Wild Highland Magic (The Celtic Legends Series Book 3)(28)
But Lachlan had just dismissed her confession out of hand.
His doubt put a clamp upon her tongue and tightened the growing knot in her chest. If she persisted, he would keep looking at her in this terrible way, a way that made her feel like a poor, lonely little girl willing to say anything out of desperation. She hated how the corners of his lips tilted in a smile that held no joy. Perhaps this was the kind of rueful look that men gave to women to whom they wouldn’t make a vow.
Darkness hazed the edges of her vision and with it came a rush of determination. She shot up to her knees and rasped her palms over his unshaven cheeks as she tried to delve into his thoughts. On her tongue danced a dozen explanations. My family, they all have gifts, you must have noticed. Her father’s face flashed in her mind, his frown of disapproval as she broke the one rule pounded into them since they were old enough to understand why they kept apart from the world.
I can prove it, Lachlan. I can.
But whatever magic had torn through the black cloud of his mind while they were making love had long dissipated. Holding his beautiful face between her palms, she sensed nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
His hands gripped hers. She could barely see his expression through the moisture filling her eyes. He gently peeled her fingers away from his face.
She must have stood up. She must have turned toward the door. She waited for him to say something, call her back, whisper her name, but silence echoed in her ears as, suddenly, she stood outside the sickroom in the fading of the day, barefoot with her leather slippers in her hands.
The wind cut through the woven fibers of her linen kirtle and turned the trails of tears on her cheeks cold. She stumbled two steps across the courtyard toward the kitchens, the golden glow of light spilling out from around the wattles of the door. Then she stopped.
Her mother’s terrible prophecy rang in her ears.
Death.
So she headed barefoot for the gate, flinging it shut behind her. Her feet swept her to the lonely places, to where the bones of the island poked out from scrubby grass. She let the breeze pound her clothing against her as she raised her face to the clouds tinged pink from the sunset.
Why, why, why? What kind of fate would bring such a man to these shores only to send him away before she understood why his thoughts were hidden? What senseless urge had made her fall in love with him?
She climbed over the rock-pile stiles and strode past the cows, searching the sea for the galley anchored among the other ships. How many years had she raced across the height like this, watching the ships from Galway unfurl their sails to slip out of the bay to places unknown, places she yearned to see, places she could never see? All those dreams were futile, for in the crowded towns and villages of the world, the minds of thousands would pierce hers like a thousand iron lances. The old terror shuddered through her. She stumbled as she continued her charge across the patchwork of fields.
This island was her home, but she was a prisoner upon it.
Tomorrow, Lachlan would sail out of her life on that galley moored beyond the reef. She imagined herself standing beside him on the deck while the wind whipped her hair. She imagined him drawing her into his arms, kissing her. She remembered how the world had dissolved around them when they lost themselves in the touch of their bodies and the rushing current of their thoughts.
Then suddenly she noticed a familiar cluster of thatched-roofed houses. She’d run far, farther than she’d thought, far ahead of her own thoughts. For in one of those thatched-roofed houses lived a special young man, a true and loyal friend whose mind rang in simple notes like the sound of a plucked harp string.
Her heart beat in time to her thoughts.
Do I dare?
Do I dare?
Do I dare?
***
At the break of day, Lachlan stepped outside the sickroom wearing his borrowed clothes. The doctor and his family were gathered in the courtyard. Lachlan clasped the doctor’s hand and thanked him for saving his life. The man shrugged as if he’d done nothing more than a simple kindness. The mistress of the house offered up a sack of food and he took it with gratitude. Cairenn’s brother Niall, looking like he’d just returned from a night’s carousing, nodded a woozy farewell. The younger siblings leapt and played around him, but Dairine clung to his leg. Her shock of hair was baby-soft beneath his palm.
He sought the shadows for Cairenn.
“She’s not here,” her mother said, intuiting his look. “She’ll likely be waiting to say farewell to you upon the shore.”
She would not, Lachlan was sure of it, and he deserved no better. So he slung the sack of food over his good shoulder and trudged out the gate, taking the worn, winding path down to the strand. Whirlwinds kept pace with him, dancing their way down the narrow path like the regrets he could not shake.
Once upon the shore, he roused one of the islanders who slept above the waterline to look after the boats and the fishing gear. The man agreed to bring Lachlan to where the galley was anchored. Lachlan climbed into the little boat and sat so that he faced the island. With every pull of the oars, the sailor propelled him into the choppy bay, through a herd of seals barking mournfully, and farther away from Inishmaan.
He told himself, with an ache in his heart, that he’d done the right thing when he sent her out of his room last night. He should have left this island the moment he could stand on his own two feet. His duty lay in Scotland, where he would grip a claymore once again and wield it with justice. He would heed the call of his duty, even if he’d responded too late to save his father.