McRae leaned back into his plush seat, chin resting on the head of his cane. “I think ye know what I mean.”
Izzy stared at him, refusing to be cowed. “He’s a good man.”
McRae chuckled softly. He adjusted himself on the seat, pulling the blanket closer around his legs. “Aye. It’s easy to believe a story when ye have only heard one side of it.”
She scowled at him. She didn’t like sitting this close to McRae. There was something about the man that made her skin crawl. “Oh, and you’re going to put me right on that I suppose?”
He shrugged. “What ye think or dinna think isnae my concern,” he said. “But yer safety is. And the longer ye continue to think that Magnus is some sort of hero, the less safe ye will be.” He sighed. “Magnus was always a troubled boy. The death of his parents broke something inside him that hasnae ever healed. The monks at Saint Bartholomew’s didnae know what to do with him. He was angry and violent and prone to fits of rage. I offered to take him in, straighten him out, and they were only too happy for me to take him off their hands. So I gave him a home, treated him like my own son. But I couldnae straighten him out either.” He sighed again, as though all this pained him greatly. “One day, he lost his temper completely and attacked me.” He gestured to the scars that ran across his head and disappeared into the neck of his tunic. “This was the result. Magnus’s rage is a terrifying thing to behold.”
Izzy said nothing, but something cold slid down her spine. She remembered how Magnus had been with that blacksmith in Hodwell. She remembered how his face had been twisted with fury, how he’d seemed out of control as he’d beaten the man. That had not been the Magnus she’d come to know. But then she remembered the Magnus who’d taken that beating from the villagers in the ruins ofMorwenna and Able’s village. He’d not retaliated, despite being punched and kicked enough to bruise his ribs.
How could she reconcile the two? Which was the real Magnus?
Ye see the true hearts of people, no matter what they may show on the outside.Irene MacAskill had spoken those words to her. Was she right? Or was Izzy merely kidding herself? Was she seeing Magnus how shewantedhim to be?
“Magnus is dangerous,” Lord McRae continued. “He is the one behind the attacks on the villages, not I.”
“You expect me to believe that? You’re lying,” Izzy snapped, turning to him with eyes blazing.
“I wish I was.” McRae’s voice was sincere, his face etched with sorrow. He reached down and pulled a ledger from a leather satchel at his feet. Flicking to a page, he offered it to Izzy. “I didnae wish for ye to find out this way, but if ye willnae believe me, see the truth in Magnus’s own hand.”
“What is that?” she asked suspiciously.
“Magnus’s confession.”
Confession? She accepted the ledger with trembling hands, flicking it open. The writing was neat and ordered. It spoke of guilt and remorse, of raids on innocent villages and lives lost for no reason other than misplaced rage and vengeance.
And at the bottom was Magnus’s signature.
The ledger slipped from her fingers, falling onto the floor of the carriage. McRae made no move to pick it up, just watched her impassively.
“I...I don’t...” she began.
“Now ye ken why I had to have him arrested,” McRae said. “And why it isnae safe for ye to be with him.”
Izzy felt a piece of herself splinter off and drift away.
McRae patted her knee like a kind uncle. “I’m sorry ye had to discover the truth this way, lass, but yer ordeal will soon be over. We’ll reach Dun Saith by this afternoon and then ye can be free of him.”
Izzy did not reply. She said nothing as they continued on their journey. She only felt the dull ache blossoming in her chest, growing more bitter with every mile they traveled. This was beyond her. This world she found herself in was too much. How was she expected to deal with all this?
Will ye be the woman who let fear hold her back, or will ye be the woman who saw through the fog and dared to journey to her destiny?
Whatever had been Irene’s reasons for bringing her here, she was sadly misguided. She was no hero. She was just Isabelle Ross, bank clerk, lover of crochet and cozy nights in. She was not cut out for any of this, this intrigue, danger, shifting loyalties and accusations of betrayal. The sooner they got to Dun Saith, and she found a way home, the better. Then she could escape this madness and go back to where she belonged.
And yet. Whenever she thought of Magnus, she found her questioning where that was. Yes, her life at home was predictable. Safe. But it was also sterile, empty. Since she’d met Magnus... She barely had words to express what she’d felt since then. He made her feel strong, fearless, willing to take risks. Was she supposed to believe that the man who madeher feel all that was really a violent monster who’d been tricking her from the start?
She would not. Not now. Not ever. So when McRae called a watering stop and got down from the carriage to speak with his men, Izzy seized her chance.
She moved quickly, slipping quietly between trees and bushes towards where a tent had been erected in which Magnus was being held captive.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she neared the guards standing outside. They were talking quietly amongst themselves and, choosing her moment, she darted forward when the guards were distracted by a passing horse. Her feet barely made a sound on the soft grass as she slipped behind the tent, panting softly. There was a tiny rip in the canvas and Izzy dropped to her knees, peering through.
Magnus was there, his body slumped against the wooden pole that held up the tent. His eyes were closed, his face bruised and beaten, but still achingly familiar. A rush of affection flooded her chest, so potent it brought tears to her eyes.
With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure the guards were still engaged in their conversation, she crawled around to the entrance flap. She eased the flap open, just enough to slip through, and immediately closed it behind her. The interior was dimly lit, the sunlight weakly filtering through the canvas. She swallowed hard as she approached Magnus.
“Magnus,” she whispered, her voice shaking a little. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice, confusion etching his features as he focused on her.
