Chapter Twenty-One

She loved him.

The thought reverberated through his head as he watched her to his left on the dais, laughing and talking with her sister and Buchannan, who had immediately accused him of beating her, and though Maisie had quickly explained what had happened, Buchannan had not stopped glaring at Graeme since seeing Maisie’s bruises. Graeme blamed himself, so he was certain Buchannan did as well.

He stared at her, thinking on what she’d said, and how he’d not responded to her at all once Eppie banged on the door. Had he used the interruption as an excuse because he didn’t know how to respond to what she’d said? His finger traced the edge of his wine goblet absentmindedly while the chatter of those around him filled the air. He couldn’t help but notice Buchannan’s hand grazing Maisie’s as she reached for her own goblet, igniting a fiery desire to rip it from his body.

“Graeme, did ye hear what I said?” Grace’s voice broke through his thoughts.

He turned to face his sister-in-law. “Nay, sorry.”

“The stablemasters are squabbling, and I need ye to settle it tomorrow. They’ll nae listen to me.”

“What are they squabbling about?” he asked, but as Grace launched into an explanation of the two stablemasters’ different opinions on how new horses should be trained, his thoughts immediately went back to Maisie.

She had said she loved him. Could he love her in return? Images of her and of moments they’d shared flashed through his mind. The way she laughed with her entire body. The sound of his own chuckle, throaty and full. How her green eyes sparkled when she smiled and blazed when she was vexed. The depths of fear in her eyes after he’d saved her from Finlay’s attack. The smooth feel of her skin when their bodies had joined and the pleasure unlike anything he’d experienced had left him aching for more. She loved him. Could he let himself do the same? It required complete trust that she would be loyal to him.

When Grace snapped her fingers in front of his face, he blinked. She smiled at him. “Ye’ve nae heard a word I’ve said again, have ye?”

“Nay, Grace, I’m sorry,” he said.

“Dunnae be. I remember when I met yer brother. He was all I could think about. Ye should go cut in on her dancing with the Buchannan,” Grace said, and waved her hand toward the dance floor.

Graeme frowned. He’d been so lost in thoughts of Maisie that he hadn’t even noticed the tables and chairs being cleared for dancing, or the music commencing, or her leaving the dais.

He stared out over the expanse of his clan now, watching her. Buchannan twirled her in the air and then slid her down his front. It was the moves of the dance, but it was too close, and the way the man looked at her made Graeme want to kill him. “If ye’ll excuse me,” he said, not waiting for his sister-in-law to reply. He was down the dais in a breath, but before he could take five steps, he was stopped by the stablemasters.

“Ye must appoint one of us as head!” Alfred, the older of the two men, said.

“Aye,” Robert agreed. “This was to be temporary, the both of us as heads, and with yer brother gone longer than expected, this kinnae continue. We dunnae agree.”

“I’ll speak with ye both in the morning,” Graeme promised and turned away, cutting off the protests of both men, but as he swept his gaze around the great room, he could not find Maisie or Buchannan. Irritation sprung first, followed quickly by worry when he recalled the last time a man had gotten her alone.

He scanned the room once more. Marching toward the dais, looking irritated, was Maisie’s sister.

Eliza stormed right up to him. “He was supposed to dance with me next!” she bit out.

He didn’t need to ask who “he” was. It had been obvious earlier, when he’d first greeted Maisie’s sister and Buchannan, who had conveniently offered to accompany Eliza on her visit to see Maisie, that Eliza had a tendre for Buchannan. She had stared at him as if he were the only person in the room.

“Where did Buchannan go?” Graeme asked.

“Out of the great hall with Maisie!”

His nostrils flared and anger ignited in his chest. “Excuse me,” he said. He strode across the great hall, ignoring the clan members calling to him, and made his way into the passageway and past the torches that cast shadows on the walls and floor. Coming toward him was Father Ollie.

“Father,” he called. “Did ye happen to see Maisie?”

“Oh, aye,” the priest offered. “She and Aidan were making their way into the courtyard.”

The simmering anger burned brighter and hotter. Jealousy was a new emotion for him, and one he did not care for. Was she in the courtyard kissing Buchannan at this very moment, after having just given herself to Graeme?

He quickened his steps, rushed past the priest, and burst into the courtyard. There in the alcove to the right stood Maisie in Buchannan’s arms. The anger in him erupted. “I told ye, Buchannan,” he bellowed as he moved toward them, “that if ye dared to touch what was mine again, I’d kill ye.”

Buchannan and Maisie broke apart, and from the narrowing distance between Graeme and Maisie, he saw her eyes widen, and then she scrambled in front of Buchannan and spread her arms wide. Graeme stopped in his tracks, feeling as if she’d stuck a dagger in his gut. She was protecting Buchannan from him? His shock yielded to fury at her, but at himself as well. He hated the vulnerability she caused in him. It made him feel weak, and it was too similar to how Bernard and Atholl had made him feel for years at the abbey.

He stopped in front of Maisie and Buchannan, seething that even now, when she was putting herself between him and the man who has just been holding her, that his worry was for her safety. He raked his gaze over her, looking for signs that she’d been forced into Buchannan’s arms and found none.

His lips pressed into a hard, grim line as he focused on Buchannan. “Leave now, or I’ll kill ye.”

“Graeme!” Maisie said, “’tis nae what ye—”

He held up a silencing hand to her. He’d not have this conversation in front of Buchannan. “Now, or ye die.”

She stepped toward him and raised her hand as if to touch him, but instinctively, he flinched backward, the walls he had been trying to lower for her rising once more. Hurt flashed across her face and twisted his gut. “Graeme, be reasonable. They kinnae travel tonight. They only just got here, and my sister is exhausted.”

“Stewart,” Buchannan began.

“Dunnae talk unless ye have a wish to die,” Graeme bit out. “Ye will leave at first light, for the sake of Eliza, but I will set a guard to yer chamber to keep ye in it.” He let out a sharp whistle, and within a heartbeat, a guard was there. “Take Buchannan to his chamber and see that he remains there until first light. Then escort him to the courtyard to depart.”

“Dunnae forget what I said, Maisie!” Buchannan rushed out as the guard led him away.

“’Tis nae as it appeared,” Maisie said, breaking the tense silence between them once the guard and Buchannan were out of earshot.

Graeme looked at her, irritated by his jealousy and the consuming desire she ignited, and he didn’t know if he could trust her. And if he couldn’t trust her, how could he give her what she wanted, give her all of him?

“Tell me what it was I saw, then,” he finally managed to say.

She stared up at him, and in the moonlight, with the torches burning so near and bright, he could see the tenderness in her gaze and the rapid beat of her pulse at the hollow space between her collarbones that he’d kissed earlier that night.

“He wanted to ensure I was well, and he wanted me to ken that he would wait for me. I told him I was well, and I told him nae to wait, as I had already done in the woods the night he took me.”

Graeme frowned. “Ye told him then nae to wait for ye?”

“Aye. I kenned after ye kissed me the day we were handfasted that I did nae feel the passion that ye, a stranger, a man who should be my enemy, sparked in me. So, I told Aidan then that I could nae ever be his wife, even if I did nae end up yers. I love ye, Graeme. I will nae ever be unfaithful to ye because I love ye. And I will be loyal to ye.”

“I want to believe ye, Maisie, but I dunnae ken if I can, and I kinnae—”

“Then ye will nae ever be able to lower yer walls and give me all of ye,” she whispered as tears filled her eyes.

“Aye,” he said. “I suppose nae.”

She surprised him by pressing her hands to his chest, rising on her tiptoes, and brushing her lips to his before lowering herself once more and stepping back to break contact. “I have nae given ye reason nae to trust me, and yet, ye dunnae because yer hatred for my father and my brother is greater than yer reason. If ye want us to move forward, I think ye will have to release some of your hatred to allow room for me in yer heart. Because I will have all of ye or none of ye. I deserve that.”

He stood there, struggling to find the words to say, and as he did, the thundering of hooves filled the night. The horns announcing visitors began to blow, and the torches along the rampart fired up one by one while two horses galloped into the courtyard. The lead rider held a banner as he rode, and it waved in the air. As they drew closer, Ross’s face came into view, and the satisfied look he wore became apparent. He drew the horse up in front of them, frowned at Maisie, and said, “We’ve a good lead. I’ve come to fetch ye. The time for vengeance is here.”