He reached for her, and for the first time, she flinched from him. Also for the first time, she didn’t want him to touch her. “Then go, Eoin. Just go.”
And to her utter despair and misery, two days later he did exactly that.
11
CHRISTMAS CAMEand went. But Eoin was hopeful he’d be able to leave the Isle of Skye, where he’d been training with the other elite warriors recruited for Bruce’s secret guard, and return to Margaret for a few days in January.
When he’d ridden away from her all those weeks ago, he’d had his anger to hold on to. For two days he’d tried to explain to her that this was what he did. He was a warrior. He went where and when his chief told him to. But she refused to listen to any explanations. When it became clear that he would not delay or change his plans—or explain them—she’d turned as cold as ice and would barely even look at him.
He’d expected tears and pleading, but maybe he should have known better. Margaret MacDowell might not be as refined and sophisticated as the noblewomen he knew, but she had the steel in her spine and iron in her blood of royal ancestors and generations of the proud Celtic chiefs who’d come before her.
Frustration at the situation, and her reaction, had turned to anger. But over the long weeks of training, including almost two weeks of hell that had been aptly named “Perdition,” that anger turned to guilt. The hurt in her eyes—the look of betrayal—haunted him. He couldn’t escape the feeling that each day they were apart, he was losing her more and more.
And then there were the tortured dreams of her turning to another man in his absence—Fin, his brothers, even the infamous Tristan MacCan whom he’d never met. She’d only let MacCan kiss her, damn it... hadn’t she? It got so bad he didn’t even want to close his eyes to sleep.
He’d heard nothing from his wife since the day he left. He’d written to her, but either she’d refused to avail herself of his father’s clerk or had decided to ignore him. Only the occasional mention in the missives from his father or mother did he have word of her. “Margaret traveled to Oban again on Monday—borrowing your father’s skiff without permission.” He could hear his mother’s disapproval all the way to Skye. It grew worse with, “Mathilda follows her all over the Isle.” His sixteen-year-old sister was something of an imp; he supposed it wasn’t surprising that she’d taken a liking to her new sister-in-law. It also wasn’t surprising that his mother didn’t approve.
No communication coupled with the frequent mention of trips to Oban to help the nuns at the convent (Margaret?) played on every doubt and fear he had in his head. But that was where he kept it.
Some of the other guardsmen, especially Erik MacSorley (whose personality reminded him quite a bit of Margaret’s) and Eoin’s partner, Ewen Lamont, were curious about his wife. But other than the fact that she was a MacDowell, from which they probably drew their own conclusions, he refused to speak of her. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to give them a reason not to trust him—Bruce’s caution around him was difficult enough—but how the hell could Eoin explain how a marriage could work between them, when he didn’t even know himself?
By the end of Hogmanay, he was chomping at the bit to go home. But everything changed when Christina MacLeod was captured by the English and Tor MacLeod, the leader of the secret guard, launched an attack on the English garrison at Dumfries Castle to get her back.
It was Eoin’s first opportunity to prove his place among the elite warriors, and his plan had been a resounding success.
It had also set off a chain of events no one could have seen coming. Within a month of freeing Christina MacLeod and taking the castle, John “The Red” Comyn, the Lord of Badenoch, was dead at Bruce’s hand, and his kinsman had launched a bid for the throne.
After weeks of gathering support, and putting down skirmishes with Comyn supporters, by early March—March, damn it!—preparations were under way for Bruce’s coronation in Scone. Edward of England had already ordered the arrest of Bruce for the slaying of Comyn, but every one of Bruce’s men knew that the coronation would be an act of rebellion that would bring Edward and his army to their doorstep once more.
War was coming, and Eoin knew that if he didn’t go home now, it could be months before he had another chance.
The problem was Bruce was refusing to give him leave. Eoin could not be spared this close to the coronation. And if the MacDougalls had noted his absence and suspected his involvement with Bruce, a trip to Kerrera in Lorn could be dangerous as well.
Eoin broke his silence where his wife was concerned and took his case to the one man who might be able to change Bruce’s mind.
There weren’t many men who gave Eoin pause, but Tor MacLeod was one of them. Known as the greatest swordsman in Scotland—and probably the fiercest—he was as tall as Eoin with six years of added muscle on him, every pound of it earned on the battlefield.
If there was anyone more difficult to read than Eoin, it was MacLeod. As Eoin stood across the table from the proud island chief and presented his case, it was impossible to know what the other man was thinking.
“We did not part on the best of terms,” Eoin explained. “My wife is young—only eighteen—and we’d been married less than three weeks before I left. A week is all I am asking. I will return before we leave for Scone.”
“Do you intend to fly? It would take at least four or five days of hard riding to reach Oban from here.”
They’d been at Bruce’s Lochmaben Castle since the rescue of Christina MacLeod from Dumfries Castle.
“I’ll find a ship.”
“You’ll also find the English navy,” MacLeod said bluntly. “They are patrolling up and down the coast to Ayr.”
Eoin’s mouth clenched. “I’m an Islander—I’ll manage.”
MacLeod eyed him carefully. “This is that important to you?”
“It is.”Sheis.
MacLeod seemed to understand—maybe better than he’d realized. Chief, too, had a young wife himself whom he’d nearly lost.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
