I stood abruptly, the bench scraping harshly against the stone floor. My face felt cold, drained of blood, while heat spread through the rest of my body like wildfire. “We’ll talk of this later,” I said, wanting to think just what to say to them not to injure their feelings more as I quite obviously had done, but also they needed to understand—What? That Murieall was mad? That she was conspiring against me? I didn’t know.
“Da, do nae be vexed with Murieall,” Bess said.
I leaned over and kissed them both on the head, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw my uncle watching me with a strained look. I suppose he thought I should be harsher with them, butI couldn’t. The feelings for Bess and Guin that I had ignored were too loud not to listen to now. “Go to the nursery with yer aunt, lasses,” I said, catching Magdalene’s eye. She nodded her agreement. “I’ll come to see ye before ye go to bed.”
The way they lit up at my words twisted my chest with sadness for all the nights I had missed. I couldn’t deny that the moment wouldn’t have happened if it were not for Murieall, but I also couldn’t ignore what she was doing.
My mind reeled with their revelations. Murieall had been filling their heads with lies about their mama watching over them, about Isabella speaking to her. Whether madness or manipulation, this could not continue.
“Do ye want me to send her away?”
I turned to my left, surprised to see my uncle had risen and had moved to stand beside me.
“Nay, this is something I must do alone,” I replied.
At my uncle’s reluctant nod, I descended the dais and started toward the great hall door, but I got only a few steps before James called behind me. each step fueled by righteous anger. As I reached the doorway, James’s voice called out behind me again. “Munro! Wait!”
I didn’t slow my pace or turn to acknowledge him. My uncle’s warnings echoed in my mind. Was James part of this scheme? Had he encouraged Murieall to use Guinn and Bess? I couldn’t believe it, and yet I couldn’t fully dismiss the possibility.
The corridors passed in a blur as I made my way toward Murieall’s chamber, my fury building with each stride. She’d betrayed me in the worst possible way by using my children, by twisting their memories of their mama, by making them complicit in her lies. For that, there could be no forgiveness, no second chance. Come dawn, she would be gone from my lands, from my life, from my heart that she had somehow breached.
The sour taste of loss filled my mouth once more as I approached her chamber door. Loss of trust. Loss of hope. Loss of whatever fragile thing had been growing between us. But I shoved it aside, letting anger burn it away. Anger was safer and would give me the strength to do what I must.
I didn’t knock. My anger moved me forward, allowing for no such courtesy. My hand slammed against the heavy oak, and the door flew open with such force that it crashed against the stone wall behind it. The hinges groaned in protest as I stood in the doorway, my chest heaving with exertion and fury. The chamber was dim, lit only by a few guttering candles and the glow of a small fire in the hearth. Steam rose from the wooden tub that sat before the flames, and in it sat Murieall. Her copper hair was piled atop her head, damp tendrils framing her face. Her naked shoulders gleamed above the water’s surface, droplets catching the firelight against her pale skin.
My words died in my throat, stolen by the sight of her. Desire, unwelcome and unbidden, rushed through me with a force that momentarily overwhelmed my anger. Memories of the previous night flooded my mind—the taste of her lips, the softness of her skin beneath my hands, the way she had arched against me as if our bodies had been fashioned to fit perfectly together. My body hardened, and I hated myself for it. Hated that even now, knowing what I knew, my traitorous body still yearned for her.
She gasped, arms moving to cover herself as she pressed back against the tub’s rim. “Munro!” Her dark eyes widened.
I forced my gaze away from her to fix upon the wall behind her, unwilling to allow my desire to weaken my resolve.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice small but steady. Water sloshed against the sides to let me know she had gotten out of the tub. I kept my gaze averted to ensure she had enough time to get dressed. Clothes rustled, and then she said, “I’m dressed.”
I turned toward her and had to steel myself against the ache the sight of her caused me. She was so heartbreakingly lovely with her face flushed, and her wet, fiery strands clinging to her chest, which was barely covered by her hastily tied laces on the bodice of her gown. “What’s happened?” she asked.
“What’s happened,” I growled, “is that Guinn and Bess just informed me ye’ve been using them in yer mad schemes. Taking them through the castle and village, filling their heads with nonsense about ghosts and Isabella.”
Color drained from her face, leaving her skin ashen in the firelight. “I did nae mean to involve them,” she began. “They found me as I was—”
“I do nae care for yer excuses,” I cut her off, taking a step into the chamber. The door remained open behind me, but I paid it no mind. Let the whole castle hear if they wished. Let them know the depth of her deception. “Ye’ll be leaving tomorrow. I’ll provide ye an escort for wherever ye wish to go.”
“Munro, please,” she pleaded, “let me explain.”
“Ye can nae explain away manipulating Bess and Guinn’s grief for their mama to suit yer own purposes.” My voice rose with each word, the rage I’d momentarily lost at the sight of her naked flesh returning in full force. “Ye claimed to hear the voices of the dead, and now ye’re dragging my children into yer madness.” I paused, considering whether to confront her about Uncle Gordon’s conspiracy suggestion, but before I could, she spoke.
“’Tis nae madness,” she insisted, her voice taking on a strange quiet intensity that gave me pause. “The voices are real. I hear them. I’ve been helping the ghosts find peace.”
“Stop it!” I snapped. “Ye ken what I think of yer tales of curses, witches, and ghosts. If ye think to conspire against me to steal the lairdship—”
“What?” she gasped, and the word held so much shock, so much indignation that I almost believed she had not once considered such a thing, but then I remembered how I knew she had lied straight to my face before.
“Be ready to depart on the morrow,” I bit out.
“Munro, ye must listen. Isabella—”
“Nay!” I thundered. Striding toward her and stopping so close I could see the rise and fall of her chest with each breath she took. My fingers curled in memory of touching her, which made my anger, and, yes, my jealousy, burn hotter. “Mayhap ye’d like James to accompany ye tomorrow?” I asked, looking for signs of guilt.
She sucked in a sharp breath, and she might as well have plunged a dagger in my gut. “I can explain,” she said, reaching toward me.
