Claimed by the Highlander (23 page)

Raonaid frowned and spoke with spite. “I know all kinds of things about him, lassie. Things you’ll never know.”

“I doubt that.”

Gwendolen stood just inside the door, keeping to her spot on the braided rug, while the oracle paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. She looked as if she were about to pounce and rip Gwendolen’s throat out.

“I didn’t come all this way to see
you,
” Raonaid said. “I came to see Angus.”

“In case you haven’t heard, I am mistress of Kinloch, therefore you are my guest as much as you are his.”

Raonaid reached for the iron poker and stirred the fire. “What do you want from me, great mistress of Kinloch?”

“I thought you said you knew I would come,” Gwendolen replied. “Do you not know why? Do you not see everything?”

The oracle ignored her question. She finished tending to the fire, then leaned the poker against the hearth.

“Fine,” Gwendolen continued, “I’ll tell you why. You saw my husband’s death. I want to know how and why it happens.”

As she swung around to face her, Raonaid’s eyes burned with accusation. “You of all people should already know that, you manipulative slut. You’re the one who leads him to the noose.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

Gwendolen’s stomach turned over with dread. “You cannot possibly see the truth, Raonaid, because I would never betray my husband—which makes me question your so-called gift of sight. I do not want him dead. I love him. I want him to live.”

Good God, she had just declared her love for her husband. She had never spoken those words aloud before, not to anyone, not even Angus.
Especially
not him. She wondered how he would react if he knew she was here in his former lover’s bedchamber, pouring her heart out in this manner.

Would Raonaid tell him what she had said? If she did, he would probably take it as further evidence that his wife was a liar. Not long ago, they were enemies, and she’d wanted to shoot him through the heart.

She took a deep breath and fought to remain calm. “Angus told me that you saw his head in a noose. What else did you see?”

“What does it matter?” Raonaid replied. “He’ll be hanged, right here at Kinloch. What else is there to know?”

“But
why
is he hanged?” Gwendolen asked. “It makes no sense. The English have already awarded him full custody of Kinloch. He has a powerful army here to protect him, and the members of my clan have accepted him. He has been a fair and generous chief.”

“But there is someone else you are forgetting,” Raonaid said with devilish taunting. “Your long-lost brother, who could return any day with an army of his own. Surely
he
hasn’t accepted the loss of his birthright.”

Gwendolen pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and noticed uneasily that her fingers were trembling. “That may be true, but I am pledged to my husband now. I have given him my solemn vow that I will not betray him. If Murdoch returns, he will not find an ally in me. Not if he means to unseat my husband.”

It occurred to her suddenly that she had given very little thought lately to the possibility of Murdoch’s return. She had become so immersed in the pleasures of married life, she had all but purged it from her mind.

Raonaid’s clear blue eyes narrowed. She sat down in an upholstered chair and reclined comfortably. “The words you speak make you sound very sure of yourself, lassie, but your eyes tell another tale.”

“You see only what you want to see.”

“That may be true—but what is it, exactly, that you think I want to see? Enlighten me.”

Gwendolen chose her words carefully. “You want me to be disloyal to my husband, so that he will come back to you.”

The oracle threw her head back and laughed. “I couldn’t care less if I ever saw that man again.”

Gwendolen’s annoyance was beginning to stew. “Then why did you come here, if you care so little about him?”

“Because I gave him my word. You can say and think what you like about me, and most of it will be true—but one thing you cannot call me is a liar. I speak my mind, and I keep my promises. That’s why I told him the truth—the truth I see in your eyes now.”

“And what truth is that?” Gwendolen asked incredulously.

Raonaid leaned forward. “When your brother returns, you will stand by him, not Angus, because he is your mother’s son.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Are you sure about that?” Her eyebrow lifted knowingly. “He’s your brother, lass. Would you let your husband cut his throat?”

Gwendolen’s pulse began to beat erratically. “Of course not. I would try to come between them.”

“But you cannot come between them without choosing a side. You’ll do what you must to save your brother’s life.”

Gwendolen began to pace back and forth. “You are guessing these things,” she said, “the same as anyone else might do.”

Raonaid gave no reply.

Gwendolen watched her from across the room. The woman was like some kind of animal. Everything about her was predatory.

“How is it that you experience these visions?” she asked, moving to a chair and sitting across from Raonaid. “Are you having one now? Is that why you ask me these things?”

“Nay, I’m not having one. I’m just reading you.”

Gwendolen leaned back. “So you
are
just guessing.”

The oracle shrugged. “I’m very good at it, and I base everything on the visions in the stones.”

“But what, exactly, do you see in the stones? How does it happen?” Gwendolen thought of her own dreams that often foretold future events. There was nothing strange or mystical about them. They were just dreams.

“I see the events unfold through shadows and light,” Raonaid explained, “and the meaning is always clear to me. I feel it.”

“Do you hear people talking?” Gwendolen asked. “Or do you ever read words in the stones, as if they were written in a book?”

Raonaid shook her head. “Nay, I just see shadows and movement.”

Gwendolen wanted very much to prove that Raonaid was mistaken about her morbid premonitions, for she could not bear to imagine that Angus would die, nor could she accept the possibility that she would be responsible …

“I think what you might have seen,” she carefully suggested, “were images from a letter I wrote the day after Angus invaded Kinloch. I pleaded with Colonel Worthington at Fort William to come with an army of redcoats and drive him out by force. I wanted him to be hanged for treason as a Jacobite. I was very clear about it, and I did this after I promised Angus that I would not betray him.”

It was a difficult thing to confess to this woman, of all people, but she wanted her to know the truth.

Raonaid tilted her head to the side. “Does he know of this?”

“Aye. Colonel Worthington came here and showed him the letter. Angus immediately confronted me about it, and I confessed my guilt, and he forgave me.” She clasped her hands together on her lap. “So you see, I am not perfect. I was deceitful, I admit it, but things were different then. For that reason, I believe what you saw in the stones was a vision of those events as they were unfolding, and that Angus is no longer in danger—at least not because of me.”

Raonaid’s cheeks flushed with color. She stood up and walked to the window. “You confuse me.”

Gwendolen stood up as well. “That’s good! If you are not sure…”

Raonaid whirled around and pressed her lips together. “I see through you, Gwendolen MacEwen,” she growled. “You are his enemy. You want to crush and destroy him because he conquered your clan. He disappears from the stones because of you. There is no escaping it. I saw what I saw. Even now, he is as good as dead.” Tears of fury stained the oracle’s eyes and choked her voice.

Gwendolen thought carefully about what Raonaid was describing, then moved closer and spoke in a gentler tone. “Maybe he just disappears from
your
life, Raonaid. Perhaps that’s all it means.”

The oracle darted forward and pushed Gwendolen out the door. “Get out!” she shrieked.
“Get out of here!”

Gwendolen stumbled backward into the corridor, and the door slammed shut in her face.

It took a moment for her to recover her composure. She smoothed out her skirts and ran a shaky hand over her hair, then closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. She had never encountered anyone quite so volatile before. Clearly Raonaid did not respond well to separations.

“What are you doing here, Gwendolen?”

She jumped at the sound of her husband’s voice at the end of the corridor. Her body tensed at the awesome sight of him. His thick, tawny mane of hair was tied back off his shoulders. A round shield was strapped to his back. In addition to his usual arsenal of weapons, he held an axe in his hand.

Heaven help her, even through the haze of her confusion and anger, she still believed him to be the most handsome and impressive Scotsman alive. He never failed to upset her equilibrium.

For that reason, she could not let him continue to doubt her. Nor could she tolerate any further attacks on her honor and dignity. She was carrying his child now, and had assured him that she would never betray him. If what Raonaid said was true—that Murdoch would come with an army to reclaim his birthright—it was important that they stand together and trust one another. There could be no dissension, because
that
was where the chink in Kinloch’s armor would be found.

She faced him and spoke with a sharp note of accusation in her voice—for it was not lost on her that they were both standing outside Raonaid’s bedchamber door.

“More importantly, what are
you
doing here?” she asked. She strode forward to meet him at the end of the corridor. “Are you looking for
me
? I certainly hope so, because we have much to discuss. But if you are here to see Raonaid—who just called me a manipulative slut—I might have something very different to say to you. So which is it, Angus? Are you here to see me? Or did you come to see her?”

Chapter Twenty

Angus decided at that moment that this marriage had indeed done something to him, because his passions were exploding inside of him like torched gunpowder. He was not the same man he had once been, and he was not happy about it. He had not taken a wife so that he could become a contrite, lovesick husband. He had not been seeking affection, or sentimentality, or attachment. To the contrary, he had wedded this woman to produce a son and provide an heir that would unite the clans of Kinloch, and one day become chief. It had been a political arrangement, nothing more.

Yet here he stood, looking at the stunningly beautiful woman who was carrying his child, and all he could think about was the fact that he might not live to see the day when she gave birth, and that his time with her was limited, and that she was angry with him.

He wanted more than anything to fix it, and apologize for his unforgivable behavior that morning. Even when he knew it was possible that she might betray him, he still desired her, and could not bear to think that she was cross with him.

Did he truly believe she would betray him?

His gut said no, it could not be so, but he simply could not take the risk that he was wrong. He knew what love did to perfectly sensible men. It made them blind and foolish.

“I came to see Raonaid,” he said vindictively, knowing it was not what she wanted to hear, but he said it nevertheless, in a passionate attempt to convince her—and himself—that he did not care how she felt.

But dammit, he did care. The sick feeling in his stomach proved it. He was done for. He should just send for a rope and a stool right now.

“Fine,” she said, pushing past him. “I’ll leave you two alone. I hope you enjoy yourselves.”

She walked haughtily to the stairs and disappeared from sight, but as he listened to the light tapping of her footsteps down the curved staircase, his passion for her exploded tenfold, and he had to follow.
“Wait, damn you!”

She stopped and looked up at him. He shoved the axe into his belt and descended to where she stood, took hold of her hand, and dragged her the rest of the way down.

“Where are we going?” she asked. “Let go of me!”

He led her through the stone passageway, found an arbitrary open door, and entered what turned out to be the steward’s chamber. He shut the door behind them, locked it, then backed her up against the desk.

He said nothing. For the longest time, he just looked into her angry brown eyes, then cupped her face in his hands. She blinked up at him and seemed to recognize his urgent need for sex.

Yes, he wanted sex—and hell, he wanted it now. When she told him to go to Raonaid and enjoy himself, he couldn’t let it pass, and he needed to make sure she understood that he could enjoy himself with no woman but her.

He needed also to prove that she belonged to him, and that he was still in control. She had not made him weak. He was strong. She was his wife, and if he wanted her, he would damn well have her. He intended to prove that now.