Chapter Twenty-Six
When Connall saidhe was taking her home, Mairi thought he meant to the countess’s London home. It wasn’t until after the doctor bandaged her wound that she realized he meant Scotland. That the maid was to pack her clothing as soon as she was well enough. Then they both would return to where they belonged.
That’s what he said. “She’s coming with me to where we both belong.”
And that, of course, was Scotland. To his castle, to his people, to a place where she would become mistress. Where he would stand by her side and she by his until some tragedy struck one of them down.
Strangely enough, the horror of that thought hit her differently now than before. Because all through the doctor’s visit and while she gave her statement to the constable, she kept replaying the moment she’d seen Connall stabbed through the heart. She saw it in her mind’s eye, she relived the searing pain of it, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that to live such a moment again would kill her.
It would destroy her heart, tear her sanity apart, and leave her broken in its wake.
And the only way to ease the pain was to hold onto his strong hand, to touch his healthy body, and to hear the rumble of his voice so powerful against her ear.
Somehow, he understood. Or maybe he needed to be as close to her as she was to him because she felt his hand constantly seeking out hers. He stood near enough for her to always see him, if not actually touch. And when the doctor had to inspect the long slash of her wound, he remained in the room a glowering, angry, protective, wonderful presence as the doctor declared it not so deep as to be mortal, but definitely requiring rest and proper care.
Fortunately, Mairi already knew that. She’d given the recipe for the unguent to the butler. It took an hour to get it made. An hour required for Connall to be assured that she would not perish. For him to send the doctor away and push out the women who hovered in anxious fear. And when the butler finally brought it up to her, it was he who insisted that he tend her.
She allowed it because she wanted it as much as he did. She lay still in the now quiet room while he gently dabbed salve into her wound. And while he did, she replayed the moment he’d been stabbed over and over in her thoughts. She’d seen it, and yet, here he was as hale as ever. In fact, he was the one tending to her wound.
The conflicting thought had her catching his hand and drawing his attention to her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked. “Are you in pain?”
How to answer that? “I have been an idiot,” she said.
His eyes widened as a broad grin cut through his expression. “Mairi, my love, it happens so rarely that you are unaccustomed to it. I am glad you finally recognize the situation.”
She glowered at him. “I am being serious.”
“As am I.” She would believe him if not for the twinkle in his eye. Then he brought her hand to his mouth. “Please tell me what you mean.”
“I thought if I never loved you, it would not hurt so much when you died.”
His brows rose. “And have you been waiting for me to die?”
Constantly. “You took risks as a boy—”
“I was a boy.”
“And you have been a starred man ever since. Everything you touch turns to gold. You win every contest, meet every challenge, manage your clan to profit. Always.”
He shook his head. “You know how hard I work. It is not luck or the stars.”
She knew. She also knew that misfortune comes to every soul. “I did not want to love you when your luck turns.”
His expression sobered. “Did you think you could control that? That you can choose who you love and who you do not?”
Of course, she did. Of course, she had. But denying love was not the same thing as not being in love. “I saw the knife kill you. I saw your death,” she said, her voice breaking.
“I am not dead. I am right here.” He pressed her hand to his chest. “See? My heart beats.”
“I would not live broken like my father. I would not love you when I might lose you.” Her hand was flat on his chest, and she felt his heart beat strong and solid beneath it. “I was an idiot.”
“You were afraid, but I will not let you live like that anymore. I need you too much.”
He needed her? She needed him. “I cannot live without you a second longer. I love you, Connall. If I am to lose you, then I will love you now because I cannot stop it anyway.”
He pressed her hand to his mouth, and she felt the tremble of his lips against hers. Then he pulled her fingers away and spoke in a strained voice. “I saw the knife cut you. I felt your blood on my hands.”