“And Donnan never found out?”
“No. Even after the chieftain died a few months later—he ate something that didn’t agree with him, I believe—I was afraid to tell him.”
“Why? The threat was gone.”
“I wasn’t sure…” Her voice dropped off, and she seemed to be very far away. After a few moments, the older woman smiled wistfully. “I wasn’t as fortunate as you.”
Me, fortunate?“What do you mean?”
“Highland warriors are a proud lot. Your Niall knows what those men did to you and doesn’t care. He still loves you and wants you. I wasn’t sure if my Donnan found out that he would ever be able to look at me the same.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Alys had given Annie a lot to think about. More than she wanted to, actually. She was stunned that the older woman had kept something like that to herself for all these years.
For the first time, Annie realized how fortunate she was to have a family and friends who loved her, supported her, and worried about her—even if their “cosseting” could sometimes drive her half-crazed.
She could be as alone as Alys had been.
Last night at the evening meal, Annie couldn’t help watching Lizzie’s maidservant with her husband. She suspected Alys was wrong about one thing: her husband wouldn’t have stopped loving her if he’d known. Donnan Campbell very clearly adored his wife. Annie could see the love in his eyes as he looked at Alys even from halfway across the room.
Annie could only hope that one day someone would look at her like that.
Someone already did.
She pushed the unwelcome thought away, but it wasn’t the first time that she’d thought of the way Niall had been looking at her yesterday.
She didn’t know what she expected. Pity maybe? Guilt? At the very least, she’d thought he’d look at her differently.
But Niall looked at her the same way he always did, except that it was perhaps more intense. She wanted to ascribe it to the change in Niall himself—he was certainly much more intense—but she knew there was more to it. His eyes had fixed on her as if he’d been starving for the sight of her. As if she meant something—everything—to him. As if her forgiveness was the most important thing in the world to him.
As if the past two years had never happened.
He still wanted her. And maybe that had surprised her a little. Most men wouldn’t after what had been done to her. Even if they realized it wasn’t her fault, she was somehow tainted. Impure. Sullied. The unfairness of that was one more injustice forced on her.
But he didn’t get to look at her like that. Not after humiliating her and breaking her heart.
“I can’t marry you.”
The memory was forever burned into her consciousness in the way that only a skin-crawling humiliation could be. No matter what Niall claimed now, Annie didn’t believe him. Actions were what mattered to her, and if Niall had truly loved her, he never would have been able to hurt her like that.
Guilt was obviously a powerful motivator.
Besides, she was over him. Yesterday had proved that. He might still want her, but she no longer wanted him.
It was only natural that her thoughts kept drifting back to yesterday and that she kept picturing all the changes in him. It certainly didn’t matter—nor was it any of her business—how he’d gotten all those new scars. So what if his dark hair was longer and he didn’t seem to shave very often anymore? And what could it possibly matter if his arms were a good three inches thicker in muscle?
Those kinds of details no longer concerned her.
She had to remind herself of that quite a few times after breaking her fast while she waited for Robbie in their makeshift practice yard near the stables. She passed the time tossing her wooden knife at a coiled straw mat in the shape of a targe that had been tied to a post for the squires to practice their archery. Her practice blade didn’t stick like a real knife would, but it was fun to see how close she could get to the middle of the hastily painted concentric circles.
Really close. In fact, twice she sent the point of the blade very near the center.
She was about to go for number three when she started at a sharp whizzing sound going past her head on the left. It was followed by a hard thud as a blade stuck in the precise center of the targe.
She spun around, intending to scold Robbie for startling her—and for being late—but stopped (or perhaps froze was the better word) when she saw the man standing about twenty feet behind her. The man who wasn’t Robbie.
“You throw well,” he said, closing the distance between them in a few long strides.
