“Tell me where ye are going, and I will see ye there.” And then somehow, someway, he would have to find the will to leave her there and return to his home, to the duty that bound him. “Will ye be safe there?”
“I dunnae ken,” she said faintly. “But I must go anyway.”
God’s teeth, if she was his he would keep her safe forever.If… But she was not his. The most he could hope for was to deliver her into the hands of someone who had her welfare in mind and would strive to keep her from harm. He prayed it would be one of her MacLeod brothers, for if Callum had to hand her off to a man that might one day marry her or have her heart, it would rip him apart. “Could ye travel to Dunvegan when ye are done?” he asked hopefully.
“Nae now.” Her gaze skittered to him and then away. “I will someday, and I hope the welcome is warm and nae frosty.”
“Why would yer brothers nae welcome ye warmly?”
“I have done unforgivable things, yet my sister Lena has asked them to show me forgiveness, so we shall see what comes to pass.”
He could not imagine her doing things that were unforgiveable. She was too good, her heart too pure. He swallowed thickly. “What things? Can ye tell me?”
She shook her head. “I dunnae wish to tell ye. I’ll nae be revealing my secrets to ye ever again. Doing so once was a mistake; doing so twice would make me an utter fool. Ye lied to me. I told ye what ye would face if ye wanted to wed me, I told ye of my father’s plot, and ye sat there and ye sat there, nae saying a word about yer own future. Ye were promised to wed another and ye joined with me! Offered vows ye kenned ye were nae free to offer!”
He felt he would explode with frustration. His heart hammered, a searing heat sweeping through him, and his blood roared in his ears. He curled his fists in an effort to hold in the truth, but it would not be held. It clawed out of him, out of the darkness that he felt without her. “I thought myself free,” he said, the intensity of his emotions making his words sound choked and ripped from his throat.
“I dunnae believe ye,” she hissed.
“I dunnae blame ye for that,” he said, feeling almost numb from the pain. “I should have told ye of Edina when I met ye, of the promise that had been between us, but I was engrossed by what was occurring between ye and me. And I had told her I would nae marry her shortly before the Gathering. I intended to see that break through when I returned home.”
“Oh aye?” she replied, the disbelief evident in her sarcasm. “Ye wish me to believe ye broke the promise to wed her before ye met me, then did nae wed her because of me, though ye did nae ever return for me?”
“I thought ye were dead!” he exploded.
“Ye lie,” she spat.
“Why would I lie?”
“Because ye think to join with me again! I see yer desire for me. That,” she growled, “I believe. The rest are lies ye weave, but I will nae be fooled again.”
When her chin thrust out stubbornly and her eyes narrowed, he sought his mind for some final words to convince her, but he could think of none. He had given her the truth, though God knew he should not have, and she had refused to believe it. Given that he had to wed Coira anyway, he simply should have let the past die as he had told himself he would.
“Fine. Dunnae believe me. But I will see ye to safety. Where am I taking ye?”
“I’ll tell ye, but only because I need an ally, a strong one, and at the moment, ye are the only one I have. So I kinnae afford to refuse yer offer, however much I wish to.”
Her words made him ache. The depth at which he had hurt her by not returning for her, by withholding the broken promise to Edina, was clear. Her pain pierced him at his core, and the knowledge that he could not ease her hurt, felt as if it would kill him.
