Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(60)
Brigid interrupted my reflective thoughts, “How’s Iain holdin’ up? You know, with him knowin’ you’ve . . . had another man?”
I gaped at her, surprised by the abrupt change of subject. “How did you . . . did he . . .”
She laughed. “The man roared the entire castle down when you returned but dinna waken, but I yanked him into my room before anythin’ that made sense was overheard by others. He said you were standin’ in another man’s arms, both of you barely dressed.”
Iain’s instincts had known the instant he laid eyes on Velloc. It spurred a near-deadly fight between the men. I glanced over my shoulder, locking gazes with the topic of our conversation.
Iain stood there—proud and protective—arms crossed over his chest, my coffee mug perched in perfect balance on the palm of his hand. I smiled. Even though he didn’t know the full story behind the incriminating evidence of the past weeks, he’d accepted me back into his home.
I was enormously grateful for the boundless love he showed me and his family. We’d need that quality as we faced the truth together—as I owned what had happened with Velloc no matter the justification. My chaotic existence had stripped the innocence from me . . . from our marriage.
I turned back, looking at the pink cheeks of my friend. She’d suffered too. Unforeseen circumstances had challenged our virtuous optimism.
I answered her question. “Iain’s surviving like we all are: one breath at a time.”
CHAPTER Twenty-one
Brodie Castle—Thirteenth Century, Nine Days after My Return
A complex web of tension—built of fear, betrayal, and anger—took a week to blow over with the gale force of our renewed passion. No further word had been asked or spoken about where I’d been, who I’d been with, or what I’d done, but silent disregard for the Loch Ness Monster in the room served as a needed balm for our healing process.
Iain spent nearly every waking moment by my side, shirking duties as he delegated responsibilities to Robert and his guard. At first, I welcomed the nonstop attention. His escorting me everywhere resulted in his taking me anywhere, and in very creative ways.
But the novelty eventually faded when our honeymooning turned into a guarded imprisonment. Earlier that day, I’d asked Brigid to go hunting with me. To my exasperation, Iain uninvited her, unbeknownst to me, and had taken her place. Irritation surfaced as I chafed at the loss of my freedom.
As Iain raised his bow, nocking an arrow, my frustration boiled over. “Iain, this has to stop.”
My clipped words stopped his draw in midpull. He released the bowstring, holding the arrow between his fingers as he glanced at me. I slid off my horse, walking away from him through waist-high ferns toward the water. The horses nickered to one another, but the rustling sound of the brush told me Iain had followed.
“I’m my own person, Iain. Yes, I am yours, but not as property. You can’t corral me. I need my freedom.”
When I turned around, he stood directly behind me, his brows drawn in concern.
Encouraged by his receptiveness, I flattened my palms to his chest, continuing. “My vibrancy comes from all life has to offer—the adventure and discovery, the challenge and success, the joy and heartache. The risk we each take when we venture out into the world is part of the journey. It’s a path you cannot deny me no matter the danger, regardless of fear.”
“Isa, I canna lose you again.” He said it with a certainty I believed . . . we both believed.
“What if we worked together to find a solution?” I suggested.
He grinned wide, flashing a model-perfect smile. “I’ve been thinkin’ the verra same thing. Let’s bury the box.”
I snorted, shaking my head. “No, Iain, we can’t. I need the box.” I took his larger hands and clasped them together, enfolding them in mine. “I have to go back.”
Iain’s hands exploded outward, throwing my arms wide, nearly knocking me off my feet. He grabbed my shoulders, steadying me. When he pulled me closer, inches from his furious face, I realized the save had been other than to prevent my fall.
“You’ll do no such thing. I will keep you from that box. The damn magick of it has no right to send you back.” He growled out every word.
“Doesn’t it?” I asked softly. I forced my composure to stay calm, trying to reason with him. “I never asked for this life, to be tossed about between times, but my existence has been ruled by outside forces. There are secrets to be learned. The box has a power that can be harnessed. I know it in my gut as sure as I’ve felt anything substantial in either realm.”
Iain’s chest rose and fell in quick rhythm. His nostrils flared. But I pressed on, needing to break through, unafraid of his anger because I knew it stemmed from his love for me.
“I have to have a purpose, Iain. I can’t dismiss all the turmoil I’ve experienced to chance and coincidence. It would ignore the greater meaning. My life’s quest—the need to discover history—demands I take full advantage of the gateway through time.”
Iain eased the grip from my shoulders that threatened to bruise my arms, releasing me with a slow unclenching of his fists. His massive chest inflated and he puffed out his cheeks, blowing air through pursed lips. Then the hard expression softened, his gaze drifting to the ground as he weighed my argument.