Chapter 22

22

M urdoch spied the first cloaked man enter the square, blade drawn, just before a rain of arrows poured from the heavens. One of them fell perilously near Lydia, and Murdoch pulled her away from its path.

He'd been relaxing, even beginning to enjoy himself. At the sight of the first drawn weapon, all of that disappeared in a surge of fury so strong it stained his vision red.

He drew Lydia back behind him as the enemy warriors converged and the townsfolk scattered. None of them joined the attackers, but none of them came to Murdoch's aide either, making him all the more furious.

"Nae ever again! I'm nae lettin' this happen!"

He heard Lydia gasp behind him, but as the first swordsman attacked he had no time to ask what had frightened her.

He blocked the first strike, then the second, then slid his blade home with a thrust that snuffed out the first swordsman's life in an instant. Two more took his place, and Murdoch launched himself into the fray, conscious to always keep Lydia at his back, protected by his blade.

The second swordsman fell to his blade. Then the third. Before he had time to engage the fourth, Gordon struck from the side, taking the man's sword arm and clubbing him senseless all in one swift move.

Murdoch stopped, panting. "Gordon."

"That was the last of them, me Laird. Soldiers are searching out any more archers."

"Did any of the attackers or our clan folk leave the square?" There could have been a traitor among the villagers, one who had given the signal to attack.

"Nay. Nay one had the chance. The guards ye sent with yer lady and the ones that came with ye were quick to take up their positions."

"Good."

Anger still burned under his skin, anger and protectiveness. His hands were shaking with the force of his wrath. He turned to Lydia. "Are ye hurt?"

"I daenae think so." Her voice was small and quavering, her face ashen. He didn't know if it was because of how close she'd come to being hurt, or the violence he'd shown in front of her.

He didn't care.

Murdoch sheathed his sword and lifted Lydia smoothly into his arms. He turned to Gordon. "I'm takin' Lydia back to the castle. Collect statements from everyone here, and every scrap of information ye can."

"As ye command." Gordon nodded.

Murdoch turned to face the townsfolk still huddled by the stalls and in the doorways of the square. His voice lifted to ring through the space, as harsh as a crow's cawing with his anger and disgust.

"Ever since I claimed the lairdship, I've fought to see this clan thrive. I married for alliance, gave the clan an heir. I've done everything ye ever wanted and more. And this is how ye repay me stewardship, with distrust and violence."

He swallowed hard, his throat aching with a disappointment so sharp it felt like it could mortally wound him. "I could forgive yer suspicions of me, even though I'd have thought ye would have more faith in yer laird. But now ye attack me and ye attack me bride. Even those who dinnae lift a weapon against me I hold accountable, for ye dinnae stand with me either, and for all I ken, ye saw the attackers and did not a thing, nae even warn yer laird of what was coming."

He couldn't find any more words to speak, none that would convey the rage, betrayal and sorrow that burned through him. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. Then he addressed the assembled folk once again. "Any of ye who ken anythin' about this attack, speak to me man-at-arms and me cousin. The rest of ye…pack up and get to yer dwellings, or whatever shelter ye have. This festival is over."

Wilma appeared at his side, pale and solemn. Murdoch nodded to her. "Come with me."

Still carrying Lydia, he turned and made his way toward Lochlann Castle, Wilma following like a silent shadow.

They arrived at Lochlann Castle gates to find Arthur waiting for them. "Murdoch, are ye all right? Was anyone injured?"

Murdoch felt himself stiffen and fought to keep his face impassive. "What do ye mean? How do ye ken that anythin' happened?"

"Some of the villagers made it to the castle to tell us ye were bein' attacked by brigands."

Murdoch's stomach clenched.

Gordon said that nay one got away from the square. There was nae time for anyone to get to the castle. If someone had come to sound the alarm, warriors would have been mobilized.

Somethin's very wrong.

He quickly pushed that to the back of his mind. He had other things he needed to take care of. "Very well. We're nae hurt, but Lydia's been fair upset. I'm takin' her to rest in her quarters."

"I'll go to check on Finn." Wilma spoke up, her usually cheerful voice subdued.

"Aye. I'll be in to look in on the lad in a few minutes." Murdoch nodded to his cousin, then turned and started for the castle proper.

He was inside, almost to Lydia's rooms, when she spoke. "Is that what really happened to yer wife?"

It had all happened much too quickly. The attack itself, and the way Murdoch had dealt with the attackers who'd come for them with swords drawn. Even now, Lydia wasn't sure she'd really had time to realize what had happened. She felt numb and shaky, as if trapped in a dream state.

Even so, she recalled clearly what she'd heard Murdoch mutter. ‘ Not again.'

Admittedly, there were any number of things he might be referring to, but the way he'd protected her suggested one particular event. The one thing he'd refused to talk about in all their time together.

The death of his wife.

She waited until they were alone before she asked the question. Murdoch stiffened, his steps faltering for a moment before he continued. "Ye daenae ken what ye're speaking of."

"I heard what ye said. Not again. Ye said ye couldnae let it happen again." She swallowed hard. "And the way ye were so determined to protect me, it seems clear to me."

Murdoch stayed silent until he reached the door to her rooms. Then he paused and set her down gently. His voice was low and flat when he spoke. "We were on the road from her family's home, on our way back to Lochlann Castle. We hadnae visited them since our wedding and we wanted them to meet Finn."

"And ye were attacked by brigands?"

"I daenae ken whether they were brigands or hired warriors. Given the way the bodies disappeared, I've long suspected the former." His jaw clenched. "Doesnae matter. I still failed to protect me wife. Her death is me fault, because I wasnae strong, fast or careful enough to keep her safe."

"But ye couldnae control everythin'. Anyone can be overwhelmed." Lydia felt her heart breaking for him.

Murdoch's expression warped. "Mayhap, but that's nae the whole reason tis me fault." His fists clenched. "She was sore injured but alive when the last of the attackers fled. I could have saved her, but there was Finn to worry about. I couldnae be sure of being able to protect both of them or keeping them both in the saddle with me if I tried to get them both to the castle."

He stopped then, but Lydia didn't need him to say anything more. It was clear that he'd chosen to save Finn, and his wife had passed away while he was trying to save his son.

She laid a hand on his arm. "Shall we see how Finn is doing? He should be getting ready to go to bed right now."

Murdoch relaxed a little, though his expression was still troubled. "Aye."

Together, they walked a few doors down to the nursery. The maid was tucking the bairn into his bed, but she bowed and moved aside as they stepped inside. Together they made their way to Finn's bedside.

Finn gurgled at them sleepily, his chubby hands waving loosely in their direction. Lydia put one finger in his hand and smiled as his fist closed around it. Beside her, Murdoch reached down to stroke his son's face.

"He's all right." Lydia spoke softly. "And I'm sure yer wife would have agreed with the choice ye made."

"I ken she did. But that doesnae mean I hold nay responsibility for what happened to her. I failed to protect her."

They stood watching the child for a few more minutes, as Finn slid into sleep.

Murdoch straightened and took Lydia's arm to lead her from the room, his expression grim. He guided her to the door of her quarters, then turned to face her. "I was a fool to bring ye here. The contract was never about ye and it was a mistake to bring ye to me home and place ye in danger."

It felt as if ice was being pumped into her veins. Something cold and heartbreaking was beginning to fill her with foreboding. "What are ye sayin'?"

Her voice cracked slightly, but Murdoch's expression didn't change at all . "I'm sayin' that I want ye to leave. First thing in the morning, ye will depart for yer home."