it must have been like for her. To him, her decision to leave her clan had been the mindless act of a coward.
During his trip over and the subsequent hunt for her in America, he’d thought only of her betrayal and the cost it would levy on both their clans. Never once had he considered that she could not have been either mindless or acoward to have made such a journey with no fellow clansmen to see to her safety.
He’d seen her illness as a manifestation of her foolish act and her just due for her betrayal. He had not listened to one word of her attempts to explain her actions to him. She was his betrothed and, as such, his property. To his mind, her rights began and ended at that point. He had refused her even the basest courtesy, not even demanding she return, but simply arriving and exercising his rights by taking possession of her. His only goal had been to return them both to Scottish soil where they would be married and thus end the long feuding between their clans.
Duncan hadn’t expected to find the small stones still standing. And, in fact, he found only one. It was small and rounded, blackened with time until the name etched in the stone was almost unreadable. Almost. But to him the letters and numbers shone as if lit from an inner fire. Mairi Claren. Born 1680. Died 1698.
Eighteen. Had she really been so young? She’d been considered well past the age suitable for marrying and he’d never given thought to the difference in their ages. Almost eleven years had separated his birth from hers.
He sank down in the cool dampness of the grass, heedless of the gray skies and chilling air. There was no sign of his stone or that he had ever walked this meadow. Why that made him feel hollow he could not have said. He frowned, irritated further by yet another sign of his sudden sensitivity.
He certainly was a man who was clear about his contributions to his family and his time on earth, deeds both good and bad that had shaped the man he was. That there was no mark of his time spent on this continent should not concern him in the least. Scotland was his country, his home, his heart. He would have given his life for it without pause. This land meant less than nothing to him. It hadtaken and not given. He felt no true loyalty to it … or to the woman whose bones lay beneath it.
He wondered where Mairi’s spirit had ended up. He’d been certain upon learning of his destiny in purgatory that she was burning in hell for her sins to her countrymen and to him.
Now, for the first time, he was not so certain. Who had been sinner … and who had been sinned against? That uncertainty was what had driven him from the cabin. It had eaten at him, badgering his mind and soul with questions he did not wish to ponder.
He had first blamed Maggie. All her talk of her mistreatment at the hands of Judd had made him think and react in ways completely foreign to everything he’d previously believed of himself. Then to compound things, The Key had shown up. This was faery trickery he was certain. They had wearied of his stubbornness and contrived to force him into madness and complete his descent to hell by putting these Claren women in his path.
And yet it was a path from which he did not seem able to stray. When Maggie walked out of the cabin earlier that afternoon, he’d actually worried that he’d not see her face again, hear her laughter, taste her lips. He’d worried of this obsession for days now, taking care to steer clear of her presence all together until he had his thoughts once again under his control. And yet one glance, one word, and his heart and thoughts and desires were no longer his to master.
His first impulse had been to restrict her from leaving by using his greater strength. If she was too foolish to see to her own safety, then he would see to it for her! But he had listened to her words, taken her promises … and trusted her to act on them. Trust a Claren? What spell had she cast?
Was this how
During his trip over and the subsequent hunt for her in America, he’d thought only of her betrayal and the cost it would levy on both their clans. Never once had he considered that she could not have been either mindless or acoward to have made such a journey with no fellow clansmen to see to her safety.
He’d seen her illness as a manifestation of her foolish act and her just due for her betrayal. He had not listened to one word of her attempts to explain her actions to him. She was his betrothed and, as such, his property. To his mind, her rights began and ended at that point. He had refused her even the basest courtesy, not even demanding she return, but simply arriving and exercising his rights by taking possession of her. His only goal had been to return them both to Scottish soil where they would be married and thus end the long feuding between their clans.
Duncan hadn’t expected to find the small stones still standing. And, in fact, he found only one. It was small and rounded, blackened with time until the name etched in the stone was almost unreadable. Almost. But to him the letters and numbers shone as if lit from an inner fire. Mairi Claren. Born 1680. Died 1698.
Eighteen. Had she really been so young? She’d been considered well past the age suitable for marrying and he’d never given thought to the difference in their ages. Almost eleven years had separated his birth from hers.
He sank down in the cool dampness of the grass, heedless of the gray skies and chilling air. There was no sign of his stone or that he had ever walked this meadow. Why that made him feel hollow he could not have said. He frowned, irritated further by yet another sign of his sudden sensitivity.
He certainly was a man who was clear about his contributions to his family and his time on earth, deeds both good and bad that had shaped the man he was. That there was no mark of his time spent on this continent should not concern him in the least. Scotland was his country, his home, his heart. He would have given his life for it without pause. This land meant less than nothing to him. It hadtaken and not given. He felt no true loyalty to it … or to the woman whose bones lay beneath it.
He wondered where Mairi’s spirit had ended up. He’d been certain upon learning of his destiny in purgatory that she was burning in hell for her sins to her countrymen and to him.
Now, for the first time, he was not so certain. Who had been sinner … and who had been sinned against? That uncertainty was what had driven him from the cabin. It had eaten at him, badgering his mind and soul with questions he did not wish to ponder.
He had first blamed Maggie. All her talk of her mistreatment at the hands of Judd had made him think and react in ways completely foreign to everything he’d previously believed of himself. Then to compound things, The Key had shown up. This was faery trickery he was certain. They had wearied of his stubbornness and contrived to force him into madness and complete his descent to hell by putting these Claren women in his path.
And yet it was a path from which he did not seem able to stray. When Maggie walked out of the cabin earlier that afternoon, he’d actually worried that he’d not see her face again, hear her laughter, taste her lips. He’d worried of this obsession for days now, taking care to steer clear of her presence all together until he had his thoughts once again under his control. And yet one glance, one word, and his heart and thoughts and desires were no longer his to master.
His first impulse had been to restrict her from leaving by using his greater strength. If she was too foolish to see to her own safety, then he would see to it for her! But he had listened to her words, taken her promises … and trusted her to act on them. Trust a Claren? What spell had she cast?
Was this how
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