Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Even though Deirdre's exhaustion was enough to make her almost topple, she forgot about it almost instantly the moment she walked into the breakfast hall and the children cried out in excitement. She spent a quarter hour paying no attention to anyone else except Callum, Stuart, Jack, and even little Faith, who, though she couldn't talk well yet, was making just as much excited noise as the others to see Deirdre.

"I was scared you were gone forever," Stuart whispered in her ear as he clung around her neck. "Nobody could tell me where ye were gone."

"I ken. I'm sorry. If I ever go away again, I promise ye'll ken exactly where I am, wee heart, all right?" Deirdre held him tight, then took her turn with the others, assuring and reassuring, until at last the children consented to Gracie taking them away for their morning preparations.

Once they were gone, the rest of the family waited for Deirdre at the breakfast table. Judging by the angle of the sun, it was far later than they would normally eat breakfast, yet they had obviously waited for her so that they could have a meal together. Deirdre felt a wave of gratitude mixed with a little shame; they'd waited so she could sleep in, but it was pointless. She hadn't slept at all.

"Good morning," James told her warmly as she sat down. His gaze grew concerned as he asked, "Were ye not able tae rest, Deirdre?"

Deirdre knew how she must look, probably pale of skin with those endlessly deep dark circles around her eyes, but she forced herself to smile and wave dismissively. "I slept fine. It will just take some time tae adjust, that's all."

The family exchanged glances, but nobody said anything, thankfully. Instead, Lachlan spoke up about something else. "I went down tae the watchtower this mornin' with a couple of men. Yer friend is doin' well; I brought her back tae the castle and she's restin' in one of the guest rooms. Ye can visit her later if ye like, though the healer says she'll need a few days to recuperate.

Deirdre let out a little gasp of relief. "Oh, thank God! She was so brave, comin' all this way tae try tae help me."

" Ye were brave," Jocelyn told her seriously. "There are many who would have just left her when she told ye tae go on."

Shaking her head, Deirdre said, "Nonsense. There's no way anyone would do that."

"Not everyone has a heart as kind and good as yers," James told her. He gave her a kind smile. "Ye've gone through more than anyone could have expected of ye, and ye've emerged on the other side a wonderful woman. We're all very proud of ye."

Though she enjoyed the praise, a dark suspicion flitted in Deirdre's mind. "Ye're not tryin' tae exclude me, are ye?" she demanded. "From the war meetin'? Aye, I'm tired, but I want tae be involved like I said—I must be involved, I?—"

Blair put a hand on her arm. "Peace, sister," she said softly. "We've already agreed tae include ye, and we've no intention of goin' back on our word."

"We must wait a day or two more," Lachlan continued. "Some of our spies are still tae return, and James rightfully wishes tae wait till we have all of the information before we make our final plan."

"And it will be our final plan," Jocelyn said quietly. "It's comin' tae an end. I can feel it."

A sober silence fell. Deirdre picked at her breakfast, though there was no real taste to the food for her. All her body wanted was sleep, but she knew that she couldn't rest even if she tried.

"Speaking of visitors," Aoife spoke into the silence, sounding almost shy as she did, "What of…I mean tae say, have we heard anythin' from William—I mean, Master McLeod?"

James glanced at Blair, who sighed.

"Nothin'," Blair admitted. "We'd expected tae have seen him or at least his messenger by now, but there's been no sign. Nobody in our outposts has seen anyone even approachin' the clan borders."

"But that doesn't make sense," Aoife replied with a frown. "He was supposed tae be here today or tomorrow, was he not? Unless…God, ye don't think somethin' happened tae him? Lord! If he's hurt out there, I'll never forgive meself. What if he got caught in that storm?"

Deirdre knew she had to say something to calm her sister, whose anxiety was emanating more and more fiercely with each word. "Calm yerself. If I and a servant girl could survive such a storm, then I'm sure a strappin' merchant's son would be more than fine. Whatever the delay, it isn't that."

"Bandits, then. Or worse," Aoife fretted. "Oh! And he's comin' all this way for me, without even kennin' that I only intend tae reject him."

"He'll get over it," Deirdre said, surprised by her own bluntness—but not sorry for it either. "He will. I swear tae ye, William is fine. And when he does get here, all ye owe him is the truth."

"But—"

"It'll do neither of ye good tae wed when ye clearly don't want it," Blair intervened. "Love is a rare thing, and ye're allowin' him tae pursue it just as much as ye're protectin' yer own. Ye've made yer choice, and though it's inconvenient, it's a good one."

Jocelyn nodded. "If he's not here in the next few days, Lachlan or some of the men will go out tae look for him. But none of this is for ye tae feel guilty about, Aoife. Love is a gift, and if ye don't feel it with him, then it's right ye shouldn't force yerself tae marry."

Aoife seemed to consider the words for a moment, then turned and met Deirdre's eyes. "What do ye think, Deirdre?" she asked. "Am I bein' an awful fool?"

Deirdre smiled at her sister, ignoring the shards of ice slicing through her own heart. "Love is precious," she replied, "And ye deserve it."

Not like me. I'll never have it again.

The thought came unbidden, and when she took her next bite, there was nothing but ash in her mouth. Determined not to show her sudden pain, she cleared her throat and said, "May I be excused?"

"Ye've barely eaten—" Blair started, but Jocelyn put a hand on her sister's arm.

"Ye may," Jocelyn said. "But don't go far, all right?"

Deirdre nodded. Without making eye contact with anyone, she got to her feet and, trying to keep her composure as much as possible, left the room. Only when the door swung closed behind her did she allow herself to break out into a run…and only then did she allow herself to cry.

The gardens were beautiful, but they did not offer any of their usual comforts for Deirdre as she wandered through them that day. The pretty array of the flowers, even at this time of year, was a sight to behold, but to Deirdre they seemed to hold no color at all as she half-walked, half-dreamed her way through the world.

It wasn't that she was sad, or despondent, or anything of the sort, no. What Deirdre felt now was beyond misery. She was not simply tired, not simply upset—it felt that the very core of her had been wrenched out and crushed, and that she, the fool, had simply allowed it to happen.

In the darker tales of the Fae courts and the pirate lords that Deirdre had always preferred over Aoife's romantic stories of royalty, hapless women often found themselves trapped or enchanted and in an emotional state like this. Deirdre knew that most of them met a tragic end, wasted away by their own pain and longing. And had that not been the name she was given, eighteen years before? She was Deirdre of the Sorrows, her very name a portent, her stolen time with her lover gone and replaced with nothing but dread and hurt.

Unlike sweet Naoise, though, Ciaran was not dead. He had not been slain by the monster waiting in the wings. He had worked for that monster, perhaps even been a part of it. How much of it all had been a lie? The things he'd told her about his brother? The way they'd laughed together in the water? The way he'd stroked her hair and held her?

Not a lie, she decided. No actor could have made her feel the way he had, no pretender's eyes could have shone with the same tortured joy that Ciaran seemed to feel with every visit to her prison. It had not all been lies, but that didn't make her less of a fool. Perhaps he'd come to care for her, in his own way: but she had let herself love him, in a way he never could for her, and in a way she never should. Blair and Jocelyn had both described what it felt like to find the one whom you're destined to spend forever with, to long to fall into his arms, to be with your perfect match.

Well, Deirdre had found that for herself, too. But it didn't change anything. Because no matter how much she loved him, she could never have him, and he would or could or should never have her. Even if some small sliver of him loved her back, his first duty was to his father and to his late brother. Deirdre was a representative of that which had taken everything from him, and they could never be happy together.

Perhaps it would have been easier for him had I died on the road. Perhaps then he would have a clearer path, Deirdre mused. She had no urge to die, of course, not for Ciaran nor for anyone. She would live, and she would fight. Her sisters, her brothers-in-law, her friends, the children—all of them needed her, even if they didn't know it yet, and she would be damned if she didn't do everything she could to protect her loved ones and the two clans that had been her home.

"Deirdre!"

She looked up, torn from her maudlin reverie by the familiar, cheerful sound of Gracie's voice. The other young woman was strolling through the garden, patiently holding Faith's hand as the now-one-year-old took a few wobbly steps. Gracie scooped the child up in one arm, then closed the distance between them and Deirdre.

"Ye've been cryin'," Gracie observed as soon as she was close enough.

Had she? Deirdre genuinely hadn't noticed, though she supposed with the direction her thoughts had churned, it wasn't so surprising. "I'm fine," she assured her friend. "A little tired, that's all."

Gracie gave her a look. "Ye may be able tae fool yer sisters with such talk—though frankly I doubt any of them would believe ye—but ye cannae fool me, Miss McMillan. Ye're me friend, me family, and I ken there's somethin' more tae this."

Part of Deirdre wanted to tell Gracie everything. She wanted to admit her own foolishness in following Ciaran in the first place, to tell someone about the way he'd betrayed her and then loved her, and how she, the jester, had fallen for it over and over again.

But shame flooded her, and sadness too.

"Just tired," she said again, and a yawn naturally bubbled up through her lips. In a world of falsehoods and half-truths, that at least was not a lie. "I'll be all right."

Faith mumbled something that might have been words, then shrieked excitedly when Deirdre caught her eye. The little one reached out, and Deirdre opened her arms, accepting the child as Grace passed her over.

"She's gettin' so big," Deirdre said, pressing a soft kiss to the top of the girl's hair. "And she looks a lot like ye."

"Lucky thing," Gracie observed. She was still giving Deirdre a skeptical look, but did not push the previous matter for now. "Since she doesnae look like her mammy, yer lovely sister doomed her tae a life of lookin' like her cave bear of a father if it wasnae for me."

Deirdre hiccuped a little giggle, both at the joke and at its absurdity. Lachlan, a little rough around the edges though he may be, was one of the most handsome men that she'd ever laid eyes on. Both her sisters had found loves who were kind at heart and good of soul, yes, but they were also both distinctly easy on the eyes. " Cave bear?" she snorted.

"Ye're right," Gracie replied, her eyes glinting and a devilish smile working on her lips. "Perhaps mountain troll would hae been more accurate."

Now Deirdre was fully laughing. It made sense that Gracie didn't see what everyone else saw—Lachlan was her brother, after all, and a much older one at that—but imagining the serious Wraith's face if he heard this conversation now was almost too funny. Gracie joined in, and Faith, caught up by the sound of both of her aunts laughing, joined in with an adorable baby laughter that was somehow even funnier than the joke itself.

By the time they were done, Deirdre felt lighter. Not better , but more stable in the world. Yes, there were things to keep fighting for, and Deirdre was the one who would do it. She would give everything she had to protect these people and give them the life they deserved.

"There now, that's better," Gracie said. She put her arms out again, and Deirdre passed Faith back to her. "I must be gettin' this one back tae Jocelyn, but do me a favor and meet me at the healer in a half-hour, aye?"

Deirdre nodded and as soon as Gracie left, she resumed her walk. Her head still ached with exhaustion, but now her heart, though still shrouded in darkness, flicked with a tiny flame of warmth.

The healer, Nettie, was busy when Deirdre arrived, tending to a soldier's arrow wound. Deirdre averted her eyes from it; she was not squeamish, but she hated to see people in pointless pain.

"Get out from underfoot and let me finish me work, lass," Nettie said, waving her impatiently away from the door. She'd never been one to stand on ceremony or formality, and why should she? A wise, experienced healer like Nettie was more powerful than any king, and James understood that. Deirdre understood it too.

"Gracie asked me tae meet her…"

"Gracie! Aye, she would. Probably wanted tae sneak a look at her lad here," Nettie replied with a tut.

Deirdre took a closer look at the soldier and realized it was, in fact, Diarmid who sat there, grimacing in pain as Nettie prepared a salve for his shoulder. It didn't look to be a deep wound, but it did look painful. "Oh…"

"I'm fine," he was quick to assure her before she could speak. "Just a minor wound of the flesh. Nettie's just tryin' tae speed up the healin'."

"What happened?

Diarmid shrugged, looking down and not meeting her eye. "Don't ye go feelin' guilty now. Lachlan took me and Liam down tae retrieve yer friend from the watchtower, and we were met with an ambush. Bram's men are gettin' bolder."

Deirdre gasped. "I'm so sorry! I had no idea—Lachlan didn't mention anyone got hurt?—"

"What did I say about nae feelin' guilty?" Diarmid interrupted. "I'm fine, Liam's fine, Lachlan's fine—the only ones who aren't are the idiots who thought it wise tae attack the Wraith."

She nodded, as she knew was expected of her, but her mind whirled with fear. An attack here ? Not a stealth kidnapping or assassination attempt, either, but an ambush! It was another sign that their worst fears were coming true, another confirmation of what had been hinted at earlier—the last days of this war were coming soon, one way or another.

"Enough of yer babblin', I'm tryin' tae work," Nettie insisted. "Yer friend is in the sick room down the hall. Go pay her a visit an' leave us be."

Deirdre obediently turned to go.

"And tell her we're grateful for the herbs!" Nettie called after her. "I'll have tea ready for ye before ye sleep."

Deirdre froze in place and slowly turned back to see Nettie, who was now crushing something into a fine powder. "Herbs?"

"In the saddle bag," Nettie replied distractedly. "Gracie found them last night and brought them up. A powerful sleepin' agent, and God kens we'll be needin' that sort of thing soon enough."

The herb. Her herb. "They were in her saddle bag?"

Nettie glanced up, seeming irritated by the interruption. "Are ye plannin' on repeatin' everythin' I say, lass? Aye, in hers or yers, I suppose. Gracie found them bundled with a note, just a few words. Hope it helps ye get some rest . Now, will ye get out of here?"

Deirdre did leave this time, her head whirling. Her herb! In the bags! Had Marjorie brought it on purpose, knowing that Ciaran had visited the healer on Deirdre's behalf? But if that was the case, why the note? If not that, then had the other castle's healer sent them along, perhaps via Rabbie? Possible, but how had she known of the escape plan—and in any case, why would Rabbie not have mentioned it?

There was a third possibility, of course, one that would be easily proven or disproven by getting a look at that note. It was likely why Gracie had asked to meet her. But Deirdre didn't dare even think of the third possibility, didn't dare dream of it. As she asked Nettie to tell Gracie to meet her at Marjorie's room, then walked along the corridor, confusion flooding her from all sides.

The herbs. The attacks on their own land.

What was going on? And how many more surprises, twists, and turns could her fragile heart take before it shattered for good?