It was a kind gesture. Too kind. “I can’t take yer coin, Tay,” she said, even as her voice quavered. “It’s not right.”
“Och, lass. What do ye think I’ve to spend it on these days? Ale and dicing? I have no wife, no bairns. It would please me to know these pennies will help ye.” He hesitated, then thrust the purse out again. “Take it.”
And so she did.
A tear escaped, trickling, scalding, down her cheek.
Then, wordlessly, she stepped in and clasped the rat-catcher in a fierce, brief hug. For an instant, he stiffened under the embrace, shocked by the intimacy. Then he relaxed into it.
A moment later, he patted her shoulder. “Ye’ll be all right, Fiona,” he said, his voice lowering. “I knew it from the moment we met. Life can be a rough sea to sail … but ye are a survivor. Ye will weather the storm and come back stronger from it. Believethat.” He drew back and raised his fist to his heart, pressing hard. “The strength ye need is here.”
She swallowed, valiantly trying to choke back more tears. “I hope ye’re right,” she whispered.
Tay turned to the nearest guard. “Open the gates for the lass,” he ordered, his tone sharp now.
“But the laird—”
“Will be vexed when he finds out ye disobeyed his orders.”
Grumbling, the warrior moved off. A moment later, the portcullis rumbled up, and the gates opened just enough to let her through.
Tay stepped back, raising a hand in farewell. Midge rushed forward, dancing around her ankles as if this were a morning for rejoicing, not grieving. Usually, she’d have stooped and made a fuss of the wee terrier. But she didn’t have the heart.
And so, without saying anything more, she turned and walked from Dounarwyse, descending the path outside the gates.
Each step felt leaden.
She didn’t look back. She couldn’t bear to. This castle was a reminder of nothing but her folly.
Tay told her she was strong, and she hoped he was right. She’d need strength now, if she was to pick up the pieces of her shattered life.
She’d been caught up in a breathless adventure with Ailean, yet, tonight, all the excitement had sputtered out like a doused candle. She’d known the risks she was taking—and that it would be worse for her than for him if they were ever discovered—but that hadn’t checked her.
It should have.
That awful scene in the barmkin. His painful silence. All of it had shaken her from the fantasy. The truth had slapped her across the face. He was a laird’s son. She was a common-born weaver. His reputation would recover from this scandal.
Hers wouldn’t.
At the foot of the causeway, she halted.
The road here went south to Craignure and her kin, and north to Ardnacross, a village on the border of MacKinnon lands.
She knew the former like the back of her hand. She’d never visited the latter. In Craignure, everyone knew her. Everyone would learn of her shame. And that wasn’t the worst of it. If she went home, her mother would crow. Her sisters would sneer. Her father would look at her with exasperation and disgust.
She couldn’t bear it.
She’d told Ailean she’d never return to her kin. And she had meant it.
Her gut hardened. Her shoulders straightened. She didn’t know Ardnacross, but better still, no one there knew her either. That made it the perfect place to begin again.
Would they need a weaver? Would there be enough work? Who knew?
But she had to keep moving.
Thanks to Tay, she hopefully had enough coin to pay for lodgings for a day or two. She wouldn’t be sleeping rough. Or forced to take desperate measures to survive. Not yet, anyway.
Drawing her woolen shawl tight around her shoulders, she turned north and began to walk.
