, which tracked her as she paced back and forth beside Loxton’s dead body. Her head was spinning. “’Tis impossible!”
“If you’ll let me,” he said, his voice gentle, “I believe I can prove to you that what I say is true.”
She should leave. She should flee him. She looked in the direction she would need to travel to make her way back to Kinghorn, but her feet did not budge.
“I won’t stop you if you want to go,” he said softly.
Good God above, she’d lost her mind. Only someone who had lost her mind would want to stay with someone who obviously had already lost his. Still, she wanted to see what he had to say, how he intended to provide her with proof. “I’ll stay,” she said in her best matter-of-fact tone. “But just to sort this foolishness out. Because I fear the flogging has addled yer brain.” And because she needed one scrap of normalcy to cling to.
“Shall we pray?” she asked, looking to Loxton. And without waiting for Rhys’s response, only seeing the astonishment on his face, she bowed her head and spoke a rambling prayer for the man she’d killed.
Chapter Eight
But life is full of hard choices,
And risk is part of the game.
Be brave, ignore doubting voices,
Make the choice, life won’t be the same.
