He rode on stoically.
Moira’s breath came fast as her vision began to blur before her eyes. Her knees buckled, and she groped blindly for something to hold on to, something to keep her upright as the world began to spin, threatening to throw her off her feet.
“Ye canna blame him, Lass,” Fiona grumbled beside her as she grasped Moira’s hands, pulling her around to face her. “He’s a proud man, and he loved ye dearly.” Fiona shook her head, her blue eyes sharp as she watched her niece. “Nay, ye canna blame him. He needs time. A lot of time. Perhaps more than he has.” Then she turned toward the castle’s keep pulling Moira with her.
Together, they crossed the courtyard, climbed the steps to the large oak door and then entered the great hall.
Moira saw very little of her surroundings as her heart ached within her chest. With each step she took, she had to fight the urge to sink to her knees as tears continued to stream down her face.
“Pull yerself together, Lass,” her aunt reprimanded her as she guided their feet down a long corridor that seemed to go on forever, leading them far away from the loud hustle bustle in the great hall. “Our laird is a kind man, but he willna take kindly to those who only weep for themselves.” She scoffed. “I dunno why he granted ye sanctuary when yer laird sent word of what ye’d done. Many argued against it, but he has a way of knowing things others do not.” Her aunt stopped, fixing Moira with her sharp blue eyes. “Dunna make him regret this small mercy, do ye hear me, Lass?”
Moira could only nod as she wiped the tears from her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by the thought that strangers would see her in this state of despair. Of course, she could not expect compassion, sympathy or even pity.
And yet, her heart ached for it.
On they continued down the corridor until they came to a lone door at the very end of it. There, Fiona stopped and lifted a hand to knock.
“Come in.”
The laird’s voice rang strong and commanding, but not unkind, and Moira wondered what kind of man he was. Clearly, he was held in high esteem by the people of his clan, and she had only ever heard Connor speak with great respect of Cormag MacDrummond.
Their clans had been close long ago but had drifted apart since Culloden and the destruction of the Highland clans. The years had been tough, and trust had been hard to come by. What would it be like to live among another clan as one who had betrayed her own kin? Would they lock her in her chamber as well? Afraid she would betray them, too?
Moira swallowed, and a cold chill ran down her back as she followed her aunt into the laird’s study.
Large with narrow windows, it was a simple room that held only the laird’s desk as well as a couple of chairs and cabinets. It was not designed for comfort, but for practicality, for handling the clan’s affairs.
Now, she too was a clan affair.
Straightening, Moira lifted her head, determined not to cower. As much as she felt like sinking to the ground, she would not give the MacDrummond laird the satisfaction. She would stand tall with her head held high. Aye, she would apologise and voice her regrets−as she had so many times before. She would accept the blame as it was rightfully hers. However, she would not allow him to frighten her, to force her to hide the pride that had always lived in her chest.
After all, she was of Clan Brunwood, a proud Highland clan, and even if her legs trembled with fear and her heart ached with loneliness, she would rather die than reveal her inner turmoil to a man who would no doubt look down on her with suspicion for the rest of her life.
As Moira followed her aunt and came to stand in front of the laird’s large desk, her eyes swept over his tall stature as he stood with his back to her, staring at the wall for all she knew. He was a large man with broad shoulders and raven-black hair, and for a thoroughly terrifying moment, he reminded Moira of Connor. Would her past haunt her wherever she went?
Perhaps she deserved it.
“I present to ye my niece,” her aunt spoke into the silence of the room, “Moira Brunwood. Her brother delivered her to me only moments ago.”
Moira glanced at her aunt, wondering about the need to explain what she heard in the older woman’s voice. Was Fiona afraid the laird would fault her somehow? Was she doing what she could to distance herself from her traitorous niece?
Moira sighed knowing she could not blame her aunt for what she did. Aye, it would have been nice to have someone on her side; however, she had to admit that she had not once thought about what her presence here at Seann Dachaigh Tower would mean for her aunt. How would it affect Fiona’s life? How would people treat her? Look upon her?
The laird’s broad shoulders rose and fell as he inhaled a long breath. Then he slowly turned around as though apprehensive to look upon her.
Moira gritted her teeth, feeling a surge of anger rise in her heart. Why on earth had he agreed to Connor’s request if he did not want her here? Why would he−?
The breath caught in Moira’s throat the moment Cormag MacDrummond’s charcoal grey eyes met hers. Of all the things she had expected to feel in that moment−shame, regret, guilt, even fear−she was completely unprepared for the sudden jolt that seemed to stop her heart and make it come alive at the same time. Warmth streamed into her chest as though the sun had risen after a long absence, and she felt the corners of her lips curl upward, unable to contain the exhilaration that had claimed her so unexpectedly.
Overwhelmed, Moira
