Page 62 of The Highlander's Twisted Deal
He huffed, shaking his head. “Because I’m a sentimental, old fool. I never wanted to kill ye, lass. Even now, when I ken it must be done, I cannae quite bring meself to do it. I spent hours wandering in the forest, trying to convince meself. Before dawn, that was what I said. It must be done before dawn, so I cannae see the light of day on me crimes.”
Ava swallowed hard. The tinge of madness was back in his voice, or was it simply exhaustion? So far, things were not looking good. He’d spoken to her, explained some of his reasoning, and let her see his face. None of this pointed to her being released. He couldn’t release her now. Simply put, the odds were not in her favor.
Who would be missing her? Paisley didn’t know she was coming. Niamh and Elsie might get worried when daybreak came and there was no word from her, and she’d been gone for a full day. They might send a note to Paisley, and then panic would set in, and the search would begin. Maybe.
Ava would be dead for hours then.
She cleared her throat, sitting up a little straighter. “If ye are going to kill me,” she said, at last, “I deserve to ken why, do ye nae think?”
Marcus considered this, twisting the knife round and round in his fingers. Then, he nodded. “Aye, that’s fair.”
Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his eyes took on a misty, faraway look.
“I have been in love with only one woman in me whole life—me one great love, the woman I think of every day and night and will continue to think of until the day I die.”
“Moira?” Ava hazarded.
Marcus shook his head. “Nay, nae Moira. Poor Moira, she always deserved better.”
Marcus watched her walk along the parapet, holding the hand of her husband, keeping her balance. He heard them laugh, saw her leap nimbly down, so he could catch her.
His heart ached.
It was always going to be this way, wasn’t it? Him looking up adoringly, her far above him, far out of reach. He stood far back from the bottom of the Keep walls so that he could see her, and his neck hurt from looking up. She righted herself, still laughing, and happened to glance over the wall. She saw him at once, and the smile dropped off her face.
Her husband followed her gaze and spotted Marcus, too. He broke out into a smile—his smiles were rare, and few people saw them—and he lifted an arm to wave.
“Braither!” he bellowed, cupping his hands around his mouth. “What are ye doing out here?”
By way of answer, Marcus lifted a brace of rabbits.
Jane still did not smile at him. She must have received his latest letter by now. He’d agonized over it for hours, writing and rewriting it. She’d never returned any of his letters, except some of the early ones when she thought they were just friends. He wondered what she did with them.
Angus, Marcus’s brother, waved again, and the two of them continued along the roof, arm in arm. Marcus drew in a shuddering breath, glancing down at the rabbits. The poor things were beautiful even in death, their pelts silken and smooth. He was meant to be turning them into gloves as a gift for his betrothed.
Angus had arranged the match, saying that it was high time Marcus was married and that he wanted his brother to be as happy as he was. He said that if Marcus didn’t like his choice of wife for him, well, they could always pick someone else.
It was all the same to Marcus whom he married if he could not have Jane. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t loved her, long before the old Laird decided that Jane, daughter of his closest advisor, should marry the heir of Clan McAdair. Nobody would ever have considered a second son for her.
Moira was a nice enough lass, pleasant, pretty, and very sedate. She seemed to like Marcus, and he was sure he could make her happy enough. She wouldn’t mind that he didn’t love her.
He was about to start skinning and preparing the rabbits, down in one of the sculleries—the one that stunk of meat and viscera—when a shadow in the doorway caught his attention. It was Jane, and his heart stopped. She was alone.
“Jane,” he gasped, “I—”
“This must stop,” she interrupted. Her face was white and drawn, and she clutched a folded piece of paper in her hand which he recognized as his latest letter. “It must stop, Marcus. Ye and I have never been betrothed. I respect ye as a braither-in-law, and we were friends once, but I am married to Angus. Yer braither. I love him, Marcus, can ye nae see that? This must stop.”
His mouth was dry, and he swallowed hard. “I love ye,” he managed.
It wasn’t enough. It had never been enough.
“I am with child,” Jane said shortly.
There was a silence between them.
“I…” he began faintly, and she smiled tightly.
“Aye. Is now nae a good time for ye to move on with yer life, Marcus? Please, if ye love me, this must stop. I have hidden it all from Angus, but if he finds out, he will feel betrayed by us both. Stop, please. Here, I have returned yer letters.”
