Page 26 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
He looked imploringly at Flora. “I want tae believe ye be innocent.”
“Husband.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.
“Haud yer weesht, woman.” Calder’s grip on her arm was firm. “The laird has spoken and ’tis nae fer ye tae argue.”
Ragnall. Don’t abandon me! Can ye not see that I care for ye?
But the laird did not look back as Calder took Flora away.
Daylight had bledto darkness as the granite walls of Castle Dunrannoch loomed, and the moon had risen to the first portion of the sky, casting its glow through the swirling snow.
With her wrists tied, Flora rode astride in front of Calder, obliged to endure the pressing of his body to hers and his fingers touching her. At first, he’d only grasped her hip beneath her cloak, digging into the tender flesh, but he’d soon had the courage to grope at her breasts, all the while breathing hot in her ear. The fine wool of the gown offered little protection from his cruel tweaks and pinches, and he cared not that the chill air invaded her body as freely as his impudent hands.
’Twas Cristemass Day—when Christian souls reflected on the miracle of the Lord’s birth, remembering the holy family gathered about the cradle of the infant who would change the world. A time of hope in the bleakest of times. Yet Flora had never felt more alone.
As each mile of frosted landscape passed, Flora made herself withdraw within, to the heart of herself. There could be little doubt as to the treatment she would receive under Calder’s protection, but she refused to react to any torment he might devise. Let him use her if he would, but he wouldnae have the satisfaction of hearing her beg or show sign of distress.
In so many ways, she’d failed her father and betrayed the name of Dalreagh with her foolishness, for she’d directed her vengeful eye upon the wrong man entirely, and wasted these years in hiding while the real culprit sat in leisure within the walls of her former home.
How had she been so blind?
She saw now that Calder’s resentment of the broken betrothal had fed his hateful nature. Had he planned to accuse Ragnall of the murder? Only her own actions had altered that path, for she’d made herself the most likely candidate by fleeing the castle.
Calder had bided his time, but she doubted not that he intended ill against his chieftain. Had she not seen him tip something into Ragnall’s drink? Were it not for her interference, he might have been dead already.
Icy threads wove about her at the thought, more chilling than the night air—for Calder would try again, she was certain, and assert himself as Ragnall’s rightful successor.
As the heavy iron gates of Dunrannoch rose on their chains, Flora cast a final glance upon the moor, knowing that she might never see it again. Though ’twas a barren place, the trees stark twisted and spiked with ice beneath the shadow of the mountains, its harsh beauty was as much a part of her as the castle itself.
More than ever, she was aware of all she had lost. Her home, where once she’d been happy, and beloved, was now her prison, and who knew what awaited her.
She feared the worst, for Calder had no honour in him. With her marriage to Ragnall annulled, he might subdue the gossip and refute the accusations others would make, taking her to wife himself—but she doubted he needed her bloodline to reinforce his position.
More likely, he’d shame her publicly when he no longer feared Ragnall’s intervention. Once the laird had taken one of Calder’s sisters to wife, he would surely give her no more thought, and her fate would be of no consequence to him.
Flora foresaw only one end and, while she hoped her suffering would not be prolonged, her instinct told her that Calder would keep her for as long as it amused him to make her suffer.
Her only solace was the chance she might have to bring her retribution on her father’s true murderer. Let Calder think her cowed, weak and broken—but she would strike the final blow, and end the torture that had dogged her.
These might be her final days, but she would draw her last breath knowing that justice had been done.
Chapter12
Castle Balmore
Afternoon, December 31
Ragnall staredinto the bottom of his empty cup then back through the ice-crusted window. The castle was filled with sounds of merrymaking but he hadnae the will to join in wholehearted. A new year was upon them, but the darkness of the past seemed to wrap all the tighter about him.
Even the loyal affection of Murdo failed to comfort him, though the hound had followed its master closely these days past, placing its head upon his lap whene’er the silence of his melancholy grew too great.
From the first moment he’d laid eyes on the fiery-headed maid, he’d felt a portion of the burden lift from his shoulders, as if her vitality had the power to cast away some of the painful memories he carried.
Perhaps, some part of him had known it was her, Flora, all along, but he’d been unwilling to accept what his bones told him. He’d chosen to love her in the only way he knew—with his body rather than his heart. A paltry sort of love, but he wasnae capable of more. He'd been flint-hardened too many years.
Now, what had he done?
Though Calder was kin, he didnae trust the man—and the venom he’d lashed upon Flora was outlandish. Whatever her sins, she was young—more maid than woman, no matter the feminine curves that fitted his hands and the passion that burned in her blood.
