He’d never mistreated a woman before, but he’d brutalized Fia. Dair held his hands over his face. He could smell her perfume and her body on his skin, imprinted there. He’d taken her like a whore, and she had allowed it, held him anyway, knew it was what he needed. It didn’t drive his ghosts away—it brought them closer, with their bony hands outstretched to draw him down to hell where he belonged.
Fia was the one good thing left in his life. With her, he felt whole again, as capable and confident as the old Dair, a chief—hell, a king. He loved her, and he had destroyed her. His chest ached. Was this all that was left of him, a scarred shell of man with no compassion, no grace, no love in his heart?
He crossed to the window, threw the shutters open. “Leave me, Jeannie,” he screamed to the wind, the sea. “I cannot help you. I would have done anything to save you, taken your place, died for you, but it’s too late. Leave me.” He stared at the cairn. The stones shone white as skulls in the moonlight, one for every soul on his conscience, a record of his sins for all to see.
Something moved in the darkness, and Dair’s mouth dried. A figure stepped out from behind the cairn. He saw the shine of golden hair, the billow of lace and muslin, the dark hollows of her eyes. His heart hit his ribs.Jeannie.He felt sorrow, longing, and terror. She lifted her arm, waving to him the way she had in life, in sunlight. She’d come for him. She had not forgiven him, would never forgive him.
She beckoned again, and he had to go.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The knock on the door of his chamber was so faint John wondered if he’d imagined it. He opened it to find Meggie standing in the corridor, wearing a hooded cloak that covered her from head to toe. “Mistress MacLeod,” he said.
To John’s surprise, she ducked past him into the chamber. She flung the hood back and looked at him, her expression sharp with worry. “I’m not the kind of lass who goes to a man’s room late at night, I’ll have you know, but my sister is missing.”
John glanced across the hall at Dair’s closed door. He had a suspicion he knew exactly where Fia was and what she was doing. “Won’t you sit down?” John said, indicating a chair by the fire. Meggie measured the distance between the chair and his bed with a glance.
“Please shut the door,” she whispered. He did so and she perched on the edge of the chair, staring at him. “You’re the first Sassenach I’ve ever met. English folk don’t venture to Glen Iolair. Papa wouldn’t have it. He’d shoot them dead before they could set one cloven toe over the doorstep—I’ve heard him say so a hundred times, though he’s never had to prove it.”
John folded his arms over his chest. “I promise never to take my cloven toes in your father’s direction.”
“That would be wise,” Meggie said soberly. “But that’s not why I’ve come. I know you’re his friend—Alasdair Og’s, I mean. Can I trust you?
“Of course.”
Meggie bit her lip. “I fear Fia might have fallen in love with him—or she imagines she’s in love. She’s too innocent to know the difference.” She worried the edge of her cloak in nervous fingers. “Would he . . .” She trailed off as a fiery blush kissed her cheeks.
“What do you suspect?”
She drew a breath. “I fear she may have eloped with him. My father won’t like it, one of his daughters wed to a madman . . .”
Eloped?Now, that would be mad indeed. “He isn’t mad,” John said quickly.
She looked doubtful. “Then where’s my sister? It’s after midnight, and I have not seen her—or him—since supper.”
John’s mouth dried. He had no answer to the question, not until he’d spoken to Dair. The man was going to find himself married indeed, willing or not, if Meggie MacLeod had her way. “Come, Mistress MacLeod, I’ll escort you back to your chamber. Perhaps Fia’s there.” He led her to the door.
She shook him off. “I’ve just come from there!” She looked at him sharply. “You know something, don’t you? Is she with him now?”
Before John could stop her, Meggie MacLeod crossed the hall and pounded on Dair’s door. She didn’t wait for a response. She opened it, strode in, calling her sister’s name. John hurried after her.
The rumpled bed was empty, and so was the rest of the room. He could smell perfume, and the tang of sex, in the air. There was blood on the floor, and shards of broken mirror—and worse. The window was wide open, the shutters banging in the wind.No. Oh, no . . .
John crossed to the window, braced himself as he looked down. There was no one on the rocks below. He let out the breath he’d been holding, and his heart began to beat again. He straightened his tunic and turned back to Meggie.
“There’s no one here,” Meggie said, her face filled with worry.
Had they eloped? It was sneaky, dishonorable, and contrary to everything Dair was. But if he was truly mad, truly dangerous . . . John took Meggie’s arm. “Come, mistress, let’s check the library.” He probably wouldn’t find them there, but it was a way to distract Meggie from the dark fears that were taking shape in John’s mind.
CHAPTER FIFTY
The grass shivered and whispered as Dair passed by, moving steadily toward the figure by the cairn. The coming storm was closer now, and clouds crowded together on the horizon, boiling upward. He could see lightning, far off. It would be a violent gale, the kind that sank ships and tore trees in half. He could smell the warning of it in the dry, sulfurous air. Still he walked on, the wind tearing at his clothes and his hair. It whipped Jeannie’s white gown and her blond hair around her, as if her spirit thrashed, unable to find peace in the grave. She held out her hands to him as he neared, her lips curved in a sinister parody of the sweet smile he remembered. Her perfume enveloped him. Revulsion made sweat slither down his back, turn to ice in the wind. He shivered.
Thisisnot real.But if it wasn’t, then he was hallucinating and was truly mad.
Jeannie reached for him. “Come with me, Dair.”
He recoiled, unwilling to touch her. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to banish the specter before him. Fia’s perfume, the sweet, intimate scent of her body, still clung to his skin. He felt a rush of fear.
