Highland Wolf (Highland Brides, #10)(87)

Claray stared at him silently for a minute, her mind bouncing around like a trapped bird inside her skull, and then whispered, “It was you who shot me in the stables.”

“Aye. I’m sorry, lass,” he said apologetically. “I was aiming fer Conall, but he moved again.” Annoyance crossed his face, and he added, “He treated ye sorely, bendin’ ye over the pen and japing ye like a bitch in heat, then up against the post like a harlot. I kenned ye probably found it unbearable and I meant to end him. I never meant to hit you.”

Claray stared at him with disbelief, wondering how he could think that would make it better. She had no desire to see Conall dead. She loved him.

That was a thought that caught her by surprise. Claray had liked Conall from the start, admired his sense of honor and determination to look after his people. She also appreciated all he had done for her, rescuing her from Kerr, carrying her before him on his mount while she slept, no matter that he was exhausted. He’d also been most patient with her rescuing animals at every turn on the way home to MacFarlane when she’d known he hadn’t wanted her to. He was a good man—he worked day and night here to build a home for them all, and he’d tended to her when she was injured and ill with such gentleness and kindness. And then there was his loving.

Aye, at first Claray had worried that her soul might be in peril because of the pleasure he gave her, but she’d come to terms with that. It was just too beautiful and intimate to be something God would begrudge them. Surely, if He hadn’t wanted them to enjoy each other like that, He wouldn’t have made it possible for people to enjoy it as they did. At least that was her reasoning. Perhaps it was just a justification to allow her to continue to enjoy her marital bed without guilt, but since she found it impossible not to, she was happy to accept that justification.

Whatever the case, with all that she admired, respected and enjoyed about her husband, Claray supposed it would be surprising if she did not love him. Conall was a man worth loving, and she simply could not bear the thought of this man ending his life.

Realizing that Hamish was talking again and that she’d missed part of it, Claray concentrated on what he was saying again, in case there was something she could use to save herself and Conall.

“—and I told her that, so I’m no’ sure why she decided to kill ye anyway,” he added with grim resentment.

“Told who what?” Claray asked uncertainly.

“Me mother,” he said with exasperation. “I told her that he’d ordered ye to enjoy it. That’s why I do no’ ken why she’s so determined to see ye dead.”

“Yer mother?” Claray asked with bewilderment, and then followed his gaze to the unconscious woman lying against the wall. Eyes widening with dismay, she asked, “Mhairi is yer mother?”

“Aye,” he admitted with disgust, and then glanced back to her. “She’s mad. Always has been. Used to brag to me on how she’d cleaned out the den o’ inequity that Bean and Giorsal MacDonald had wrought here. She thought she’d killed the son too, but obviously she mucked that up like she mucks up everything.” He turned a sneer on the woman and muttered, “She was no’ a good mother.”

Claray bit her lip, unsure what to say. She couldn’t imagine the childhood he must have suffered through. But that didn’t excuse his actions now. Conall’s own childhood had been a horror thanks to this man’s mother, and he wasn’t going around trying to kill others. Well, other than his mercenary work, she acknowledged, and then pushed that thought away and concentrated on getting herself out of this mess. The man kept saying he was saving her, perhaps she could use that to her advantage.

“Thank ye, Hamish,” she said now, and when he turned back to her, she managed a small smile and assured him, “I appreciate that ye’re tryin’ to save me soul. Now, do ye think ye could untie me, please? I should like to leave here.”

“Soon,” he assured her, running his hand down her cheek. “I ken yer scared, but I’m goin’ to help ye.”

“It would help me if ye untied me,” she pointed out.

“Aye, but like I said, I need to talk to ye first.”

Claray’s teeth ground together, but she held on to her patience.

“About what?” she asked. “If ’tis about yer mother knockin’ me out and draggin’ me here, I’ll explain to Conall that ye were no’ involved. He’s a good man. He’ll no’ hold ye responsible.”

Hamish smiled sadly. “Lass, I’m the one who coshed ye over the head and brought ye here, and I’m sorry fer that, but I could no’ take the risk o’ ye refusin’ to come with me or cryin’ out. And ’tis fer yer own good anyway.”

Claray swallowed the fear trying to clog her throat, but held her tongue. She wasn’t surprised by his words. She’d been hoping his mother had been behind it, but even as she had, some part of her mind had recognized that Mhairi MacDonald could not have carried her out to a cottage outside the wall.

“Besides,” Hamish continued, “Conall’s no’ a good man, lass. He’s forced ye to enjoy the beddin’, and we both ken that’s wrong. But ’tis fine,” he continued before she could respond to that, although she had no idea what she could say anyway. “I plan to tend to that fer ye. I’m lookin’ out fer ye.”