Alex’s eyebrows shot up. “And ye’ve kept it from me for two years?”
“I dinna wish to speak of it with anyone. Only Kuresh knows.”
“Past time for ye to share this message.”
“She said half of Constantinople knew ye, that some missed ye, and others wanted ye to die a long and painful death. That once anyone spills blood on the desert sand, whether his own or another’s, ye become part of the land. Nothing can change it.”
Alex put his hands behind his back and started pacing. “Keely has healed many of my old wounds and helped me forget.”
“Forget what?”
“All the suffering and death, the brutality that forces men to kill indiscriminately in the desert to stay alive.”
“Do ye regret it?”
“Sometimes I am plagued by nightmares about the men I slaughtered. I see their faces and hear them scream. God has forgiven me, for Father Michael absolved me of my sins after I married Keely.”
“But ye havena forgiven yerself.”
Alex looked uncertain. “It doesna matter, I can live with it. And what the witch said about the desert never letting a man go, we have a similar belief in the Highlands. We are all bound by blood, the blood in our veins or the blood we shed. Can ye forgive yerself, Cousin?”
Why would Alex ask him such a question? Jamie had only killed four men during his stay in the east, fair fights to protect himself and his men. “My moral sense is clear. In all matters concerning the pastandpresent,” he emphasized.
“Then I envy ye, more than ye’ll ever know.”
“Thank ye.”
“Go,” Alex said, giving him permission to seek out Lady Helen. “Talk with her quietly. Doona draw unwanted attention.”
As Jamie walked by the few people left near the platform, they offered him coins and praise for carrying out justice. Twas tradition to pay the executioner.
Jamie tucked the coins in the pouch hanging off his weapon belt as he approached Helen.
“Ye may go,” he ordered Miran.
“Nay,” the maid said. “I am supposed…”
“Doona make me say it again,Miran.”
Understanding dawned on her pretty face as she dipped into an awkward curtsey and hurried off.
“Lady Helen,” he said, still wearing the black hood, rather enjoying the game he played.
She stared at him, especially his eyes. “I know ye, Master…”
“Doona say my name.” He hushed her with a finger to her lips. “Come with me if ye wish to speak privately.”
Chapter Thirteen
Helen followed Jamieout of the bailey and down the path that led to the loch. From the moment she had set eyes upon him, something about Jamie put her at ease. As if they were old friends reuniting after years apart. Could it be trust, something that she gave out very sparingly, for everyone at Dunrobin Castle spied for her father. She’d grown up learning not to believe anyone would keep her secrets. Her brothers were the first to betray that trust, telling her sire anything she said if it demonstrated any sort of independent thought.
She lived under the constraints of strict rules. Deprived of her sweet-natured mother after she died, Helen’s sire kept the most ill-natured chaperones for his daughter. Ones that criticized her every move: women who constantly told her how and what to think and say.
She took a breath of cold air, liking the way it felt deep in her lungs. As they continued walking in silence, she admired the winter scenery. Frost covered the leafless tree limbs and the fresh-fallen snow crunched under the weight of her leather boots. Thick clouds offered only glimpses of the pale sun and a steady wind forced her to raise the hood on her cloak. Aye, she adored the winter season. It reminded her of how she felt on the inside—a protective layer of ice around her heart, insulating the true nature of her soul—as well as the warmth and compassion that she rarely had a chance to share with anyone at home.
But here at the MacKay keep…
Jamie stopped in front of the loch and gazed back at her. “Do ye think we are far enough away from the bailey for me to remove the hood?”
