Page 25 of The Lady's Guide to a Highlander’s Heart
Reaching her hand across the bed, she felt the warmth where his body had lain, and a chill passed over her.
He seemed convinced that it had been she who killed her father.
That being so, had she been wrong in her own assumption?
She sank her head into her hands, and her heart filled with dread.
If Ragnall had not murdered his chieftain, then who had—and with what purpose?
Chapter 11
The passing hourshad brought a tumult of emotions, but Flora was certain now of one thing. Her convictions had been wrong concerning Ragnall. Had he been her father’s murderer, he would have had no compunction in turning the dagger to Flora’s own neck, dispatching her before she had a chance to tell her story elsewhere.
Instead, his eyes had told her that he felt only pity; that, and a strange sort of empathy. It seemed impossible then, that he carried the burden of a murderer’s guilt.
She would tell him so—that she’d been wrong—and do all she could to convince him of her own innocence. Together, they’d discover who was truly responsible. As chieftain, Ragnall would have the authority to bring the evil-hearted villain to justice. She believed in his sense of honour to do so, even were it to cause trouble within the clan.
With alacrity, she washed at the small basin, wincing only a little at the tenderness between her legs. True to his word, Ragnall had been gentle with her, and it had been she, rather, who had urged him on. To think that she’d been fearful, in those hours afterward, that he might have rendered her with child.
Now, the notion brought with it altogether different feelings.
Their vows had been made before God and bound by the fastening of hands.
They’d lost so much time, but she would make up for it now. She would be the wife he deserved, and embrace Ragnall as her husband, as her father had intended. In this, at least, she could make amends.
Having donned the red woollen gown, she dressed her hair and made herself presentable. She had faith that he would see the truth.
Then, he would want to bring her to the great hall, wouldn't he? To present her to their clansmen. He’d explain everything, and they would understand. He’d make them believe in her innocence, and all would be well. He was the chieftain, and well-respected. None would question his wisdom.
She had only to retell the details of that night, and he would see the honesty of her words.
She wouldnae allow herself to believe anything else.
When the door opened at last, Flora’s heart leapt and she rose immediately to her feet. How she longed to throw her arms about her husband’s neck and meet his eager kisses with her own.
Only when he stepped into the room with Calder at his side did her joy die in her breast, for Ragnall appeared to have aged since she saw him last.
“Aye, ’tis the lass.” Calder stepped boldly towards her, an unpleasant smile upon his lips. “Her father nae suspected he nursed a viper, but I saw it from the start—that she were a serpent in the guise of a maid, more concerned with her own vain wishes than her duty tae the clan. ’Twas a relief, I tell ye, when the early promise of us being joined as man and wife was broken.”
He shook his head woefully. “I was nae alone in hearing her arguing with Malcolm in his chamber the very evening of his death, but I didnae guess she’d go so far as tae murder him. The bloodied garments were found in her room on the morn, and the wench fled, as ye ken.”
For several moments, Flora was too horrified to speak but then a wave of fury broke over her. “Lies! I never spoke against ma father’s wish. I was all a dutiful daughter should be. I accepted every decision he made, even when the choices were nae ma own.” She cast her eyes to Ragnall, beseeching him to speak on her behalf, but saw only bleak acceptance.
How could it be so?
The laird was no fool. Why would he believe Calder’s accusations?
“Ye see how she is!” Calder folded his arms. “From her own lips, she admits the betrothal was against her wish—and didnae the wench write the same on the note she left in her chamber, sayin’ she wouldnae take ye to husband? She didnae want ye Ragnall, any more than she wanted me.”
An evil glint lit Calder’s eyes. “I guess ye’ve bedded her, but did ye have the chance to inspect her body by good light? It wouldnae surprise me to find she bore some devil’s mark. I hear the witches dunnae like to take mortal men to husband, having enough demons visit them by night to satisfy even the most wanton lusts.”
The gasp of horror died in Flora’s throat as she saw Ragnall look not at her but to the morning sun filling the window.
He wouldn’t countenance such vile accusations. She wouldn’t believe it.
“Nae doubt she came tae ye posing as an innocent and seduced ye with sweet promises,” Calder continued. “But I see now she wears the fine scarlet o' a woman confident in her charms. Had ye come tae yer chamber alone, I’ll vouch she would hae had those skirts thrown up for ye in a trice. Such is the way with women who ken how tae twist a man tae the coil o' their finger.”
Flora felt the heat rush to her cheeks. Would that be what Ragnall saw when he looked at her now—a conniving woman who’d played his passions all along? It shamed her to think that he wouldn’t be far wrong.
