Highland Destiny Read online

  “So, the mighty laird of Donncoill has naught better to do than creep about after old women?” she snapped.

  “Ye have shown yourself to be guilty of a grave crime, Grizel,” Balfour said. “It would behoove you to speak with a little more humility, mayhap even express some regret.”

  “Regret?” She spat, smiling nastily when the men hastily stepped out of her reach. “I have no regrets.”

  “Ye have betrayed your clan, your family. Aye, and marked your kinsmen’s name with a stain they may ne’er rid themselves of.”

  “I care naught for any of them. They spend their poor wee lives toiling for ye and yours. When I told them of how your father had shamed me and pleaded with them to fight for my honor, they refused. Let them save themselves, as I have.”

  “Ye havenae saved yourself, ye great fool,” James said. “Ye have done naught but slip a noose about your own neck. And all this because a mon bedded ye once and chose ne’er to do so again? Ye had a place of honor amongst us, yet all the while plotted to stab us in the back?”

  “A place of honor?” Grizel laughed, an ugly sound, sharp and heavy with her bitterness. “Ye mean the place our fine laird has given to his wee whore?” She smiled when Balfour took a threatening step toward her, tightly clenching his hands as he fought the urge to strike her. “Such a great honor to set myself in the path of every disease that crept into Donncoill, to rush to wipe the noses and the arses of the sick. There was only one thing I gained from that distasteful toil, and that was to get close to your father, Balfour. Aye, ye fools set his verra life in my hands and let me do as I pleased.”

  “Ye killed him,” Balfour whispered, shock stealing all the strength from his voice.

  “Aye, right in front of your eyes. It took days, but I slowly robbed that bastard of blood until he had no more to give. And now I have given his cherished wee bastard to his worst enemy.” She sat up a little straighter when Balfour drew his sword.

  “Nay,” said James, grasping Balfour firmly by the sword arm and halting his blow. “That is what she wants ye to do. A quick, clean death by the sword is always preferable to hanging.”

  “She killed my father. I thought it was God’s decision or, at worse, the sad result of an inept healer, but she murdered him.” Balfour took a long unsteady breath and slowly sheathed his sword. “And we all stood by as she did it.” He turned his back on her, not sure how long he could control his urge to strike her dead if he had to keep looking at her and listening to her. “I cannae abide being near her. I will talk to her kinsmen when I can speak of this with some calm and reason. Bring her back to Donncoill and secure her,” he ordered and did not wait to see his men carry out his commands.

  Balfour used the long walk back to Donncoill to try and calm himself. He would need to be in control of his fury when he told Grizel’s kinsmen of her crimes, and when he passed judgment on her. He could not perform either duty well if he let his anger rule him. His clansmen would not condemn him for that anger, but he knew it would be best if he could stand before them sounding calm, fair, and reasonable, especially since the judgment on Grizel would be death. That would gain him far more respect than righteous fury.

  The moment he reached Donncoill he went directly to Maldie’s room. He prayed she was there, for he lacked the patience to hunt her down. His need for her was strong and immediate. Instinct told him that she was exactly what he needed to help him gain some control over his emotions. It puzzled him that he could think the one who could so easily stir him to heedless passion was the same one he felt certain could help him regain his reason, but he could not shake the feeling.

  Maldie woke with a start when the door to her room was thrown open, then loudly shut. She sat up and stared at Balfour, confused and a little alarmed at the look upon his face. It was a strange mixture of grief and deep, fierce anger. For one brief terrifying moment she feared that she was the cause of that anger, but then banished that fear. Balfour had not been gone long enough to have uncovered even one of her many secrets, and he had been busy hunting down Grizel. That furtive, shrouded figure had obviously been Grizel and the woman had proven herself a traitor. Maldie was both relieved that she had been proven right and filled with sympathy for Balfour, who did not deserve such betrayal.

  “I am verra sorry, Balfour,” she said softly as he moved to the side of the bed, taking his tightly clenched hand in hers when he sat down.

  “Why?” He sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck. “Ye were right.”

  “I had guessed that. What I am sorry for is that ye had to find out how bitter betrayal can taste. Ye did naught to the woman to deserve that.”

  Balfour lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “Your sympathy for my trouble is sweet and most welcome, but ’tis nay what I seek now.” He smiled faintly when her eyes widened. “I ken that this isnae verra flattering, but I must clear my head, and I think that loving you will do it.”

  She laughed and pulled him down onto the bed. “I understand. First comes the passion which steals every thought from your head, then comes the sweet aftertime when your senses return and your body is at ease. ’Tis a perfect time to put some order into one’s thoughts.” She touched a kiss to his lips. “Just dinnae make it the only reason ye seek my bed, or I shall begin to feel like little more than a chamber pot.”

  “That will ne’er happen.”

  Maldie said nothing, just greedily returned his kiss. He made such vows because he thought he knew her. There was a good chance that he would never retrun to her bed once he found out the truth. He would feel betrayed, and the look she had seen on his face when he had entered the room told her how he felt about betrayal. The thought that he might soon cast her out of his bed, even out of his life, made her all the more greedy for his lovemaking.

  Even as he tugged off her clothes, she hurriedly worked to remove his. When their flesh finally met she shivered with pleasure. Although she still sensed his anger he was not turning it against her in any way. She saw it as a challenge. It made her eager to see if she could stir his passion so high, make it so hot and fierce, that it burned all of that anger away, even if only for a little while. Maldie hoped that she could also soothe away some of the pain of betrayal.

  Balfour grunted in surprise when Maldie suddenly pushed him onto his back, straddling him with her lithe body. Before he could say anything she began to stroke and kiss his body. He pressed his lips together, almost afraid to say a word for fear that it would cause her to stop what she was doing. When she began to cover his chest with soft, lingering kisses, occasionally teasing his skin with her tongue, he threaded his fingers through her thick hair and struggled to control his swiftly rising passion long enough to see how daring she would be.

  That proved almost impossible when she began to intimately caress him, first with her small, soft hand, and then with her tongue. He shuddered beneath her caresses, fighting for the restraint needed to fully savor her loving. When she slowly took him into her mouth, he cried out from the strength of the pleasure she gave him. Too soon he knew he had to end it and he pulled her up his body. She needed little direction, sheathing him with a sultry skill that left him gasping for breath. He forced her mouth down to his, kissing her fiercely as she brought them both the release they ached for. When she collapsed in his arms he clung to her, feeling an odd mixture of intensely alive and as weak as a newborn.

  It was not until Maldie eased the intimacy of their embrace, hastily washed them both off, and then curled up at his side, that Balfour was able to think clearly again. His first thoughts were not of Grizel, Beaton, or traitors. Maldie had just made love to him in a way few women knew, and in a way he had never shown her or told her about. Recalling her innocence, the proof of which he had seen with his own eyes after their first joining, did little to still a growing unease. Such loving did not steal a woman’s maidenhead.

  “How did ye ken what to do?” he demanded, looking down at her and sil
ently cursing his need to even ask the question.

  Maldie sighed dramatically and cast him a mournful look, pleased to see him flush guiltily. She knew she should probably be highly insulted by the obviously unkind thoughts churning in his mind, but she was not. She had just made love to him in a bold way only the most experienced woman should know about. Such skill in a woman he thought an innocent should give him pause. The true insult would come if he did not believe her explanation for, unlike some of the other things she told him, it would be the truth.

  “Did I nay clear your mind as ye wished?” she asked.

  “Weel, aye, but…” He frowned in confusion when she laughed softly and placed one long finger over his lips.

  “Nay, I but tease you. My mother told me that men like that. Was she wrong?”

  Balfour was shocked, angry at her mother, and saddened by this unhappy glimpse into her life. “Nay, she wasnae wrong in what she said.” Recalling the intense pleasure she had gifted him with, he smiled and brushed a kiss over her mouth. “She was wrong to tell ye about such things. Was she trying to—” he stuttered to a halt, unsure of how to ask the question without delivering a grave insult to her mother.

  “Was she trying to make me a whore?” Maldie smiled a little sadly when he looked uncomfortable. “Aye, at times I think she was. I could have earned a heavy purse for a few years, until my beauty and softness began to fade. Howbeit, I think that she often had naught else to talk about. Men and how to please them enough so that they would pay her weel was all she knew.” She snuggled up to him. “But let us talk about what made ye so angry.”

  “I regret to say that I lost the chance to call ye a fool.” He felt his anger return, but knew he could control it now. “As I told ye, that ragged figure was indeed Grizel and she met with three of Beaton’s men. I fear they refused to be taken alive. This small victory over Beaton would have been a lot sweeter if I had gained the chance to wring a few secrets out of one of his men.”

  “Is Grizel still alive?”

  “Aye, but she will tell me naught. If she kens any secrets about Beaton she will take them to her grave just to spite me. She made no attempt to save herself, just sat there and spit the ugly truth right into our faces.”

  “Her hatred for you is even stronger than I had guessed if she will let it take her to her death.”

  “Oh, aye, ’tis verra strong indeed. It turned her hand to murder.”

  “Are ye certain?”

  He nodded, idly rubbing her slim back and surprised at how simply touching her gave him the strength to control his grief and anger. “She confessed to the deed. Do ye recall my speaking of our healer’s use of leeches and bleeding when I first brought ye to Donncoill?”

  Maldie felt a chill flow through her body, horrified by the thought forming in her mind, but knowing it was the truth, and her voice was softened by shock as she said, “Ye told me that ye dinnae believe in it, not always, and that ye thought it had hastened your father’s death.”

  “It may have done more than hastened it. Grizel boasted of how she used her place of honor as our healer to kill the mon before our verra eyes. She said that she slowly bled him until he had no blood left to give. I ached to kill her, but James stopped me.” He grimaced. “I had my sword drawn and was eager to cut down an old, bitter woman.”

  “There is no shame in that. She killed your father, cruelly and with no remorse.” She kissed his cheek. “Ye didnae kill her. E’en James couldnae have stopped you if ye truly wished to cut her down. Dinnae brood o’er what ye almost did. Think on what ye must do now.”

  “I must tell Nigel and then I must speak to her kinsmen.” He held her tightly for a moment. “I would prefer to stay right here.”

  “Ye cannae. If ye wait too long to speak to Nigel and Grizel’s kinsmen, they will hear it all from someone else. News this grave cannae stay a secret for verra long. The whispers have probably already begun.” She smiled gently when he cursed and got out of bed. “Nigel must hear this from you, not through whispered rumor and half-truth.”

  “I ken it,” he muttered as he tugged on his clothes. “I but pray that I can keep a rein on my temper. It serves no purpose and will only feed his.”

  Maldie turned on her side, tucking the sheet around herself, and she grinned at him when he turned to look at her. “Shall I wait here then, my laird?” She was pleased when he laughed, glad that she could banish the sadness from his eyes if only for a moment.

  Balfour kissed her, then gave one last adjustment to his plaid before moving toward the door. “’Tis a verra tempting offer, lass, and I ache to accept it, but I think ye may be needed to tend to Nigel. He will be as mad with fury as I was when I first heard the truth.”

  “Of course. Such anger could easily weaken him or make him move too quickly. When ye are done telling him this sad tale, just rap thrice upon my door and I shall go to him.”

  The moment the door shut behind Balfour, Maldie flopped onto her back and indulged in a hearty bout of cursing. This was Beaton’s doing. He had used the hatred of a bitter, old woman to hurt Balfour and to steal a young boy from his home. The murder of Balfour’s father may not have been done on his orders, but Beaton undoubtedly reveled in the deed and probably rewarded the murderer. Beaton was long past due for a harsh reckoning. The only question was who would get to him first—her or Balfour?

  Chapter Nine

  The sharp taste of the strong wine did little to calm Balfour, but he refilled his goblet anyway. He glanced around the great hall and saw few people even though the afternoon meal had been laid out for an hour or more. Balfour prayed that it was because no one had any appetite and not because he had just judged and hanged one of their clan.

  He winced and took another long drink as he thought of the hanging he had just carried out. Grizel had been unrepentent at her brief trial, and had heartily cursed him and his family until the rope around her neck had cut off her bitter words. Balfour was not sure what troubled him most, her unwavering hatred and contempt, or the fact that he had carried out his first hanging as laird of Donncoill. Despite her crimes, he found no satisfaction in Grizel’s death and certainly no pride in the fact that he had ordered one of the very few hangings of a Murray that had been held at Donncoill since the clan had first claimed the land.

  “Come, laddie,” said James as he sat down next to Balfour, his gruff voice soft with understanding. “Ye did what ye had to do. The woman condemned herself with her own words. Mayhap ye could have excused the betrayal, but she killed your father, her laird.”

  “I ken it.” Balfour slouched in his chair. “And she gave my father neither a swift nor an honorable death, so ’tis only just that she didnae get one either. I have no liking for hangings and found the need to order one a distasteful duty. In truth, I am verra angry that the old woman forced me to do it.”

  “Mayhap that was her last small act of revenge.”

  “Aye, mayhap.” He smiled crookedly. “It has been a verra long day e’en though ’tis but half-done. We found our traitor, judged her, and hanged her.”

  “Aye, your wee lass’s bones proved to have more wisdom than we did.”

  “I think it will be a long time ere I can shake free of the guilt I feel o’er my father’s death.”

  “Guilt? Why should ye feel any guilt?” James helped himself to a tankard of wine.

  “Because I stood there and watched that woman kill him. She made me an ally to her crime.”

  “Nay,” James said sharply, startling two young pages who lurked in the shadows near the wall waiting to see it they were needed to serve their chief. “Grizel was the clan’s healing woman. Your father himself named her so.”

  “But I was uneasy with the way she cared for him. I watched her bleed him again and again and thought it was weakening him instead of helping him, but I didnae stop her. It also should have occurred to me that a lover he had so coldly cast aside was not the right woman to tend to him.”

  “Your father should have ke
nned that. He ne’er said a word and it was days ere he grew so weak he couldnae speak. I ken that my words willnae cure ye of your guilt, but believe me when I say, ye carry none for your father’s death. None of us saw the crime; none of us suspected the woman.”

  Balfour nodded, but he knew it would be a while before he could convince himself of that. It was hard to accept that he could have saved his father and had done nothing. Eric, too, might have been saved from the ordeal he was suffering if he had just paid a little more heed. Grizel had been betraying them for years, and it was hard to believe there had never been a sign of her treachery, one he would have seen if he had just been a little more alert. He shook aside those dark thoughts, knowing they were futile for he could not change the past, could not correct his mistakes.

  “Weel, at least we now have proof that Maldie is no enemy,” he said as he picked at the bread and cheese on his plate.

  “Do we?” James murmured as he spread a thick layer of brown honey on his bread.

  “Aye. She was the one who showed us who the traitor was.”

  “That she did.”

  “Grizel was helping Beaton. If Maldie is also helping Beaton, she wouldnae give us one of his spies.”

  “Why not?” James wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jupon and looked straight at Balfour. “What better way to make your enemy think ye are their friend?”

  “Nay, I cannae believe it.”

  “Ye dinnae want to e’en think it and I can understand. Howbeit, we have just had clear proof of what can happen if we dinnae look closely at everyone around us. Grizel was a Murray, yet she murdered her laird and worked for her clan’s enemy.”

  “And Maldie isnae e’en a Murray,” Balfour whispered.