Page 24 of The Dark Wolf's Deliverance

‘But things don’t happen in life just because you want them to.’

‘Sometimes these past weeks, I think if I will it enough, if I pray for it enough, I will look out the window and see Conall ride into the yard with a big grin on his face, having been off chasing a woman or drinking himself to oblivion as he is wont to do now and again. I’d not punish him, you know. I would just be so glad to see his smug, handsome face again. Right now, I would give anything for that.’

‘Putting yourself in danger and pushing yourself to death’s door will not achieve that.’

‘No, you are right. It was foolish to go out searching tonight.’

‘And it’s not just tonight. I have watched you drive yourself mercilessly, going out in all weathers, pacing the yard for hours with worry all over your face.’

‘Aye, with nothing to show for it save a sprained ankle and disappointment. It will be even harder to search now with this leg slowing me down. I am beginning to give up hope and not just about this. God has cursed me, I think.’

‘We are all cursed in some way, Laird.’

Rory managed to smile. ‘I must say Monnine, you are doing a woeful job of cheering me up.’

‘If that is what I am doing, Laird, then I have to say that you are doing a woeful job of sitting still while I bind this leg.’

‘You can call me Rory when we are alone. Come, distract me from the pain, tell me, why are you cursed?’

‘Two husbands and no bairns. I would say that is cursed, wouldn’t you?’

‘Not cursed, unlucky. One husband could not rise to the occasion, and the other, well he died, didn’t he?’

‘Aye. My first husband Dougall was not a bad man really. He was not loving as such, but he was gentler than Logan. But as month after month passed, and no bairn came, I could feel him grow colder to me. It shamed him, you see, his failure to produce a son. He felt it unmanned him in the eyes of others, and he suffered the cruel barbs of other men saying his seed was weak and wouldn’t take or that he could not please a woman in bed or that he had been a fool to marry a barren wife. Dougall’s bitterness eventually killed any affection between us, and then he died, an unhappy man with no children to carry on his line, and I am to blame for that and carry the burden of it.’

‘I’m sorry, Monnine.’

She held out a hand to him. ‘Can you sit up?’

Rory took her hand, and she hauled him upright to the edge of the bed. Suddenly it was as if all his strength gave way and all the anguish of Conall’s disappearance overwhelmed him. He did not release Monnine’s hand. Instead, he hung down his head, struggling to get control over his emotions, for she could not see him break.

Monnine came in close and, to his surprise, pulled his head to her body so that his face rested just below the swell of her breasts. Her arm cradled the back of his head, and she just held him against her. Rory could feel the steady beat of her heart and the rise and fall of her breathing. After a while, the raging thoughts in his head quietened, his heart slowed its beat against his ribs, and he was at peace. He put his hands on her waist.

‘Monnine.’ Just saying her name was peaceful, calming.

She pulled back from him. ‘ Forgive me, Laird, I should not have….’

‘Yes, you should.’ He took one of her hands and kissed it, rubbing his thumb across the back of it. ‘You are such a kind woman. Forgive me for my weakness and my cursing.’

‘Nothing to forgive. I must go, and you should get some sleep now.'

‘Aye. Goodnight to you then.’

When Monnine had gone, Rory wondered what had just happened between them. How the hell had he managed to resist the urge to pull her into bed beside him and hold her all night, for he had dearly wanted to? He also wondered if maybe she was some kind of witch, for he was becoming obsessed with her, seeing her, touching her. If she had cast a spell on him, it was a strong one, for it was consuming him, body and soul.

Chapter Eleven

Kenna headed for the dungeon, her mind whirling in desperation. Was this the last time she would see Conall? It couldn’t be, for she could not bear it. Every awful thing in her life was closing in on her. The very air around her had a feeling of doom to it, heavy and still, apart from a distant rumble of thunder booming against Sgathach Dun’s walls.

She had spent hours in her father’s hall, perhaps her last night there, whilst her clansmen raised their glasses to toast her union with a man old enough to be her grandfather. Kenna had sat beside Donald Menzies as he pawed her, an awful mockery of an ardent suitor, holding her hand and whispering sweet nothings in her ear, as though she were a mindless pet. Did he not see how repulsive he was? Did he not notice her recoil every time his cold hand reached for hers and his wet mouth puckered against her skin? She had choked down the retch gripping her throat and tightening her stomach, playing the part of the obedient bride and daughter so they could not see her fear.

There had to be way out of this trap before it was too late for her and for Conall.

Her father had been smug and drunk as can be all night and made no pretence of being sorry to part with his only daughter. Whilst her clan and suitor stuffed their faces full of pie and ale and whisky, like pigs at a trough, he had only addressed a few words to her the whole evening.

‘Try to be a better wife than you are a daughter,’ he hissed in her ear. ‘Make Clan Moncur proud and bolster my alliance with the Menzies by giving him a son and soon. Pray it doesn’t kill you, girl, as it did your mother.’

Did the drink make him so unutterably cruel, or did he really hate her that much? Did it matter now anyway? Her father had won. He had given her the worst possible life, and now he was sending her off to a miserable future, enriching himself in the process. His revenge was complete.

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