Chapter Twenty-Five

If there was a hell on Earth, this was it. The first day after Maisie’s departure, Graeme trained from the moment she left until he nearly dropped from exhaustion. Nobody dared to approach him that day but Eppie, and he had sent her away, refusing to talk to her since she seemed determined to speak with him about Maisie. The second day, he took to his horse before dawn, and he filled his day hunting, not returning to the castle until late into the night when he knew everyone would be abed. Thoughts of Maisie tried to invade his head, but every time they did, he forced himself to recall the brutal beatings he’d received at the abbey and the weeks of painful recovery.

On the third night, though, no matter how he tried to repress thoughts of Maisie, they kept breaking through his defenses and invading his brain. In desperation, he consumed one goblet of wine after another. By his third goblet, he unclenched his teeth and his grip on the goblet, and he dragged his gaze away from the crack in the floor where he’d been staring. But the moment he shifted his gaze and glanced to the bed, images of Maisie’s body entwined with his pounded into him.

Roaring, he tossed the full goblet at the wall. It hit with a thud, red wine splashing on the wall and floor, and then it fell, rattling to the ground. A pounding came immediately at his door, and he bellowed, “Go away!”

“I’ll nae!” Eppie bellowed back. “And if ye dunnae let me in, I vow on yer mama’s and yer da’s graves that I’ll collect yer brother and get him to ram the door down.”

Eppie would surely do it, but would Ross listen to her? Graeme thought about how Ross and Grace had both tried to speak to him earlier at supper about Maisie and all that had transpired. He’d seen the look of concern they’d exchanged. Yes, his brother probably would ram the door down out of concern for him. Graeme gained his feet, and the world tilted under him for a moment. He’d drunk too much wine. He crossed the room, unbarred the door, and threw it open to glare at Eppie. “What do ye want?”

She shoved past him, looked around his room, and turned back to him, hands on her hips. She met his eyes with a gaze that held both empathy and frustration. “I see forgetting Maisie is going well for ye.”

“I will forget her,” he said, but his belief that he could was rapidly crumbling. She’d betrayed him, and he’d sent her away. But sending her away had not wiped her from his heart and soul. Hopefully, time would do that, if he could hang on that long.

“If ye would quit being such a clot-heid and listen to me, I think ye will come to the conclusion that ye misjudged what happened and ye need to go fetch the lass home.”

“Eppie, I dunnae want to have this conversation. There is nae anything ye can say that will change my mind.”

“She caught her sister eavesdropping,” Eppie said, and before Graeme could tell her he didn’t care, she continued. “She caught Eliza at yer door after Maisie had awoken and found Eliza was nae in the bedchamber. She left the room to find her sister and saw her listening at yer brother’s door. Maisie pulled Eliza away and demanded to ken what she’d heard. Her sister told her that she had heard ye were going after Bernard but nae where. The lass believed her, Graeme. Maisie’s crime is she trusts those she loves, and if ye want to banish her and try to wipe her from yer mind and heart for that, then ye are nae who I thought ye were. Ye are hard and cold then, nae caring and tender.”

“Why would her sister tell—”

“That lass is young and foolish,” Eppie said. “She fancies herself in love with the Buchannan, and if I had to wager, she may have thought telling him where to find Bernard would win his affections, which she kens are squarely on Maisie.” Eppie paused for a beat. “Maisie was devastated, Graeme. She blamed herself for what happened, and that’s how I kenned for certain that she had not been the one to tell Buchannan. She would have tried to hide that she’d kenned anything, but she did nae. She was verra forthcoming, and if ye would have given her the chance—”

“She would have told me all,” he said, a hollowness filling him. He’d coldly and ruthlessly sent away the woman he loved. When she had needed him to believe in her the most, he’d failed her. “I have to go get her.”

“Aye,” Eppie agreed.

“What if I’ve lost her? What if she kinnae forgive me for nae trusting her?”

“She loves ye. She’ll forgive ye. She left vowing to prove her loyalty to ye, even after how ye acted.”

Eppie’s words sent a chill through his veins with the thought of Maisie confronting Buchannan, her sister, or, God’s blood, her brother. Would they silence her for good?

“Eppie, I have to go now. There’s nae time to wait.”

“Now? Ye’re swaying where ye stand. Ye’re nae fit to ride now, and ye’ll nae do Maisie any good if ye get yerself killed on yer horse.”

“I’ll nae get myself killed on my horse.” He might get himself killed fighting for Maisie, but that was a risk he was willing to take.

It took Maisie two days to work up the courage to confront her brother. With a trembling hand, she knocked on Brody’s solar door, and when he bade her to enter, she did so on shaking legs. Brody looked up from his desk and smiled at her, and she felt a flash of guilt for the lie she’d told and begged Father Ollie to go along with—that she’d simply come home for a visit.

Entering the room, she shut the door behind her and steeled herself for what she was about to do. After much consideration over the last couple of days, she had decided directness was the best approach. Brody would not be expecting it, so he’d be caught off guard.

“What are ye here for this fine morning?” Brody asked.

“I did nae come home for a visit brother,” she said, her voice as shaky as her knees.

“Nay?” He set down the quill he’d been holding and leaned back in his chair. “Why did ye come home, then?”

“To hear the truth from yer lips. I ken that it was ye who imprisoned Graeme and Eppie all those years ago.” The guilty look on her brother’s face, which he immediately tried to hide, broke her heart all over again. Not that there had been any denying it or holding on to hope anymore, but in this moment, his reaction felt just as devastating as when she’d first read the missives.

“I see ye have been listening to Stewart lies. That’s verra disappointing. I thought ye believed in me.” His voice was stern with no vestige of brotherly love in its hardness.

Anger burst from deep within her. “Dunnae ye dare do that!” she seethed. “I did believe in ye! I fought for ye! I contended with Graeme over yer honor, and then... then I read the missives between ye and Da, and I discovered the truth.”

Her brother rose slowly and came to stand directly in front of her. His gaze darkened. “What missives?” There was tremor of worry in his tone that further sealed his guilt.

She had thought carefully about what to say to protect Father Ollie. “They were in Da’s bedchamber. I discovered them when I finally cleaned it out right before we left for Court, and I took them with me. But in all the commotion since the king’s decree, the handfasting, and the hostility I received from the Stewart clan at first, I only just read them a few days ago.”

“Let me see these so-called missives,” he snapped, holding out his hand.

She struggled to talk past the knot of sadness lodged in her throat. “I dunnae have them with me. I hid them in my bedchamber at Dunstaffnage for safekeeping.”

“God’s blood, Maisie!” Brody roared, making her jerk. Her brother gripped her by the arms, his eyes wild. “What have ye done?”

Her arms throbbed where he gripped her, and her heart raced with sudden fear. “Ye’re hurting me, Brody.”

Looking at his hands, he released her and stepped back to stare at her. She could see stark fear in his eyes. Licking her lips, she said, “I ken Da ordered ye to kill Graeme and Eppie after he took the Steward stronghold, and I ken ye disobeyed. Instead, ye sent them to the abbey and imprisoned them. Why?”

Brody shoved a hand through his hair and shook his head. “We have to retrieve the missives.”

“Nae until ye tell me the truth.”

And admit the truth to the king.

Brody stalked away from her to his desk, grabbed his goblet of wine, drank the whole thing, and slammed the silver cup down. “I could nae bring myself to kill a child and woman in cold blood, despite Da ordering me to do so. I was exhausted from battle, and the only thing I could think to do was hide them away until I could talk to Da and reason with him, so I sent them to the abbey with Bernard and told him that Da had ordered it.”

Maisie blinked at that news. “Did Bernard ever ken the truth?”

“Nay,” Brody replied, leaning to half sit on the edge of his desk. He looked down, shoved both hands in his hair, and without looking up, began to speak again. “Well, nae truly. I went to speak to him when Da died and told him we would continue to keep the Stewarts imprisoned until I decided what to do.”

Her heart twisted at his words. “Why? Why would ye keep them in prison all these years?”

“Do ye think it was easy for me?” Brody yelled and pounded a fist against his chest as he looked at her. “They have haunted me day after day since I defied Da, but I came to realize if I told him, he would make me kill them. And when I found out Da was actually the traitor and nae Laird Stewart, I could nae release them. Nae anyone would have believed I did nae ken of Da’s treason.”

“I believe ye,” she said, meaning it. But she also knew he was right. He probably would have been sentenced to lose his head right along with their father, but that did not excuse leaving Eppie and Graeme imprisoned. “Were ye going to keep them there for the rest of their lives?” She had to understand. When her brother did not respond but stared at her, his lips pressing into a thin line and his nostrils flaring, something fell into place in her mind. Her blood froze in her veins. Graeme had said that Bernard had told them he was finally going to get to kill them. And Bernard had said so right after she’d taken the missive to the abbey.

“Ye used me,” she whispered, hearing the horror in her tone. “Ye used me to deliver the death sentence for Eppie and Graeme so there would nae be anything to trace back to ye.”

“I did nae put ye in danger,” he said.

The calmness of his tone infuriated her. “That is nae the point!” she yelled. “Ye told Bernard to kill the verra people ye defied Da to save!”

“I did nae have a choice. Then ye interfered. I did nae count upon that, though I should have considered yer compassionate nature.”

“Ye must have been furious and fearful when Graeme and Eppie escaped,” she said.

“Aye. But nae at ye—nae ever at ye. At myself. At Da. At Bernard. I sent him to track them straightaway, but it was too late. They reached their home, and there was nae any hope for it. And then Bernard disappeared as well as the monks.”

She made a derisive sound. “Because they rightly thought ye would kill them for what they kenned!”

Brody shook his head. “I would nae kill men of God, Maisie.”

“Worried for yer soul, are ye?” she bit out.

He gave her a frustrated look. “Nor would I kill Bernard. He’s loyal to our family, and I dunnae ken where he has gone, but we must find him and speak with him, assure him that—”

“Bernard is dead,” she snapped, unable to take any more. “Aidan killed him. Or maybe it was Eliza!” Maisie flung out, near hysterical now.

“What the devil are ye talking about?” Brody asked, and she let the story pour out of her. When she was finished, Brody frowned. “Then where are they? Why have our sister and Aidan nae returned?”

“I dunnae ken,” she said warily, refusing to worry about the sister who had betrayed her. “Mayhap they stopped at Aidan’s home. It’s on the way, after all. Mayhap they had an accident. Lost a horse? Fell ill?” With each suggestion, she felt more and more as if she were hanging on by a thread that was about to break. “Ye must tell the king what ye did, Brody.”

A long silence fell as he stared at her, and his expression turned sad. “I kinnae do that, Maisie. The king will have me put to death. If ye kinnae think of me, think of yerself and Eliza. Ye must keep this to yerself, Maisie.”

“Even if I did,” she seethed, “Graeme has a scrap of Aidan’s plaid and Eliza’s ribbon. He has proof that they were at Bernard’s cottage when the Stewarts found him dead. And there is nae a reason Aidan and Eliza would’ve killed Bernard except to protect ye! Ye must confess, and mayhap the king will show them mercy. Mayhap even to ye.”

“Ye’re right,” Brody said, tears filling her brother’s eyes.

She’d never seen him cry before. It pained her to her soul to see him breaking, but there had to be atonement for his sins and those of their da. And what of Eliza? Maisie said a silent prayer that Eliza’s greatest crime was telling Aidan of Bernard’s whereabouts. She could not imagine her sister killing a man. “I will go to the king after we find Eliza, ensure she’d safe, and bring her home to be with ye. I am certain Aidan thought to protect me and talk to Bernard. Mayhap Bernard tried to kill him so Aidan struck in defense?”

“Mayhap,” she said, hoping it was so. But if that were the case, where were they? Why had they not come straight here?

“I’m scairt, Maisie. I dunnae want to die.”

For all that he’d done, he was still her brother, and she did not want him to die, either. He held out his arms to her, and she went to him. His arms started to close around her, and something scraped on the desk beside them. Then a blunt object hit her head with such force, everything immediately went black.

When Maisie awoke with a pounding head, it took her a moment to get her bearings. She was upside down, dangling over her brother’s back as he strode up a hill. Terror gripped her as he crested the top of the mountain. She knew where they were. They were on top of Skyward Ledge. It was the tallest peak near their home with a deadly, dangerous drop. He was going to kill her.

There was no time to do anything but try to free herself. Brody strode across the rocky knoll that led to the cliff’s edge where they had stood many times before, yelling to hear the echo of their voices. Without hesitation, Maisie bit as hard as she could into her brother’s side. She dropped to the ground as Brody roared. She scrambled hand over foot to get away from him, but his hand clamped onto her ankle, and he dragged her across the rocks, cutting her knees as she slid.

He yanked her up, swung her to him, and with a tortured look in his eyes, said, “I dunnae want to do this.” And then he yanked her toward the edge.

She struggled against him, digging in her heels, hitting him with her free hand, but it was useless. He was too strong. Her heart beat wildly, and her blood roared in her ears. “Brody, please,” she begged. At the edge, he turned her to him once more and stood facing her with tears streaming down his face. Her heels hung off the edge, and under her weight, she felt the emptiness and the caress of death.

“Ye dunnae have to do this,” she pleaded.

“I dunnae have a choice,” he bellowed, and with a great shove, she flew backward off the ledge with a scream, grasping at her brother as she fell and catching his ankle, bringing him with her.