Did he believe that? Not in his heart, but then again, he didn't knowwhatto believe. What if it was true? What if he'd given up one of his priceless memories, regardless of his mixed feelings toward it, for someone who had no intentions other than to hurt them?
The worst part was that if he admitted it to himself, that wasn't even the part he was angriest about. He was furious that she'd almost gotten herself killed. What had her plan been? It could have been that she was truly trying to lead them away from the rebels, to try to protect them from the coming attackers, but it could equally be that she was just trying to protect herself.
"Cailean…"
He started at the sound of his name. He'd been pulling her through the woods in silence, but when he stopped and turned, he saw that she was pale and shaking, her hand in his cold. They were too deep in the woods for him to make out her expression clearly, but there was a dark patch on her arm that he was sure was blood.
Cursing, he stopped and turned to her. Without a word, he tore a strip off his cloak and wrapped it around her arm. It wasn't much of a bandage, but it would do for now; it would have to. She stood there and allowed him to do it, but she didn't say a word. When he was done, she whispered, "Thank ye."
"Ye're nae gonnae die yet," he grumbled. "Ye told me ye werenae hurt."
"I… I feel dizzy," she told him. "I dinnae ken… I dinnae ken how… Cailean, I've never killed a man before. Those men might have been awful, they might have wanted to hurt me, tae hurt us, but they're still dead because of me. I dinnae ken how tae…"
His fury flared again. "Ye dinnae ken? Are ye sure about that?" he demanded. "Or is it just that killin' men in the heat of battle is a different experience from killin' yer husband in his bed?"
She was visibly startled by his words. "W… what?"
"Dinnae play the innocent. It's ye, isnae it? The Darach widow, on the run for murderin' yer husband." He moved a little closer. "Dinnae ye lie tae me. Nae now. Nae again."
She rubbed her face with her hands. "I… IamMalcolm Darach's widow, aye. I hoped ye'd never find out."
"Clearly," he snarled. He wanted to turn his back and leave her here, but something stopped him, something beyond even his urge to know the full truth. "Is Mary even yer real name?"
She shook her head. "Maeve. I'm Maeve O'Sullivan."
The words were like piercing arrows in Cailean's heart. Not only was she Darach's widow, but she was a daughter of O'Sullivan, two of the biggest supporters of the man who had destroyed his family and taken everything from him before he was even old enough to know what he had. The men who supported the False King who was draining the very life from the country he loved so much.
She'd lied about everything. Why was this hurting him so much? It felt more painful than he knew what to do with, which in turn was making him angrier.
"Did ye murder him?" he yelled, his temper exploding. "Did ye murder yer husband?"
Too late. He realized that he'd scared her, and guilt rushed through him. He hadn't meant to cause fear in her, and seeing her flinch back from him made him want to immediately apologize. He kept his mouth shut, though, dropping her hand and folding his arms.
"If I did…" she murmured, "Would that be such a bad thing? Was he nae yer enemy?"
Cailean froze, taken aback by her words. Would it be such a terrible thing if Mary — Maeve — had rid him of one of his enemies? In theory, no, but in practice, the thought made him feel sick to his stomach. It was one thing to kill a man on a battlefield, but it was quite another to slaughter someone in their bed.
She didn't wait for him to answer, though. She sighed and spoke again. "I didnae kill him. It wasnae me; all I did was be the fool who found his body and allowed meself to be caught standin' over it."
He grunted. Maybe he was a fool, but he believed her. It wasn't that he trusted this person who had lied to him about everything, but he trusted what she said right now. For some reason, it made him relax a little to know that she wasn't a cold-blooded murderer, even if the person who had been killed was amongst those who had deserved it most in all of the world. "Can ye walk?"
"Aye."
He reached out and took her hand again, tugging on her. "Come on. We need tae find me horse."
"Ye believe me?" she asked quietly.
His head was such a whirl of confusion that he didn't know what to answer at all. All he managed to let out was, "Ye're nae done explainin' yet. Just keep walkin'."
* * *
Maeve was terrified. The way that Cailean had yelled at her had scared her, but the iciness with which he was speaking to her now was even more terrifying. The idea of him being so disappointed in her was worse than his rage. Had he believed her that she hadn't killed Malcolm? Did it matter?
She allowed him to pull her through the woods, not daring to speak a word, not daring to say anything at all. He had told her that she had to explain, but he didn't prompt her to speak more, and she was scared that when she did, the fragile relationship that had built between them over these weeks would be shattered forever. Would he send her away from the camp? Would she lose everyone after all, even though she had fought so hard to save them?
Maeve tried to pull her mind away from that fear, but whenever she did, all she could see in her mind's eye were the corpses of the dead men they'd left behind; the men she'd killed. Between that and the way that Cailean had spoken to her, the way she thought she'd lost his trust forever, she had never felt so low.
They emerged from the trees nearby and both of them slowed to a stop. There was a small farmhouse hidden in the clearing with a large field around it, and all of the horses — Maeve's and Cailean's included — seemed to have found their way here. Maeve felt a surge of relief to see the animals; she'd worried that when she sent her horse away she would never see it again, and she would never have forgiven herself if the animals were hurt on top of all the human injuries and fatalities of the day.
