Journey to Bongary Spring by Kasey Stockton
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kieran’s body was cold once he removed Isobel from his arms, shame and guilt taking her place and enveloping him. She’d been right to refuse him. He wanted to give her more of himself—especially now that Miles Duncan was clearly not intending to marry her—but he couldn’t allow himself to fall for the woman when he was about to sacrifice himself. And he couldn’t back out of the duel, not when he’d finally found the man who’d killed his father.
His father deserved better than that.
“Please?” she pleaded.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I found him, Isobel. I found the man with one ear.”
He heard her intake of breath and wished he could see her face as well. Was she pleased for him? Concerned? The moon wasn’t visible, and the night was dark.
“The man with the black beard,” she said. She must have noticed Magnus in Duncan’s party. Kieran hadn’t been in the great hall and hadn’t noticed him or his missing ear until long after the feast had ended, and Miles was holed up with McEwan.
“What do ye plan to do tomorrow, Kieran?” she asked again, quietly.
He couldn’t hide the truth from her forever. “I challenged him to a duel, and he accepted.”
“That is what I thought,” she whispered. “Ye foolish man. If ye’re turned in, what then? Ye’ll be thrown in jail at the verra least. If ye survive.”
“Does it matter?”
Isobel took his arm, her fingers digging into his forearm, grounding him. “Dinna speak that way. Value yer life more than that, Kieran. Care for it as I do.”
“This has naught to do with my life, lass. Ye well ken it.”
She shook her head. He could see well enough to notice that. “Do ye think this is what yer father wishes? For ye to sacrifice yer own life only because he lost his? I dinna see how that is good. No matter what happens tomorrow, yer life is over, and he will win.”
“Not if his life is over as well.”
Isobel dropped his arm as if he’d been a hot coal and hissed. “If ye end his life, ye end yer own by breaking the law. I canna like this. I canna support ye in this.”
“I didna ask for yer support.”
“Nay? Just a farewell kiss?”
A blush heated his neck and warmed his ears. She’d labeled him as exactly what he was: despicable. “Does it matter? Ye’ve been planning to marry a Duncan even after they killed yer parents.” He spat the name, disgusted by it.
“I had little choice in the matter, and ye well ken it.”
He stepped forward, wishing she was back in his arms. “What now, Isobel?”
“Why do ye care?”
Because he cared about her. Was that not apparent? No, he supposed not. He’d spent too long forcing himself to remain away. When he’d learned of her betrothal to Miles, he’d given her space. It was not his place to put himself before his chief’s desires regardless of how he felt. But now…well, now it hardly mattered. He was throwing his life away in a duel. It was already settled upon, and he’d accepted his fate with equanimity.
“I care about ye, Isobel. I’m glad ye aren’t to marry him.”
“Ye saw yerself that Miles Duncan is a good man and that he only seeks peace. Dinna pretend now that he’s the enemy merely because it suits ye.”
Kieran took in a breath, forcing himself to temper his frustration. She was correct, but now he couldn’t allow himself to see the good in Miles, not when he needed to feel anger. Isobel was moderating his pain and frustration, and he couldn’t allow her to do that.
“Naething ye say now will change my mind.”
Isobel stepped closer to him. “Then allow me to leave ye. Goodnight, Kieran.” She fled for the kitchen entrance faster than it took Kieran to recognize her intent. He followed her, running a frustrated hand over his face as he skipped down the steps and pushed through the kitchen door.
“Wait,” he called, and two young boys paused near the fireplace, their pilfered treats suspended just before their mouths. He shook his head in frustration and found Isobel paused on the steps that led out of the kitchen. He jerked his head up, and she ascended the stairs, thankfully reading his desire to avoid an audience.
Reaching for her hand in the stairwell, he pulled her to a stop. It was still dark, but the glow from the kitchen fire below and the torches above made it possible to see her better. She was so beautiful, despite the hurt and anger written on her face. “Ye canna leave like that.”
“Why no’?” Her dark eyes glittered, her mouth pinched.
He lowered his voice, tightening his hold on her fingers. “I canna allow that to be the last thing we say to one another.”
Isobel pulled her hand from his grasp. “Then dinna go to the duel.”
“I canna do that.”
“Then why do ye care what I think?”
“Because I care about ye.” He registered shock passing over her face before she quickly shuttered it again. “I dinna want to leave things this way.”
She shook her head, her eyes sad. “Ye’ve made yer choice, Kieran.”
Isobel continued up the stairs, leaving Kieran behind in the dim stairwell, watching her skirts sway as she left him. He wanted two things equally: revenge on the one-eared man and Isobel. The trouble was, he could only have one.
And his honor wouldn’t allow it to be Isobel.
* * *
Ian clutched the papers tightly in his hand, listening carefully for the sound of anyone who may be getting to bed late. The castle was asleep, the eerie stillness quiet and brittle, as though someone might step from their chamber any moment and discover him. Scratching at the door to warn McEwan of his arrival, Ian waited three seconds before opening the heavy oak door and slipping into the study.
“Were ye seen?” McEwan asked from the chair in the corner, a bottle in his hand and a scowl on his lips.
“I dinna think so. I have the—”
“Make certain the door is closed,” McEwan whispered harshly. “We canna be overheard. It is too soon for that. Much too soon.”
Ian swallowed. He’d closed the door, but he returned to make sure it was tightly wedged shut. It was. McEwan had become increasingly more suspicious in the recent weeks leading up to the feast. It made Ian wonder if he had cause to be concerned. “We’re not in trouble, are we?”
McEwan did not answer him right away, instead leaning back in his chair and sipping from his bottle. “Look at the history of our people. If we are ta succeed, we must always be wary. That doesna mean we are in trouble.” He indicated the desk. “Ye brought the notes?”
“Aye. I catalogued the people we passed and the accounts of discontent. Ye can see if Kieran’s report matches mine.”
“Kieran is honest, but I dinna think he’s ready. We canna bring any men into our confidence until we are certain they will side with us, or we risk everything.” Shaking his head, McEwan frowned. “I’ve worked too hard and too long to lose everything now. We must find a way to broker peace with the Duncans or all our plans are ruined.”
Ian placed the stack of small papers containing his report on the desk and turned around to lean against it. His injured arm still rested in a makeshift sling, his other hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Miles Duncan wants peace. Is that no’ enough? Do ye really need a marriage to make it happen?”
“Aye. A marriage would solidify the treaty. It will show the people how deeply we mean it. True peace was meant to begin in Dulnain with Isobel and spread forth. We canna expect the path to clear through Inverness-shire so easily now, and precious time is wasted.” McEwan rubbed a weary hand over his face. “We’ll find a Duncan for Isobel to marry. This isna over yet.”
“Ye could have told me what ye planned to do with Isobel and the laird of Dulnain.”
McEwan eyed him closely. “I tell ye what is necessary.”
He didn’t explain further, and Ian swallowed his frustration. He hadn’t needed to know of the chief’s plans with Isobel and Miles Duncan, but it stung that he was not trusted. “Do ye have another plan?”
“I need to think on it more, but I will devise a plan.” McEwan’s voice dropped to a low, gravelly whisper. “D’ye think the redcoats will follow ye back here?”
Ian shrugged. “They seemed rather keen on Isobel.”
McEwan shook his head. “They wouldna come here for her.”
“She lied and told them she was married to Kieran. If they come here, they’ll ken it was a ruse.”
“If they come here, it ’twill no’ be to check on Isobel.” He looked up sharply and held Ian’s gaze. “If they come here, it means they’re suspicious of our loyalties, and we’re all in trouble.”
“Kieran mentioned a similar concern, but Rupert reminded him that we are no’ Jacobites. If yer own men dinna ken, surely the redcoats have no reason ta be suspicious.”
“The redcoats are suspicious of all Highlanders.” McEwan took a long pull from the bottle. “Take the book wi’ ye. Ye’ve got another drop coming soon.”
Ian nodded, crossing to where he’d stashed the leather book before leaving on the journey with Kieran. He tucked it into his belt, allowing his tartan fabric to drape over and keep it hidden. McEwan gave him an excusing nod and Ian turned for the door, but he paused when McEwan’s quiet voice reached him.
“For Scotland.”
“Aye,” Ian repeated, feeling the words resonate deep in his soul. “For Scotland.”