Page 38 of Eloping with the Laird
‘For a while, a few weeks, he was that man I had believed him to be. Honourable. Good. Kind. But then...’ Her eyes narrowed in on the memory, the memory of the first betrayal, and heat flushed her limbs along with a chilling cold. ‘One night, I displeased him. I had a megrim and I refused his attentions when he came to my bed later that eve.’ Her heart pounded, a trembling began from within and worked its way out to her limbs. She’d never told anyone about the first time.
Just say it.He deserves to know the truth.
She sucked in a breath and stared into the fire as it reflected and danced in light and shadow. ‘As the firstborn son of a laird, he was a man unused to being refused, and as he was twice my size, I was not strong enough to fend him off. You can imagine the rest.’ She shook off the memory of his breath on her cheek and the force of his hands on her wrists. That same sickening shame slid through her limbs coating her in regret, but she pressed on. ‘After that, there were many ways in which I displeased him no matter how hard I tried, and he made no efforts to hide it from me in his words and in his physical treatment of me. Over the few years we were married, I became a smaller and smaller version of myself, hiding away from everyone. There was a time I wished to disappear into the ether to escape him as I believed there would be no other way to end my misery. His death was an unexpected blessing.’
Blinking back the emotion that threatened, she took a longer draw from her whisky and coughed a bit from the heat as it slid down her throat. She’d said it. Well, not all of it, but enough for him to understand her reluctance. ‘So you see, my laird. It is not you. It is me.’
‘So when I came in that first night and you were there naked. That was what he expected of you?’ His gaze was steady, unflinching and without judgment.
‘Aye. And I found over time it was easier to simply comply.’
Rory thought he would retch. The acid and sickness churning in his gut at the news of what her husband had done to her during their marriage was more than he could manage.More than any man could manage.His sweet, beautiful wife had been forced—he stopped his mind from calling it what it was—by her own husband. Rory swallowed the rage that threatened to burst from him in a series of curses. His dark-haired delicate flower of a wife had been crushed and smothered under the hold of that tyrant for years. He drained the rest of the whisky from his chalice, savouring the burn down his throat, and set it on the table beside him, so he didn’t throw it at the wall in anger. He pounded the arm of the chair instead and rose hastily from it, walking to the window to stare out at the moon and the silver-grey clouds slicing along the black skies.
He cursed. ‘It is a good thing he is dead, Moira. Otherwise, I would be hanged for his murder.’
‘He would not have been worth such a loss,’ she answered. She sounded so small, so far away, yet when he turned he found she stood a mere length behind him. His arms ached to hold her, but he didn’t dare, not after such an admission. He didn’t wish for her to think he wanted to take advantage of her vulnerability, so he held his ground.
‘I am so sorry,’ he stated, his words slashing the air like daggers. ‘So bloody sorry for what he did to you. He was no husband, but a brute and a coward.’
‘I know that now. You are teaching me such over the few days I have known you.’ She met his gaze then, and her eyes shone bright as bluebells in the reflection of the moonlight. He sucked in a breath. His body shifted from her praise of him, and he opened and closed his fists at his sides. He didn’t know what to do. They stared at one another before his body finally breached his command and closed the distance between them, stopping close to her, but not touching her.
‘You willneverfear such from me, Moira. As I live and breathe, I swear it,’ he murmured. He risked everything and reached out his hand to her.
She hesitated and then slid her fingertips over his palm, wrapping her hand over his own. ‘I know that, and I am so very grateful for it. I know what is at stake for you.’
‘We will find our way through this, so everyone gets what they want and yet without anyone getting hurt. I know we can.’ He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back and smiled.
He just wasn’t exactly sure how.
His gut twisted, his stomach souring, and he flinched involuntarily from the pain in his abdomen, letting her hand go. Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘Rory? What is wrong? Is it your stomach?’
‘Aye.’ He grimaced, almost doubling over as another sharp pain struck.
‘Will lying down help?’ she asked.
‘Nay, it is worse. Sitting will be better.’ He walked hunched over back to his chair with her arm wound around his waist supporting him. He collapsed in the chair and groaned as another sharp spasm seized him.
‘Shall I ring for Angus?’
‘Nay.’ Rory breathed out a gasp. ‘But if you’ll bring me the tonic by my bedside table. It is in a small flask. It will help.’
She hurried off and returned with it. She twisted off the cap and sniffed it. ‘Thistles. That smells dreadful.’
Her puckered face made him laugh, a welcome distraction to the pain. He took it from her and choked down a mouthful. ‘Ack.’ He shook his head as the foul liquid made its way down his throat. After a minute the harsh pain subsided. ‘But it does help to quell the most intense spasms.’
She knelt before him, resting a palm on his knee, her eyes wide with concern. ‘Will you finally tell me of this curse of yours? I want to understand. See if I can somehow help with whatever this sickness is. I feel powerless.’
He understood exactly how she felt. So did he. He sighed and covered her hand with his own. The least he could do was share his own horrors, since she had bared her own to him. ‘Where shall I begin?’ he murmured.
‘Wherever you wish.’ She squeezed his hand, rose and settled back into her own chair, tucking her feet beneath her. She leaned on her elbow on the arm of the chair intent for him to start.
‘I have been told that it is a curse cast upon our families from a healer, a very powerful one, it seems.’
‘A healer? Why would a healer curse your family? Isn’t that the opposite of their mission?’
‘Well, it all began over a century ago, according to legend, with the birth of a small boy named Gabriel. He grew up strong and worshipped his father, as many boys do. His father was one of the finest soldiers and served the McKennas. He died in battle, and his son was determined to serve as well. He became one of my ancestor’s most trusted men and served alongside the laird at that time, a Laird Daileass McKenna.
‘Daileass was eager to impress his new bride and thus made hasty decisions regarding warfare and infighting in the Highlands. He cared little about the lives of the men who might be lost or the impact on their families. He was not the most admirable of the McKennas.
