And yet, despite her discomfort, she hadn’t really fought him or tried to escape. For all her determination to despise him, there was something about him, like that little glimmer of recognition she’d felt on seeing him for the first time, that kept her from struggling too much. His ruggedly handsome face and masculine scent were oddly alluring. Likewise, his confident, cold demeanor irritated her, but at the same time, she could appreciate his candor in regard to Laird Murray’s nature, even though it unnerved her. And it was interesting, and comforting, to be able to verbally spar with him. She’d been afraid, given Tessa’s warning, that he’d hit her or gag her the minute she defied or irritated him. Instead, he let her speak her mind, and sometimes argued back. Even when his only response was an offhand ‘make of it what ye will’, it was better than being ignored or treated like she was some sort of chattel, intended to be seen and not heard.
It confused her and left her feeling more flustered than she was comfortable with. She’d been prepared to despise him, for being Laird Murray’s man, for being Laird Murray’s kin, or simplyeven for being a cold, unpleasant brute. But the more they sparred, the more she found herself thinking she might have met someone from Murray clan that she could almost have a cordial relationship with.
The sight of those flowers, bright little flickers against the soft gray heather, was a gift from the gods. She badgered him into letting her down, and was just working her way through her second spray of flowers when she heard him whisper a phrase she hadn’t heard anyone say to, or about her, in ten years.
Little witch. There was only one person in all of the Highlands who’d ever called her that, especially with that tone. She turned to face him, scarcely aware of the slim harvesting tools she held in one hand.
Blue eyes, raven-colored hair, and the expression he hadn’t quite erased from his face before she turned around. A crooked little half smile that teased one corner of his mouth and gentled the lines of his face. Now that she was looking for it, all the signs were there. The face had changed much over the years, but it still belonged to the lad she’d known so many years ago – the boy she thought she’d mourned and thought lost forever. “Blake…”
She half-hoped he’d look confused, perhaps frown and ask who she was talking about. Instead, she saw alarm wash over the scarred features. She thought for a moment that he might deny it, even though that fleeting expression told her the truth. Then he took a deep breath and stepped closer. “Reyna... lass…”
Herbs forgotten, she flung herself at him, hammering at his chest with her fists as all the feelings she’d been forced to set aside and ignore over the past ten years came roaring to life like a bonfire with a spark cast into it. “Ten years! Ten years ye’ve been gone and nae a word! Why? How could ye leave me there, with nae a word, nae explanation! Ye disappeared, and there was nae one I could turn tae fer answers! Why did ye dae that?”
She shuddered, caught on the cusp between fury and pain, heart aching with a feeling of betrayal she wasn’t sure she could endure.
She felt his hands on her shoulders, bigger and more callused than she remembered, but just as gentle. “Reyna... lass... calm yerself. I ken ye’re angry, and I dinnae fault ye. But I cannae answer ye if ye dinnae let me. I didn’t intend fer ye tae find out the truth this way Reyna, so please…”
She knew what she’d seen in his face, and suspected he’d never intended for her to know the truth at all. The thought hurt, like the bite of nettles. She gulped back more screams and fought the hot sting of tears in her eyes. For several seconds, all she could do was stand there and take deep breaths. And while she sought calm, several other things came to mind at once.
He’d called himself Brutus Murray when he came to fetch her. He was also clad in Murray clan colors.
She raised her eyes to meet his. “Ye’re a Murray now. Was that the plan all along, tae woo me until ye learned all our secrets?Was all yer concern fer me a trap, tae drive me family intae the arms of the enemy?”
An even more horrible thought occurred to her, one she could scarcely bear to voice. “Blake... did ye kidnap me braither Finlay, tae force me intae a marriage with a man I despise?”
There was a brief moment of silence, a hesitation she didn’t like and didn’t trust, before he spoke. “I didnae kidnap yer braither.”
She wanted to believe him. She wanted it with her whole heart. And yet... how could she trust any word he spoke? His last words to her had been a lie, a lie that had brought her nothing but pain and a year of grief and loneliness. She felt more tears welling up, choking her and making it hard to breathe. “Ye bastard... ye faithless, pox-blasted, son of a kelpie... dae ye ken what ye put me through? A whole year I waited, coming tae that meadow every day, hoping tae see ye again.”
She punctuated the words with another series of blows to his chest, uncaring of how much it made her hands ache. At some point, she’d dropped, or put down the picking shears, but she was too distraught to remember doing so. At that moment, she didn’t care where they’d ended up either, as she poured out her anguish.
“I waited, ye heartless goblin spawn, fer any word from ye. I even sent a letter tae yer cousin, but he wouldnae tell me aught more than the official notice o’ yer faither’s passing said. And then, even when I could nae longer bring meself tae come tae the meadow, I kept hoping fer a word, a letter...
She swallowed hard. “A year I waited, and ever since then I’ve grieved... Ten years, Blake… ten years and now I find ye wearing the colors o’ me clan’s mortal enemy, leading me intae the grasp o’ the one-man ye swore I’d never face marriage tae. Kenning that, how could I possibly trust a word out o’ yer lying mouth? And why would I want tae even try, kenning that all the tears I’ve shed fer ye were utterly meaningless?”
She wanted him to say something, but he just stood there. When he finally did speak, it was only to mutter a soft “I’m sorry, Reyna.” He gave her no explanation. No answers. No solace.
She jerked back, suddenly unable to bear being close to him, and swiped the moisture from her burning eyes as hurt transformed to anger. “Keep yer apologies, fer they’re as worthless as the rest o’ yer words, and I want none o’ them. I’m through shedding tears fer the likes o’ ye...Brutus.”
She spat the last word, then turned on her heel and bolted toward the woods and away from him, horse and basket and herbs all forgotten. Nothing mattered anymore, save getting as far away from him as possible.
