Highland Wolf Page 17

Annora grimaced and slowly sat up. It amazed her that she was only a little embarrassed about what she had just done, but she would puzzle over that later. The very last thing she wished to do was spoil this beautiful time with Mary’s journal, but it was time he saw what she had found.

  He must have sensed her unease, for he slowly sat up and frowned as she moved off him. Clutching the bed linen around her, she scrambled off the bed to find where he had tossed her gown. She picked it up, shook it out, and idly thought on how hard James was on her clothing. Then she took the journal from her pocket and handed it to him.

  “What is this?” asked James, for it gave him a very uneasy feeling as he held it in his hands. He had none of the gifts that were rampant amongst the Murrays, but he did have very good instincts and all of them were telling him that he was not going to like what was inside this little book.

  “A journal written by Mary. It starts a few months ere ye were declared an outlaw and had to flee for your life,” Annora replied and was not surprised when he paled slightly even though the glint of anticipation began to lighten his eyes.

  “Have ye read it?”

  “Aye, and sad to say it just may help ye. That it will help ye is good but ’tis sad that your own wife was part of all that happened to ye.” She took a deep breath and began to get dressed as she said, “It willnae be an enjoyable read for ye nay matter how it might help ye.”

  It took James only a few minutes of reading to understand what Annora meant. All he could think of was how could he have been so blind as to not see that his own wife despised him? The surprisingly crude remarks demeaning his manhood and his prowess as a lover made him wince, but with his body still feeling the pleasure of making love with Annora they lost some of their sting. By the time he finished the little book, however, he was furious, but not just at Mary and Donnell. He was furious at himself for being such a blind idiot. James looked up from the book to see a fully dressed Annora sitting at the foot of his bed watching him warily.

  “How could I nay see that Mary was such a—” He faltered, the hard lessons of courtesy taught in his youth making it difficult to say what he truly wanted to.

  “Bitch?” Annora finished and blushed only slightly. It was a curse and unkind, but she could think of no better word for the woman at the moment as she saw the pain and confusion in James’ beautiful eyes.

  “Aye, a traitorous”—he glanced down at the little book and then met Annora’s worried gaze again—“whining little bitch. How could I nay see that?”

  “Because she didnae want ye to. James, verra few of her own kinsmen ken the Mary ye read in that book. She was always sweet, somewhat shy, and verra, verra dutiful. She may nay have been the smartest woman in the world, but she did have a cunning that allowed her to be as all thought she ought to be and thus gain the rewards of such fine behavior. Behind the backs of all those who thought her such a perfect lady she probably laughed at our stupidity. What do ye mean to do with the book?”

  James got out of bed and began to dress, his anger growing as he tugged on his clothes. He knew what he had to do with the book but he did not want to do it. It was something Tormand and Simon needed to see if only because there had been some names mentioned in it of people they might be able to find. People who would be far better witnesses to the crimes Donnell had committed than the words of a woman who had clearly never known much happiness. Worse, Mary’s misery was all of her own making, born mostly out of wanting things and not always getting what she wanted.

  He felt a light touch on his arm and looked down at Annora. “I need to go to the village and speak to Tormand and Simon,” he said.

  “’Tis late.”

  “They need to see the book as quickly as possible, Annora, e’en though it will humiliate me to have them see the things my own wife said about me.”

  Annora just nodded. She could feel a great deal of new anger in James. He undoubtedly thought himself an utter fool and now had to let others see that he was. She also wondered if he had loved his wife and if this proof of her betrayal and dislike cut him far deeper than he wanted anyone to know.

  “Take care,” she murmured as he started for the door acting almost as if he had forgotten she was even in the room.

  James halted, turned back, and gave her a hard kiss before he started to leave again. “Ye be careful as ye leave here. It seems my wee wife did one good thing and that was write down far more than she ought to have. We may soon be rid of Donnell.”

  As the door shut behind him, Annora sighed. They might soon be rid of Donnell, but she had to wonder if James would ever be rid of the ghost of his wife. He may or may not have loved her, but he had respected her as his wife and the mother of his child. He had also trusted her. Annora did not know how discovering that Mary had deserved none of that would leave James feeling once he sorted through all of the confused emotion she had sensed in him. He was fully over anger over Mary’s betrayal and his inability to see what Mary truly was, but anger could swiftly turn into bitterness. And with bitterness came a lack of trust in one’s self and in others.

  As Annora crept away from James’ bedchamber, she thought it would be just her luck if by bringing James the proof that his wife and Donnell had planned everything that had forced James to live as a hunted man for three years, she had lost what little good there was between them. That was something that would have delighted Mary, Annora decided as she slipped into her own bedchamber and hoped she would be able to cease worrying about what might happen between her and James now and get some much needed sleep. Somehow that seemed like yet another injustice.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Weel, this is interesting.”

  James glared at Simon. He had left a warm bed and an equally warm Annora to bring Mary’s rantings to Simon and Tormand. Creeping through a few dark passages and tunnels to get out of Dunncraig unseen had not been very enjoyable, either. He loathed small, dark places. Dragging Simon and Tormand away from their women and out of their warm beds at the inn without being seen and bringing them through the dark to the back room of Edmund’s shop had given James some pleasurable moments. Yet, waiting so long while Simon very carefully read the journal, Tormand reading it over the man’s shoulder, had stolen most of that mild enjoyment. It seemed what was written there deserved far more than a simple this is interesting.

  “’Tis a confession, isnae it?” James demanded. “It makes it clear that she was hand-in-fist with MacKay, that she was alive when I was decried as her murderer, and that Donnell killed her because she was too great a threat to him.”

  “Ah, weel, it does make it clear that she was Donnell’s lover and that she was plotting with him to get rid of ye so that Donnell might claim Dunncraig as reparation for her murder. Demanding that reparation was clever, I will admit that. And I will agree that ’tis strong proof that your wee wife was alive months after ye were declared an outlaw for killing her. But—”

  “I hate that word,” muttered James.

  “But,” continued Simon, “there isnae any proof in here that Donnell killed her. Plenty of reason for him to do so, aye. If only to shut her up,” he muttered softly and then quickly shook off that odd mood. “Proof, nay. Mary was certainly increasingly afraid that he would kill her. Howbeit, after one reads this wee book, one realizes that Mary MacKay Drummond was a woman who, weel, felt all should forever be right in her world, that she deserved to get all she wanted simply because she lived and breathed, and if things went wrong for her, she ne’er felt it was her fault. In truth, after reading all of this, I believe your late wife was little more than a horribly spoiled child. Her suspicions about Donnell wanting her dead may nay carry much weight simply because she had them.”

  James cursed and dragged his hands through his hair. He was still reeling from what Mary had written. For a moment or two he had actually considered throwing the cursed little book filled with his late wife’s complaints and ramblings straight into the fire. He had not really wanted anyone else to read what Ma
ry had said about him. James inwardly cringed as he recalled how Mary had unfavorably compared the width and size of his manhood to that of her beloved Donnell. The fact that she had felt Donnell had won that contest really stung James’ pride.

  If his body did not still immediately grow warm and hard at the memory of how thoroughly Annora had made love to him, James knew he would have been more hurt than angry now. He had no doubt that that was why Annora had so readily and eagerly made love to him even though she had at first said she needed to talk to him. Although he was embarrassed by the fact that she had read all of Mary’s cruel words and complaints, the fact that Annora had left him sated and grinning like a fool before she gave him the journal had actually lessened the sting of his late wife’s rantings. How could he take to heart any of the demeaning things Mary had said about his manliness and his lovemaking after hearing Annora cry out his name, the passion he stirred in her making her lovely body tremble as she rode him? A man made love to by Annora MacKay would never question his manhood, James thought, actually feeling quite pleased with himself despite having to share Mary’s complaints about him with Simon and Tormand.

  “Ye find this amusing?” asked Tormand.

  Abruptly pulled from his thoughts, James found his brother staring at him as if he was either lack-witted or slipping into madness. James was glad for the shelter of the heavy table they sat at in the rear of Edmund’s shop as well as his long, linen shirt, for he had had his usual reaction to thoughts of Annora. He had a lot of lonely nights to make up for, he told himself, then turned his gaze onto the book Simon still held and forced his thoughts back to what was a very disappointing reaction from the king’s man.

  “Nay, I was but thinking about the day when I can watch Donnell hang,” James said. “So, Simon, are ye saying that the wee book is utterly useless, that I have let ye read how dearly my wife cared for me for naught? Did I resist tossing it into the fire and watching it burn into ashes for naught?”

  James was not surprised to hear the strong taint of bitterness in his voice, for even though Mary’s words could no longer hurt him, her betrayal had been completely undeserved. He may not have loved her, but he had been willing to try and, unlike her, he had remained true to his vows. It was a great deal more than many another man offered his wife. James sincerely doubted that Donnell had ever been faithful to her.

  “I wouldnae say it is useless,” Simon replied. “’Tis just that it is only her word and ye must concede that, once one has read what she has written in here, one’s confidence in her veracity, indeed, e’en in the soundness of her wits, is sorely tried.”

  “Aye, I ken it.” James scratched his chin. “It truly astounds me that I ne’er saw what a silly child she really was. It wasnae until I was hurrying o’er here to show ye that that I began to think long and hard on my marriage and my wife.” Deciding there was little use in hiding anything from Simon now that the man had read the journal, James continued, “What I always thought was a natural modesty and shyness, if mayhaps a little extreme e’en for a weel-sheltered lass, was actually distaste, even loathing. Mary makes that verra clear on near to every page. She also makes me sound like a mon who beat her all the time. Will that nay make anyone who reads it think that Donnell was actually right? Aye, I ken it doesnae accuse me directly, but the implication that I was a brutish mon is behind every complaint Mary made. Odd, though, I believe it does say that Donnell was, too, and that he conspired against me,” he drawled, his bitterness becoming harder to control. “I cannae believe that ye didnae see that in there.”

  “I can see it and ye can see it because we already ken that it is the truth.”

  James cursed. “So it was a waste of time for me to bring this to ye.”

  “Nay, not at all. It will be a large part of a plea concerning your innocence, the pleas made to clear your name and return your lands, and in gaining MacKay’s conviction. But I think it can only be a part, nay the whole. Tormand and I will hunt down a few of the people Mary makes mention of in the book and see if we can gather a few living, sensible witnesses. Someone standing in front of the men who can free you and repeating even a few of the accusations Mary makes in her journal will carry much more weight than her writings.”

  Nodding slowly and knowing he was not doing a very good job of hiding his disappointment, James finished his ale, retrieved the journal, and stood up. “Ye ken where to find me if ye have aught to tell me. Annora and I will continue to try and dig up something more useful at Dunncraig.”

  Leaving with James, Tormand and Simon then slipped into the shadows to make their way back to the inn. It was not until they were nearing the door of the inn that Tormand asked, “Is that journal truly useless?”

  Just because I said it wasnae all that would be needed to get James free of the trap Donnell set him in doesnae mean it is useless,” said Simon. “It just isnae enough. Any mon who reads that woman’s writings is going to question every accusation she made. S’truth, some would think it but a good reason for James to have killed her.”

  “’Tis hard to believe that any woman would think so unkindly about James.”

  “I didnae see ye read it, so how do ye ken what she said?”

  “I am verra good at reading o’er a person’s shoulder. Ye werenae trying to hide the book, so I read o’er yours.”

  “And what did ye think of it all?”

  “Aside from the wish that the wench was still alive so that one could throttle her, it did seem to me that it held enough to raise a lot of questions about MacKay’s charges against James.”

  Simon nodded as they entered the inn and started up the narrow stairs to their beds, always glancing around to make certain no one was near enough to hear what they were saying.

  “It does and now we are going to do our best to answer some of those questions. There are people here who ken enough to lead us to the truth if nay all the truth. MacKay isnae weel liked and his part in the raids in this area has made him verra unpopular. We dinnae need a lot to end his reign here.”

  “Weel then, best we get some rest and start searching for some of those people Mary mentioned.”

  Simon cursed softly. “I should have kept the journal so as to be sure of the exact names of all the people she mentioned.”

  “Dinnae worry. I remember them all.”

  Simon stared at Tormand. “Truly?”

  “Truly. I read something and the cursed words are seared into my brain whether I wish them to stay there or not.”

  “Have ye e’er considered becoming a mon of the court, one who aids the king in keeping order?”

  “Why? Because I have such a good memory?” Tormand laughed and shook his head. “I dinnae think I would be verra good at all the secrecy and wee games played. Court is like a huge chess game and I have ne’er been verra skilled at chess.” He opened the door to his bedchamber, saw the woman he had left behind sit up in his bed and smile at him, and said, “I believe I will stay with the games I do ken and ones that dinnae get me killed.”

  “Bedding women has sent more men to their deaths than a plague,” grumbled Simon as Tormand closed the door on him. “Weel, we shall see how ye feel at some other time,” he said as he went into his room only to note that the woman he had been enjoying before James had interrupted them had fallen asleep.

  James was severely disappointed that Annora had not chosen to stay in his room and wait for him. He briefly considered going to her bedchamber and then decided that it might be best if he left her to sleep. His greed for her caused him to put them both at far too much risk. Tossing the journal onto his bed, he stripped off all his clothes save for his braies, and went to clean up.

  Creeping out of Dunncraig through long-unused passages had been filthy work, and coming back into the keep the same way had only worsened his state. James would really have liked to have a long, hot bath, but he knew that was a luxury he would have to forget about for now. Men carving the laird’s chairs did not have hot baths brought up to their bedcham
bers on their whim. Most men with such skills did not usually even get a private bedchamber. Using the chilly water from the bowl and pitcher set on a small table would have to suffice.

  He was just drying off his arms when the door to his room creaked open and James tensed. In his distraction, his mind fixed too firmly on what he might look for to add to the ravings in his late wife’s journals and bring MacKay down, he had obviously forgotten to lock the door. Even as he turned he knew it was not Annora who had tiptoed into his bedchamber if only because she would have remarked upon the unlocked door. He was not really surprised to see Mab standing there, staring at him, but he was extremely annoyed at his own idiocy.

  While Mab stood there gaping, James wasted no time on trying to think of some explanation for why he had brown hair from the waist up and red hair from the waist down. He leapt toward her and wrapped his arm around her to pull her away from the door. Even as she began to struggle he shut and latched the door tightly. Mab proved to be a fierce and somewhat dirty fighter, but James managed to get her onto the bed and tied up without too many bruises.

  When it appeared that she had gathered her wits enough to start screaming, he covered her mouth with one hand, and, clasping the other into a tight fist, he held it threateningly before her face. James could tell by the look on her face that she believed he would not hesitate to beat her. There was both anger and fear in her face. It was clear that she expected such harsh treatment from men, and for one fleeting moment he felt some sympathy for her, but he quickly smothered it. She could, and undoubtedly would, use the information she had just stumbled into to better her place at Dunncraig without a single thought to the consequences.

  “Why are ye here?” he demanded. “Did Egan send ye?” He lifted his hand just enough for her to reply yet remain able and ready to smother any attempt she made to scream.

  “I just came to see if ye had changed your mind about a wee bit of bed play,” Mab replied. “Thought mayhap that after some cold nights abed all alone ye would have changed your mind.”