Her nostrils flared, the anger burning hotter. Oh yes, there was a way to make the goddess answer. It was dangerous, appallingly so, and she had been taught never, ever to try such a thing. She no longer cared.
She had promised Cailean she would save Catriona, and she intended to keep that promise. No matter what it took. She glanced out of the window at the waves beating against the shore in the distance.
Then she grabbed the knife, clasped it hard in her fist, and strode out the door.
*
Cailean placed theflowers he’d picked from the meadow on the mound at his feet and knelt, the grass wet with morning dew against his bare knees. He bowed his head, allowing his hair to fall forward to curtain his face. All night he’d sat by Catriona’s bedside, but as dawn came and he’d found himself falling asleep in his chair, he’d forced himself to come here, to face what he’d been avoiding.
Around him, the wind hissed, making the tall grasses wave and sending whispers through the branches of the trees. To Cailean they sounded like accusing voices.
Traitor, they whispered.Betrayer.
He lifted his head and looked at the mound in front of him. A tiny alder tree grew from the head of it, bravely battling the wind. Therewas no name to mark who lay beneath, no carved cross or other marker.
But Cailean didn’t need any of that. The name of the person who lay here was carved across his soul.
“Mary,” he whispered, barely able to speak the word. “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”
The cold weight of guilt settled on his shoulders, heavier than an anvil. He had loved his wife. He had promised to hold to her for his entire life, but he had broken that promise. And when their daughter had needed him the most, he’d been in the arms of another woman.
Rose’s face flashed through his mind. With it came that lifting of his soul he felt whenever she was near, that brightening of the world around him. Just for an instant. In the next, the guilt crashed back in and that lightness was replaced with self-loathing.
Dear God, what sort of man was he? What sort of man took his pleasure with a woman while his daughter lay ill? What sort of man put his own lust before the needs of his people?
Dark despair washed through him, closing his throat.
“My laird?”
He looked up to see Sister Beatrice standing nearby. Alarm spiked in his belly. “What is it? Is it Catriona?”
“Nay, laird,” Beatrice replied, holding out a placating hand. “Maggie is with her. There has been no change. She’s sleeping soundly, thanks to Rose.”
Thanks to Rose. Just the sound of her name sent a tremor along his skin. Oh, how he ached to be with her now. How he ached to feel her arms around him, ached to hear her telling him everything was going to be all right. And that only made him feel all the guiltier.
“Then what do ye want?” he snapped more forcefully than he intended. The last thing he needed right now was any of her preaching.
Instead of replying, she knelt on the ground by his side, ignoringthe mud that dirtied her pristine white habit.
“She was a fine woman,” she said. “We all miss her.”
Cailean did not respond. He was in no mood for talking, especially not about his wife.
“She was strong-willed, decisive, a fit match for the laird of Barra,” Beatrice continued. “But do ye know what impressed me the most about her? The way she put others’ happiness before her own. Her daughter’s. Yers.”
Cailean scowled. “What are ye getting at? If ye have something to say, sister, spit it out.”
“Do ye think Mary would want ye to be unhappy? Do ye think she would begrudge what ye have found with Rose MacFinnan?”
Cailean looked at her sharply. “What are ye talking about?”
“Oh, I think ye know. I may be a nun now, but I wasnaealwayswedded to God, ye know. I have some experience of matters of the heart, and even if I didnae it wouldnae be too difficult to see what ye feel for her. It’s written in every line of yer face whenever ye look at her.”
Cailean opened his mouth for an angry retort, to tell Beatrice to mind her own business, to tell her that she didn’t know what she was talking about. But his anger drained away under her knowing gaze. There was no judgment in her eyes, only a steady, deep compassion.
He hung his head. “What am I going to do, Beatrice?” he whispered.
Her hand caught his and clasped it. “Firstly, ye are going to let go of this guilt that sits like a shadow in yer eyes. Ye loved Mary, we all know that. But it isnae a betrayal to let another in to yer heart.”
