Page 24 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
Flora sighed wearily.
“Ye cannae understand.” She pushed her tears away. Hadn’t she learnt long ago that they served no purpose? “Wrongs should be put right. I came tae yer bed with intent tae avenge my father's murder. For that alone, I suffered ye tae touch me.” She rubbed her fingers over the quilt, not wishing to meet Ragnall's eye, for her words were not entirely truthful.
The laird didn’t need to hear how much pleasure his caresses had given her. It was humiliating enough for her to admit to herself. His lovemaking had stirred her in ways she didn’t comprehend. Even now, were the dirk to be placed in her hand and Ragnall to lie defenceless, she would be unable to take the revenge she’d sought.
Fastening the kilt, Ragnall placed the dagger within his belt. Again, he surveyed her, as if deciding upon his course of action, and there appeared a shadow over him as he moved closer.
He spoke softly this time. “The birds upon that coverlet were stitched by ma mother’s hand. Like many a maid, she had nae say in the betrothal made for her, and her marriage tae ma father was nae a happy one.”
Ragnall paused, clearing his throat, while Flora looked at the embroidery under her fingers.
“I was too young tae understand, but I'd find her with eyes red-rimmed often enough, and ma father didnae care who heard the violence he rained upon her.”
Ragnall hesitated again and Flora found him gazing at her with a pensive expression. Truly, he was a man of swiftly changing moods.
“Alasdair, ma brother, kept me away from it as much as he could, but ’twas like a darkness over the castle, and over everyone in it.”
Alasdair.
From the break in Ragnall’s voice, it was clear that speaking of him caused a degree of pain. Surely then, the riding accident had been just that. Looking at the man before her now, she could hardly believe he’d connived to bring about his brother’s death.
“Ye’ve heard the tales, no doubt, of what happened after.” Ragnall came to seat himself upon the corner of the bed.
Flora gave a small nod, though only snatches of the story had reached her ears. Her husband being unable to give her the affection she sought, Vanora had taken a lover, but the inevitable day had come when the two had been discovered. The punishment meted out upon the pair had been barbaric—that Flora knew, although the details had never been spoken of in her hearing. Even Maggie had refused to tell her.
“I’ve drawn swords more than once with men who dared throw the story in ma face.” Ragnall levelled his gaze at Flora. “But I speak of it now tae show ye that I do understand yer desire to avenge the father ye loved. I spent ma youth contriving plots to do away wi’ the man who subjected ma mother tae that cruel death.”
“And why did ye nae act?” Flora could hardly hide her surprise.
“’Twas Alasdair who persuaded me against it.” Ragnall’s face softened when he spoke his brother’s name. “He told me we had the good o’ the clan tae consider; that there was enough conflict between the clans without causing factions within. ‘Twould have been Alasdair as took ma father’s place as laird, and he was content to wait.”
Flora had only the dimmest memories of the elder of her second cousins. A serious demeanor, she recalled. He would have made a wise chieftain by the sound of him, though perhaps he lacked the spirit of Ragnall, who seemed to draw others more forcefully.
Pulling his boots toward him, Ragnall began lacing them to his legs. “’Tis not a part of ma history I take pleasure in telling, lass, but I do so tae show ye that I understand the fire in yer belly. Perhaps ye killed yer father, or perhaps not—but, either way, I understand what would have motivated ye tae do so. I’ve nae doubt that ma mother rued the day her own sire betrothed her tae Broderick, and doomed her tae a marriage that brought nothing but tears.”
Flora frowned. “Some of what ye say makes sense, and ma heart goes out tae yer poor mother and all she endured, but why do ye pursue such a line o' reasoning when ye must know I’m blameless in ma father’s death. ’Tis ma desire tae avenge him that brought me here, believing ye murdered him.”
Standing, the laird regarded her with compassion but the underlying flint in his eyes remained.
“So ye say—or, perhaps yer mind is so full o’ resentment ye cannae judge where tae spend yer ire. Either way, I cannae let ye have the freedom o’ the castle, knowing the anger that directs yer mind. I need time tae think on what should be done. Until then, ye mun stay locked here.”
Flora clutched the quilt within her fist as she watched Ragnall leave, and listened to the key turning heavily in the lock. She was to be kept here, then, until he decided her punishment.
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?
Chapter11
The passing hoursbrought 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.
