Twenty
“What do ye mean she went to meet Brothwell?” William roared at Marjorie.
The first rays of dawn chose that moment to crack the blackness of the sky, giving William a perfect view of the pitying look Marjorie was casting his way. She and Bram stood side by side holding hands. Marjorie had her other hand on Bram’s bicep, as if she were holding him there to ensure he didn’t disappear again, and Bram had his arm around Marjorie’s waist, as if she too might be taken from him.
William understood the compulsion to cling to each other all too well. He fought it every moment Ada was near, and now Marjorie was telling him that his wife had gone with Brothwell.
“Let her explain, Brother,” Bram said, his tone gentle.
William’s chest tightened with the reminder that he had his brother back. One person he loved had been returned to him, and another—He stopped himself short of thinking it.
Marjorie released her hold on Bram, but when Bram did nae relinquish his hold on her, she said, “’Tis fine. I’m here.” Bram gave a reluctant nod and then let her go.
She came closer to William and Grant, who was standing beside him. She set her hand on William’s shoulder. “She said the only way the four of us would escape was is if she met Brothwell, convinced him ye had taken her against her will, and then persuaded him to ride hard to the Steward.”
“She lied to me,” William choked out. While he was awed by her bravery, he was shocked at her defiance—though he shouldn’t have been—and furious that she willingly put herself back in Brothwell’s hands. Yes, he knew it was to save the rest of them, but at what cost to her? What horrors would she be forced to endure?
Fury roared through him at the thought of her harmed, of another touching her, of never seeing her again. And then something else coursed through him, an emotion he did not want to feel but could not deny any longer—love.
He was almost struck dumb by the realization that he loved her. He’d thought to keep a wall up, but she’d slipped in through a crack. He’d thought he would be stronger without her, but the idea of never seeing her again—hell, of being separated from her at all—made him feel weak. He’d thought to protect his heart, but she’d already taken it.
Damn it all. He had to get her back. He could not live without her. Before her, he’d not been living, not truly. He’d been cold and withdrawn, and she’d warmed him, brought him back from the icy abyss of abandonment and betrayal his mother and his clan had thrown him into. In the short time he’d known Ada, though, she had proven time and time again that she would give her life for him.
“Marjorie, how much time do ye think has passed since she fled to intercept Brothwell?” At least Brothwell would not harm Ada. Not yet anyway. Brothwell needed her too much. What set his blood cold was that if Brothwell reached the Steward’s holding and still had her, she would refuse to aid the Steward in an attempt to protect King David. And she would do that. She was that brave. But then the threat from Brothwell and the Steward would be imminent.
“Nae long,” Marjorie said.
“I’ll ride with ye,” Grant said, clasping him on the shoulder and reading the thoughts he’d not even voiced yet. “We’ll catch up to them if they are on the path to the Steward’s home. Ada will slow them down, undoubtedly. She’ll expect ye to be coming for her.”
She would expect it, it was true, but it filled him with self-loathing that she would think he’d come for her only because of her gift. It was working perfectly now, if this day was any indication. Everything she’d told them to do to rescue Bram had been correct, and she had known exactly what she needed to do to aid them. And if he knew her gift was now working properly, did she? It gave him hope if she did, because that meant she had undoubtedly realized he wanted her heart, maybe even before he’d realized it.
“There’s something else,” Marjorie said, her tone as nervous as the expression she wore.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“Ada said that she was going to try to escape Brothwell, and if she did, to tell ye she would head to Iona Nunnery.”
He frowned. Trying to escape Brothwell once she got him far enough away from here made sense if her aim had been simply to allow them time to flee the island, but… “Why Iona Nunnery? If she makes her way to the nunnery, then she’s verra close to the MacLean holding. Why nae go there?”
“Well,” Marjorie said, her gaze darting to Bram who drew to her side and then back to William, “she made me vow to tell ye that the sisters at the nunnery would shelter her from all men who wished to use her, including the king, the Steward, and yerself.”
Ada’s message was the hardest blow he’d ever taken in his life. Men twice her size had struck him with fists and swords. But this hit, knowing she thought she had to protect herself from him, cleaved him to his core. He’d failed her. He’d wanted her for her, but he’d lied to her to protect himself. He was a coward, and now she might suffer the consequences of his actions.
Pushing his emotions down, he focused on Bram. “Ye must ride to the MacLean holding,” he said.
“Aye,” Bram replied. “I ken it well. The MacLean will be all too glad to help me gather a contingent of men to capture the Steward and, if luck is on our side, his sons. Once they are imprisoned, talk of putting the Steward on the throne should cease.”
“Aye,” William agreed. “Especially once the other remaining lairds who conspired with him are dealt with. But Bram, the MacLean might be with Thomas Fraser and the king, dealing with the other conspirators, and the MacLean men, our clansmen, they—”
“Believe me to be a traitor,” Bram finished. He offered a hard grin. “I’ll enlighten them. Dunnae fash yerself. I can still fight any man who wishes to harm me.”
William chuckled. “I’ve nae any doubt ye will prevail. I’ll return to the holding and join ye as soon as I can, but first I must—”
“Go after yer wife?” Bram asked, his eyebrows raised.
“William has fallen,” Grant teased, to which Bram and Marjorie both laughed.
“’Tis a glorious fall,” Bram said, eyeing Marjorie.
