Page 46 of Eloping with the Laird
Sunset would soon be upon her, and Moira had spent the afternoon searching the village for any sign of the mysterious messenger from Clan Fraser. While a few had seen him on his way through heading up to Blackmore, as he’d stopped to break his fast and rest his horse, no one had seen him return. It was as if he had vanished into the mist. Most likely she had just been too late to catch up with him.
She huffed in frustration and gathered her mount ready to depart and return to the castle. No doubt Rory would have noted her absence by now and be concerned. Along the way, a frigid rain began that pricked her skin even through her heavy cloak. An ice storm was moving in. Her horse neighed, and she patted her muzzle.
‘Slow and steady, Clover.’
Her horse leaned into her touch, and they continued on. The storm worsened quickly, with the wind and ice making the steep incline precarious at best. She dismounted and took to the woodland path off the open road for more cover, leading Clover by the reins. It would take her longer, but they would be less exposed to the elements and another hour in the open storm was too much for either of them to endure. Besides, she’d come to know this path almost better than the main road as she loved to walk amongst the arms of the tall trees that climbed high into the sky.
She carried on despite the flush she felt under her skin and the chattering of her teeth. Why was it taking her so long to get home?Home.Blackmore. She smiled. Having a home she felt safe and secure in was a gift. One she’d never expected to receive when she married Rory. She’d hoped for a neutral arrangement. One where she would be treated well and live an almost independent life.
What she’d found instead was a love match.
At Blackmore she was respected and cherished. She was an equal. Rory asked for and valued her opinion. He kept no secrets from her. She flushed and her stomach flipped. She had so much to lose by telling him of the note and what it threatened, but wouldn’t it be worse to not tell him?
A twig snapped behind her, and she froze.
Clover yanked on the reins and tried to pull away. Whatever or whomever was there was frightening them both. A stag emerged from the woods followed by another of smaller stature. She chuckled at herself and continued on. Why was she so hot? She yanked the cloak from her and draped it over Clover. The instant relief of the cold rain on her helped until it turned to tiny ice pellets minutes later making her skin freeze.
She sighed as she climbed the final hill and saw the lit torches of Blackmore. ‘It is her! Help me get her inside!’ a soldier called out from the gates. Another shouted, ‘Gather her mount!
Sean came to her and soon two more soldiers came running up behind him. One took Clover’s leads from her while the other man supported her on the other side as she walked. For some reason she was dizzy, and walking demanded great concentration.
Finally she was inside, but she was still so overwarm. People fussed over her, yet their faces were fuzzy, blurry splotches. A few voices sounded familiar, but they spoke so quickly and with such force she cringed and gave up attempts to answer their many questions. She needed to close her eyes, if only for a moment.
Chapter Twenty
‘Moira?’ Rory rushed into the main hall, rain still dripping off his cloak.
She struggled to open her eyelids. They felt heavy and gritty. Finally, she did, and her gaze fixed on her husband’s handsome and rugged face. Sorrow gutted her. She’d gained so much, but now all would be lost. There would be no escaping her past now. He would know and hate her for what she’d done and for the secret she’d kept from him. She began backing away, and he froze. Angus rushed into the room behind him and Rory put out a hand to halt his advance.
‘Moira?’ Rory implored, walking towards her slowly with his hands open as if she were some injured animal he wished to capture or soothe, which was ridiculous. She was no such thing.
‘What has happened?’ he asked in low, gentle tones.
She shivered in her wet gown despite the mad heat flushing her body and clutched the letter in her hand. The letter that threatened her future, their future. She couldn’t stop shaking and her teeth chattered in her head creating a dull aching throb in her skull.
The lines of the note throbbed in cadence with the pounding.
I know you killed Peter.
I have proof.
You will hang.
But how could the Frasers know?
This was Moira’s secret. Her secret with Peter. The one thing they still shared away from everyone else as past husband and wife. It was a quiet noose hung loosely about her neck. One she did not want, but one she also couldn’t escape. Not after what she’d done.
‘No one else knew,’ she murmured, staring at Rory’s dark, distant form as her vision blurred. ‘I don’t understand.’ She shook her head and the few hairpins that had remained in her hair scattered to the floor, allowing her hair to fall in loose, wet waves about her face. She crushed the letter into a ball in her fist. Anger, grief and fear collided within her and a wave of nausea gripped her stomach.
‘It is impossible,’ she continued. ‘And I searched for him, for the messenger. He was gone. I was too late.’
Rory reached her and gripped her shoulders, running his hands up and down her arms. ‘You’re soaked through,’ he murmured. ‘Come with me. Please. Let us get you changed and warm you by the fire. Then you can tell me what has happened. You’re safe now. That is all that matters.’ She met his grey eyes, so full of care and concern rather than anger, and the knot of unease tightened in her gut. They would tell him. He would never understand. She would be banished from here or be hanged.
Or both.
She swallowed hard. ‘They will hang me, Rory,’ she whispered. ‘I am sorry.’
Rory gripped her face with his cool, strong hands. His brow knotted and he frowned at her. ‘Moira, look at me. You’re not making sense.’
