A chill ran through me at his words. “And what do ye believe?”
“I believe she was a woman in deep despair,” he replied, his voice heavy with old grief. “The bairn’s death nearly destroyed her. She withdrew from everyone, even her daughters. Her eyes…” He shook his head. “They were empty, like something vital had gone out of her.”
“And Munro?”
“He spent the first year obsessively trying to find who killed her. He questioned everyone, searched for evidence, rode himself and his men to exhaustion seeking answers that werenot to be found. And when he could nae sustain his rage, he collapsed into guilt.”
“Guilt?” I asked, confused.
“Aye. He blames himself, ye see. Whether she jumped or was killed, in his mind, the fault lies with him for nae being there when she birthed their son, for nae protecting her from her grief afterward.” James’s eyes clouded with memory. “He was once a different man. He laughed easily and often, and he was a caring, devoted laird, husband, and da. Now he drinks to forget, beds women to feel something other than pain, and keeps his daughters at a distance because when he looks at them, he sees Isabella.”
I swallowed hard, thinking of the man who had held me in his sleep, who had kissed me, thinking I was his dead wife. The pain had to be unbearable for him to have retreated so completely into numbness.
“Do ye think—” I began.
Tell him there are liars amongst him. Tell him!
The voice sliced through my thoughts, sharp and sudden, making me clutch at the table. It was the same woman’s voice from last night upon the dais, with the same urgent message.
Tell him there are liars amongst him. Tell him! Tell him!
Each repetition hammered against my skull, growing louder, more insistent. I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to maintain my composure as pain bloomed behind my eyes.
TELL HIM! TELL HIM! TELL HIM!
“Murieall?” James’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “Are ye unwell?”
I tried to respond, but the voice drowned out all thought. My vision blurred, the great hall tilting strangely around me. I clapped my hands over my ears, though I knew it would do no good against a voice that came from within my own mind.
“Go away and do nae come back!” The words tore from my throat, raw and desperate, and then I felt a hand upon my shoulder. My first thought was that the dead were reaching for me to make me listen. “Stop!” I cried, louder than I intended, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the corridor.
Chapter Nine – Munro
I stepped into the great hall, my head throbbing with the lingering remnants of last night’s wine, and froze at the sound of Murieall’s voice rising in distress.
“Go away and do nae come back!”
The words echoed against the stone walls, sharp with panic. My gaze snapped to her, seated at a table with James, his hand reaching for her shoulder. Something hot and dangerous coursed through my veins, and before I could form a coherent thought, I was striding across the hall, my hands already curling into fists.
James’s fingers had just barely grazed Murieall’s shoulder when I reached them. I seized him by the front of his tunic, yanking him up from the bench with such force that the wooden legs scraped harshly against stone. The sound grated through my already aching head, but I paid it no heed, my attention fixed solely on James’s startled face.
“What did ye do to her?” I demanded, my voice a low growl that barely resembled my own. I tightened my grip on his tunic, the fabric bunching between my fingers. “Answer me!”
James’s surprise gave way to indignation, and then, most infuriatingly, to what appeared to be slight amusement. His eyes widened, then narrowed, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a way that made me want to drive my fist into it.
“Nae anything,” he replied, making no attempt to free himself from my grip. “We were breaking our fast and conversing when the lass suddenly grew pale and distressed.”
I didn’t release him. The rage that had propelled me across the hall still burned hot in my veins, demanding an outlet. “Thenwhy did she cry out? Why did she look terrified when ye touched her?”
“Munro!”
Murieall’s voice cut through my anger. I turned to find her standing now, her face flushed with embarrassment, her dark eyes wide with horror. “Please release him. James has nae done anything wrong.”
The mixture of mortification and pleading in her expression made me loosen my grip, though reluctantly. James straightened his clothing with pointed deliberateness as he stepped back from me.
“I… I was lost in my own thoughts,” she explained, her words tumbling out in a rush. “His hand upon my shoulder startled me. I did nae mean to cause such alarm.”
I studied her face, searching for any sign of fear or pain that might betray a different truth. But I saw only embarrassment and a desperate desire to escape the situation she now found herself in. My anger ebbed, leaving confusion in its wake. What had driven me to react with such violence at the thought of James harming her?
