“I get that,” Reikart said. Though their century was not nearly as volatile as this one, he would have done whatever was necessary to protect Amanda. Except he’d been her biggest threat. Guilt was like a rabid animal: it came at you with its razor-sharp teeth and foaming mouth. It bit and snipped so that some days he felt too battered and bruised by his own conscience to face the day. Those days he’d call in sick at work, pull down the blinds, and play soulful jazz tunes all day long to remind himself of what he’d done, of what he’d lost, of what he deserved.
Chapter Seven
I haven’t hope. I haven’t faith.
I live two lives and sometimes three.
The lives I live make life a death
For those who have to live with me.
Knowing the virtues that I lack,
I pat myself upon the back.
~ Robert Frost, “Guilt”
“She’s in there,” Alastair said in a less than friendly voice as he waved toward the healing room door.
Deirdre frowned at him. “I am nae yer enemy.”
“That remains to be seen,” he replied.
She opened her mouth to argue, but when Alastair’s chin thrust forward in a stubborn set, she pressed her lips together with a weary sigh. She was going to have to prove her trustworthiness with her actions, and she accepted that. For her selfishness in the past, she deserved no less. She just prayed that Maggie would be able to find it in her heart to forgive her for allowing her to be betrothed to Bellecote, and for Deirdre putting her own desires before Maggie’s. The shame burned her gut. She had thought herself such a good sister, but it had been a lie she’d conveniently told herself.
“I will prove it to ye,” she declared, thinking briefly of how she’d volunteered to go to the English court to find the cross the men were hunting. There was more to that cross than they had revealed, and she intended to find out what before she left for the court. Shedidneed to prove herself, but if she was going to put her life in jeopardy, put herself near Algien again, she wanted to know the truth about it. They’d said the cross was very important, but why?
She could dismiss the notion that Maggie’s new husband had been a monk. Recalling the way Reikart and his brother had teased each other made her smile, first with gladness that Maggie had wed into a family that was obviously close and loved one another and then with a wistfulness for how close her family had been once. But they were not so anymore. Yearger had plotted to kill their king, all due to his desperate desire to gain back their land and standing. What he’d thought, she would never know, because he’d not come to her. Either he had not wanted to or he had not felt he could. She had not been a good sister, though she’d patted herself on the back as such for years.
She swallowed, pushed open the door to the healing room, and held her breath.
Maggie was standing, head bent, in front of a table near a window on the other side of the small room. Sunlight streamed in on her sister, making the red strands of her tresses look fiery. She raised her head slowly from what appeared to be a poultice, and her blue eyes widened as her lips parted. Deirdre’s heart squeezed. She wanted to run to her sister and hug her, but she also wanted to let Maggie decide when, how, and if to forgive her. When Maggie just stared openmouthed, Deirdre’s hopes plummeted.
Slowly, a smile came to Maggie’s face. “Deirdre!” she cried out, and then she was across the room and drawing her into a fierce hug. Her sister’s flowery scent surrounded Deirdre, and her warm, loving embrace made the tears come. “What’s this?” Maggie pulled back, her dark eyebrows arched. “I can nae remember the last time I saw ye cry.”
Deirdre hastily swiped at her cheeks. “Maggie, I’m sorry,” she blurted.
“I’m sorry, too.”
Deirdre frowned. “For what?”
“I knew ye were here,” her sister admitted, “but I did nae come to find ye.”
That did hurt, but Deirdre was not surprised. Maggie had to have doubts and questions. “How did ye know I was here?”
Maggie released her, stepped back, and motioned a hand to the door before pressing a finger to her lips. Maggie pointed to Alastair, who stood just outside the door with his back to them, and Deirdre’s heart sank. Her sister thought she was guilty and was clearly trying to protect her from confessing anything where Alastair could hear.
She watched as Maggie hurried to the door and started to shut it, but Alastair turned sharply, his hand stopping her. “Maggie, I do nae think—”
“My sister would never harm me,” Maggie said.
Deirdre’s neck flushed at the exchange, and when Maggie turned to her after shutting the door, her eyes holding concern and pity, the redness crept up to her cheeks. She inhaled a long, shuddering breath. “I vow to ye, I knew nothing about the plot against the king.”
“Oh thank God!” Maggie rushed at Deirdre once more, enveloping her in yet another embrace. “I did hope, but I was nae certain. Hearing ye say it now, though, I know it to be true.”
Tears trickled out of Deirdre’s eyes again. Her sister believed her after how she had failed her. “Ye will likely be the only one who believes me, Maggie. I fear I’ll hang. When the queen and the Guardians learn that Yearger conspired to kill the king, that he forged a note from the queen, that I’m the one who ordered Shona to take that note to the king, I do nae see how I will nae hang. I look guilty.”
“Come,” Maggie said, grabbing Deirdre’s hand. “Let us sit.” She motioned to a bench near the window.
