‘No. What I mean is that I was not the centre of attention. That dead man was. I could almost smell the fear in that hall, Bryce.’
With a heavy heart, Bryce was about to tell her everything when Callum pulled his horse up. ‘I go left at the crossroads back to Raigmoor, so I must bid you farewell,’ he shouted.
‘We will accompany you, as it is not long out of our way,’ said Jasper, turning his horse.
‘No need,’ he said curtly.
‘Aye, there is. We will all ride together and get you safely back to Tara,’ said Bryce.
**
The ride to Raigmoor took them through deeply-wooded glens, which seemed to press in on Maren, stealing the air from her lungs. She chided herself for her cowardice. She had to be strong, but the image of the corpse with his fiery hair and death mask of horror crept in and took a stranglehold on her mind.
So at first, the sight of brooding Raigmoor Castle appearing through the woods was a welcome diversion from her dark thoughts. But when they rode in through its imposing gate, her heart sank as a woman emerged from its heavy doors. She must surely be Callum’s wife, Tara.
Maren’s eye was drawn to the mane of golden hair framing an angelic, slightly rounded face of incredible sweetness, made heartbreakingly lovely by wide brown eyes. The lass had the sort of looks that tore men’s eyes from all other women and, judging by her swollen belly, had drawn their lust too. Tara Ross smiled up at Callum and then frowned at his grim expression. She turned her eyes to Maren with great interest.
Tara favoured Maren with a little smile and a nod – a simple, friendly gesture at odds with her looks, for she should have been proud and haughty. Maren looked quickly away as Callum threw himself off his horse, took hold of his wife and planted a hearty kiss on her with such intensity that there was no doubting the cause of her fat belly.
When he broke away, the lass looked into her husband’s face and said, ‘What is wrong. Why is everyone looking so sombre?’
She was English. Callum’s wife was one of them.
‘I will explain,’ said Callum curtly. ‘Go inside and wait for me in the hall, and we will talk.’ He said this in a tone of command, but then he put a hand to her cheek and stroked it. ‘I have bad news to impart, and our friends must get home as soon as may be, my love.’
‘Can they not take refreshment after their ride, and will you not introduce me to….’
‘No,’ he barked, a little harshly. ‘Now is not the time. Our friends must be going.’
Goodness, how did a hard man such as Callum Ross end up married to such softness, and English to boot?
‘Aye, Tara, we cannot tarry,’ said Bryce, a little more gently. ‘I will let Callum explain the need for our haste, and I will come by as soon as may be. Take care, lass.’
With that, he swung his horse around and took off at a gallop, and Maren and Jasper followed. When she glanced back, it was to see the two of them standing alone, Callum towering over Tara, his hand about her shoulders, and her wearing a frown on her bonnie face. A small, whey-faced boy had come to stand beside her, clinging to her hand.
Maren felt sick to her stomach. Her illusion of Bryce Cullan as a refuge was dissolving. Callum’s wife Tara was undoubtedly beautiful in that fragile, luminous way that made other women look like drab little sparrows. Tara Ross was a golden-haired angel.
Maren looked down at her plain grey riding habit. A hank of hair which had come loose was bouncing against her breast with bits of grass sticking out of it. Her skin was undoubtedly pink from exposure to wind and sun, and there was dirt beneath her fingernails where she had rolled under Bryce on the ground. Compared to Tara Ross, she was a slattern, and suddenly she felt low and dirty deep in her bones, nought but a sullen imposter playing at being a fine lady. Yet she was bought and paid for and had to continue, didn’t she? It was either that or run for it. But where to?
Tara’s smile had been full of curiosity. Was she assessing a rival? Would Bryce have once looked upon Tara Ross with desire? Most men would. And would that soft, smiling vision ever have suffered strife, pain, hunger, and loss. Likely not. All those were waiting for Maren if she left Bryce Cullan, her sham husband, and took to the road alone.
Tara could be safe with her growling husband, for she did not have a sordid past of secrets and violence to hide. Tara had looked at Callum adoringly, and his pride in her beauty was plain to see. She wondered if this friend of Bryce’s cared for his wife more as a trophy than a woman. Did Bryce see her the same way since he had paid for her release? Was she just a possession he could place here or there at will, somebody to use for his own ends.
Maren dearly wanted to damp down the flames of jealousy licking at her heart at the thought of Bryce’s past? That was a folly of the worst kind and one she could not afford to indulge. He did not belong to her, nor was there love between them, despite Orla’s words. And she had more pressing concerns than his old lovers to worry about.
***
Maren was grateful to reach the fire roaring in the hearth at Penhallion and the bustle of servants fussing. She was chilled to her bone and needed the distraction of company.
Jasper brought her a dram and settled himself before the hearth as she held out her hands to the flames. He sighed and turned to his son.
‘Did you have to call out your cousin, Hew, in front of everyone?’
‘I spoke the truth, and many share my concerns, Father.’
‘Aye, but it was not wise to show Hew your hand, and we have family connections that are in jeopardy here. We are stronger together.’
‘If Hew has the ear of the Baron or is in some way in league with him, he will surely be ruing the day after what we saw in the woods. He will be frightened.’ Bryce glanced at Maren but did not hold her gaze. It was infuriating, for she was no delicate flower who would wilt at the first sign of danger.
