Page 83 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

Oscar dragged the empty chair closer and sat, leaving space between them. “Bryce believed ye dead?”

“Angus told him I was, but it didnae last long. Word spread that I had left me marriage. Letters came after, written in me hand.”

Oscar clenched his jaw. “Did ye write them willingly?”

“I wrote what Angus told me would keep Bryce from searchin’. If Bryce believed I had chosen to disappear, his pride wouldnae allow him to admit he couldnae find me.” Muriel looked down at her hands. Fine calluses marked the pads of her fingers. “The healer kept me alive. When I could stand, I helped grind herbs and change dressings. In time, the work became mine, and I stayed for it.”

Oscar paused, absorbing everything his sister had just said to him before speaking again. “So, Angus saved ye.”

“Aye. He saved me life.” Her grip tightened on the folded cloth. “But he also made ye believe that I had abandoned every person I loved. He let me carry the name of a faithless wife while he remained at Bryce’s side. Then he decided to marry Daphne while I was still his wife. So I’m nae all that grateful.”

Oscar looked at the dried blood across his sleeve. “I see.”

“I owe Angus me life,” Muriel acknowledged. “But I daenae owe him me return.”

“Ye owe him nothin’.” Oscar raised his eyes to hers. “I killed Bryce today.”

Muriel drew in a breath through her nose. Her fingers did not move on the cloth.

“Had I ken,” he said, “I would have made him suffer.”

“More pain wouldnae give me back the year I lost.”

Oscar bowed his head. The blood had dried beneath his nails and had caught in the creases of his knuckles. “I should have come for ye.”

Muriel leaned forward and laid her hand over his. “I sent letters in me own hand. Ye had nay proof that Angus had harmed me or kept me. If ye had marched upon Gilmore, people on both sides would have died for what ye couldnae prove.”

“Ye were alone.”

She exhaled. “But I survived. That is all that matters in the end.”

He turned his hand beneath hers and pulled her from the chair. His arms closed around her, and the coarse linen of her apron bunched beneath his fist. She held him for several heartbeats, one palm pressed between his shoulders, then stepped back.

“Angus willnae take ye from MacKane,” Oscar promised. “I will seek every lawful means to end the marriage.”

“I didnae come back so another man could make decisions for me, Oscar,” Muriel replied. “I will decide what to do and how.”

“Aye, of course,” Oscar responded before calling for Lennan.

His man-at-arms appeared in the doorway, carrying his sword belt.

“Send a rider to a solicitor at first light,” Oscar ordered. “I want to ken whether Muriel’s marriage can be annulled, and what protection can be secured against any Gilmore claim.”

Lennan inclined his head gravely. “It will be done.”

Oscar gestured toward the sword. “Keep it below.”

When Lennan withdrew, Muriel opened her satchel and checked its contents. “I want the chamber closest to the surgery. I will need the herbs and linens, and leave to tend the villagers.”

“They are yers. Choose whatever work ye wish.” Oscar held her gaze. “Welcome home, Muriel.”

Another board creaked overhead, and Tommy’s voice carried faintly through the ceiling.

Muriel said something about the herb stores, but Oscar caught only the final words. His arm had curved again, his hand suspended where Ceana’s waist had rested against him.

“Why are ye standin’ here when yer mind is upstairs?” she asked, snapping him back to the present.

“What?” He blinked.