He had never spoken those words before, but they spilled out before he had a chance to stop and think.
Something inside him shifted. Should he have said it? Was it true? Did he even understand such an emotion? He felt as if he did, but he was still unsure.
Later, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, quiet and restful, stretched out on the bed, basking in the warmth from the fire and the heavy scent of roses.
He had not expected to reach such a state of repose. Perhaps it was exhaustion. Or surrender. Or something else. Whatever it was, he accepted it. He did not rise to go to the chapel that night. He slept soundly for hours and hours, and dreamed of purple heather in the glen.
So it was with a jolt of shock that he woke to a noisy rapping at the door. He sat up and managed to slide out of bed without waking Gwendolen. He wrapped his tartan around him, and crossed the room to answer it.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so early,” Lachlan whispered, “but there is news of Murdoch MacEwen, and I thought you’d want to know straightaway.”
Angus stepped into the chilly, torchlit corridor and closed the door behind him. “What is it?”
“One of our spies has returned from Paris. You ought to come now and hear what he has to say.”
Angus dropped his gaze to the floor, and wondered if he had made a terrible mistake in not visiting the chapel that night to light a candle and say a prayer, because the time seemed rather appropriate for God to come and collect for past sins.
Angus feared the worst would happen—that he was about to lose everything, as he always had before.
Chapter Twenty-two
The next morning, Angus waited impatiently in the solar for Gwendolen and her mother to arrive, and when they walked in, he rose from his chair.
“You sent for us?” Gwendolen glanced at Angus, then at Lachlan, and a third MacDonald clansman she could not have recognized, for he had left the castle the day after the invasion.
Angus gestured to two chairs brought in especially for their meeting. “Please take a seat.”
Lachlan remained standing by the bank of leaded windows, and the clansman who went by the name of Gerard MacDonald stood beside Angus, waiting to speak.
Angus turned to Onora. “I have news of your son, madam.”
He noticed that Gwendolen clasped her hands together on her lap, as if to brace herself. Onora, however, looked hopeful. She did not know of Gwendolen’s dreams. Gwendolen had shared her secret prophecies with no one but him.
“There is news?” Onora smiled cautiously. “Please, Angus—I beseech you to disclose it without delay. Murdoch has been gone too long. Will he come home to us?”
Angus met Gwendolen’s eyes. They began to fill with wetness; her knuckles turned white on her lap.
“I am deeply sorry, madam,” he said to Onora. “Your son will not be returning. He died, weeks ago, in France.”
Gwendolen bowed her head.
Angus glanced over his shoulder at Lachlan, who moved to kneel before Onora. He took her hands in his.
Her voice shook. “It cannot be true! How do you know this?”
Lachlan began to explain. “After we invaded Kinloch and realized that we had not fought your son, we needed to establish his whereabouts and ensure that he would not return to seek vengeance. I sent men to search for him, and this man…” He gestured toward Gerard who stood behind him. “This man found Murdoch in Paris and arranged to speak with him.”
Onora stood and approached Gerard. “You saw my son? You spoke with him?”
“Aye, madam, but he was not well. I was permitted to visit his sickbed, and he asked me to tell you that he was sorry for deserting you, and that if he could turn back the hands of time, he would never have left his beloved Scotland. He would’ve stayed to defend you against your invaders, and he wished he could’ve died here, rather than be buried so far from home.”
Tears filled Onora’s eyes. “Did he know who you were? Did he know what happened here?”
“Aye. I explained everything to him.”
She gestured with desperation to Gwendolen. “Did you tell my son that his sister was forced to marry the conquering chief?”
Gerard fumbled with his tartan, growing uncomfortable with the emotional nature of Onora’s questioning. “Aye, I told him that, too. And I’ll not lie to you, madam. He was concerned for her safety.”
