“Dead?”
“Aye. She took her own life in the dungeon cell. Hung herself with strips torn from her gown.”
I absorbed this information with an odd detachment, as if he were speaking of a stranger rather than the woman who had been my aunt since childhood. The woman who had murdered my son and wife. The woman whose actions had nearly cost me Murieall as well.
“When?” I asked, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.
“Just before dawn. The guard found her when he brought the morning meal.”
I nodded slowly, turning my gaze back to Murieall’s still form. Magdalene’s death should have meant something to me. Instead of feeling relief or the grim satisfaction of justice served, I felt only a dull acceptance, as if some part of me had expected this end all along.
James moved to the opposite side of Murieall’s bed, studying her pale face with concern etched in the lines of his brow. “She saved us all,” he said softly. “Had she nae arrived when she did, had she nae heard Isabella’s voice…”
“I ken it well,” I replied, the weight of my debt to Murieall pressing on my chest like a physical thing.
“Ye need rest, Munro,” James said. “Ye’ll nae be of use to her if ye collapse. Let me sit with her for a few hours while ye sleep.”
For a moment, the offer tempted me. My body ached with fatigue, my eyes burned, and my mind felt slow and dull from lack of sleep. But the thought of leaving her, even in James’s capable hands, sent a spike of panic through my chest.
“Nay,” I said firmly, my gaze never leaving Murieall’s face. “I will nae leave her.”
“Munro—”
“I will never leave another woman in a time of need again,” I declared, the words carrying the weight of both promise andpenance. “I left Isabella to face the birth of George alone. I abandoned my daughters to their grief while I drowned in my own. I will nae do the same to Murieall.”
I looked up at James then, meeting his concerned gaze with unwavering resolve. “If she dies,” I said, my voice breaking on the word, “she will nae die alone. If she lives, she will wake to find me here, waiting.”
James studied my face for a long moment before the tension in his shoulders eased, and he nodded once, accepting my decision without further argument.
“At least let me have food brought to ye,” he said. “And perhaps fresh clothing.”
I glanced down at my blood-stained plaid and nodded reluctantly. “Aye, I’d be grateful for that.”
As James turned to leave, a question that had been nagging at the edges of my mind suddenly surfaced.
“James,” I called, stopping him before he reached the door. “Why did ye believe her? About the ghosts, about Isabella, about all of it. Why did ye nae think her mad or manipulative as I did?”
He paused, his hand on the door latch, and turned back to face me with a small, sad smile. “Because I saw the way she looked at ye,” he said simply. “A woman does nae look at a man she means to destroy the way Murieall looked at ye.”
I found myself so choked by his words, I could do no more than nod. James inclined his head and departed, the heavy door closing behind him with a sound that echoed in the quiet chamber.
Alone once more with Murieall, I reached for her hand, drawing it into my lap, and turning my thoughts to the news James had brought.
My aunt was dead, having chosen to face her own judgment rather than mine or the clan’s. Justice of a sort had been served, though it felt hollow, incomplete. It would not bring back Georgeor Isabella. It would not erase the years of grief and betrayal. But perhaps, if Murieall survived, it might be enough to build upon.
“Live,” I whispered, pressing her hand to my chest, where my heart beat steadily beneath. “Live, and I will spend every day proving myself worthy of yer faith in me.”
A soft moan escaped her lips, and my pulse leapt into my throat.
“Murieall?” I whispered, scarcely daring to hope. “Can ye hear me, lass?”
Her eyelids fluttered but did not open. Still, it was more response than I’d seen since she’d been wounded, and hope surged within me like a tide.
The sound of the door creaking open pulled my attention away from Murieall’s face. I turned, expecting the healer, but instead found Guinn and Bess standing in the doorway. They hesitated there, clearly uncertain of their welcome, their small faces solemn with worry.
“Come in, lasses,” I called softly, managing a smile for them despite my exhaustion.
They approached with careful steps, as if afraid that too much noise might somehow harm Murieall further. Guinn, ever the protector, kept a hand on Bess’s shoulder as they drew near the bed.
