No matter how many times he replayed the conversation with Margaret in his head, he couldn’t convince himself that she’d been anything other than hurt and stung by his accusations. He’d seen her guilt, aye, but only about hiding the truth of her brother’s presence from him. Of the rest she’d been adamant—aggrieved.
Had he been too ready to jump to conclusions? Too ready to find her guilty?
One corner of Campbell’s mouth lifted. “I’ve always found that my instincts served me well.”
That was an understatement. Campbell had become the best scout in Scotland by relying on his instincts.
“What about when it comes to your wife?”
His friend smiled. “Aye, well, they tend to get a bit confused when it comes to her. I just have to listen a little harder.”
“Margaret didn’t say anything to anyone,” Eoin said suddenly. “I’d stake my life on it.”
Campbell nodded, as the MacDougall warrior was led back into the room. “Then let’s find out who did.”
It was easier than they expected. MacDougall wouldn’t say anything against his clansmen, but he wasn’t as closemouthed when it came to talking about the traitor who’d given information to Duncan MacDowell on Kerrera. The man had been a traitor to them before.
Faced with the enormity of his mistake, Eoin raced back to Kerrera. It was already dark as the shadow of the tower on the cliff came into view. That his instincts about his wife had been proved right was small consolation for the realization that they might have come too late.
“I need you to trust me. Right here, right now.”
A mix of dread and panic fell over him. His pulse was racing, and a cold sweat chilled his skin. He felt ill. What the hell had he done? He’d been so angered by the ultimatum that he hadn’t thought about what else she’d done in the past. The “or what” that he’d put to her—the fact that she’d left him, and he might have given her every reason to do so again.
“Where are we going?”
Margaret looked down at the small figure walking beside her and tried to give him a reassuring smile, fearing the unshed tears burning in her eyes were anything but. “It’s a surprise,” she said with forced brightness.
Even in the growing darkness she could see the small frown on her son’s face. “I don’t like surprises.”
So much like his father...
Her chest squeezed, trying not to think about how much it hurt. She could do this. She’d done it before, hadn’t she?
“I know, but I hope you shall like this one.” Turning around and seeing that the tower had faded from view, she decided they were far enough away. The anchorage point was just on the other side of the islet of Eilean Orasaig in the bay. “How would you like to see your favorite uncle?”
“Uncle Duncan?” the boy asked excitedly. “Here?” He frowned and looked up at her with a furrowed brow. “Has he decided to fight for the bloody usurper, too?”
Margaret winced, realizing the short time on Kererra had not wiped away all traces of her father’s anger. “Nay. He’s with your grandfather and the rest of your uncles on the Isle of Man. But he’s come to take us for a visit.”
He stopped, letting his hand fall from hers. “But what about... what about my father?”
She knelt down to face him. Over his shoulder the sun flattened on the horizon. It was almost dusk. She knew how confusing this must be to him—it was confusing to her—but she vowed she would do whatever it took to see that Eachann was not hurt by her decision. Even if it meant she had to be apart from him sometimes—God help her. “You may come back and see him whenever you wish, but I—” Her voice dropped off. What could she say? “I can’t stay here any longer.”
She couldn’t be half a wife—even for her son. She wanted to share Eoin’s life, not merely be a part of it. But the secrets between them from the first were still there.
Eachann’s face drew so serious she wanted to squeeze him tight and never let him go. “Doesn’t he want us anymore?”
She threw her arms around him and gave him a fierce hug. “Of course he does, sweetheart. He wants you very much.”
“Then why are we running away?”
“We aren’t—” She stopped, staring at him. He was right. She was running away. Just like before. Maybe they were doomed to repeat their mistakes after all. All of them.
She was trying to figure out what to say when she was saved by a dot of white in the distance. A sail. She stood and took his hand. “Come, son, we must hurry. Your uncle is here.”
Eoin was too late. They were gone.
He’d raced up the tower staircase to the room he shared with Margaret, only to find it dark and empty. He didn’t need to look in the antechamber to know that Eachann was gone as well.
