Chapter Twenty-Nine

"I wish I could give you a taste of the burning fire of love. There is a fire blazing inside of me. If I cry about it, or if I don't, the fire is at work, night and day."

Muhammad Rumi, 1207-1273, Persian poet & philosopher

Sara paced in her tower room. Who the hell was Madeline?

The door was unlocked, but she knew Brodrick and two more of his men walked the corridor below as if she might attempt an escape.

"Why would you smother him when he was already poisoned?" Eliza asked. She and Eleri sat together on Sara's bed.

Eleri clasped her hands in her lap. "They say she either became enraged by his accusations or that he'd found proof she'd poisoned him and stolen the Fairy Flag. That she'd taken up the pillow to still his tongue before he could tell anyone."

"They?" Sara asked. "Who is saying this?"

Eleri looked at her with worried eyes. "Brodrick, Barnaby, some of the women in town. I'm sure Winnie Mar is circulating the condemnation, too."

"She was Jamie's mistress?" Eliza asked her twin.

Eleri nodded. "And she's not a nice person."

That was being kind. Winnie had been nothing but a waspish banshee since the moment Sara had seen her when she walked up to St. Mary's Chapel for her wedding. And from what she'd heard from Margaret, the woman had treated Eleri like an unwanted embarrassment.

"Eleri, do you know who Madeline is?" Sara asked.

Eleri scrunched her face as if thinking hard, but then shook her head. "No. I don't know someone named Madeline."

Rap. Rap.

All three of them looked at the door. Were the guards coming to drag Sara away, throwing her back into the pit with ice-cold water? Quickly, she threw her feet into her boots and grabbed a cloak.

"You don't think…" Eleri said, her eyes round.

"What?" Eliza asked.

"The dungeon," Eleri said.

Rap. Rap. "Sara. Can I speak with ye?" The sound of Rory's voice released the rock-hard knot in her stomach, and she walked to the door, pulling it open.

Rory leaned his arm against the low lintel, his face grim. "Sara," he said, his eyes searching her face. Her stomach flipped. 'Twas as if all his unspoken questions flowed out of his face, his eyes, mirroring the questions in his heart.

Prickles of anger sparked anew within her. She'd said that she was innocent of smothering and poisoning and stealing the bloody flag. What other questions could he have if he believed her? None. So Rory didn't believe her.

She stepped aside, and Rory bent to walk in, straightening. "Can I speak with yer sister alone?" he asked the twins. It was a question, but Sara had no doubt that it was an order. It had only been two days since Jamie was killed, and Rory already wore the authority of a king as he stood there in his white tunic and plaid wrap, the thick leather belt showing his narrow waist that she knew was all muscle.

He might not wear a crown of gold like a king, but it was clear in his stance he was now acting as a leader, chief, someone who must act on behalf of his clan, and not her lover. And to most of the MacLeod Clan, she, a Macdonald, daughter of their greatest enemy, was dangerous. But not Rory, not after their last night together when she revealed her back to him and he'd kissed the thing she hated about herself. He trusted her, didn't he?

The twins slid off the bed. Eliza even bobbed a curtsey to Rory on her way to the door. The action made Sara's hands fist, not in anger at her sister but at the authority he exuded. The door shut with a click behind them.

Sara swept an arm to indicate the room. "I have no chessboard for you to play your game."

"This is no game. People are calling for yer execution."

Her hands gripped together, and she swallowed. "But you've told them I had nothing to do with all this."

The silence that followed thumped hard in her chest, and Sara was torn between fear and fury. "Dammit, Rory. I've told you the truth. I did not poison, nor kill, nor steal." She paced to the hearth and then back, stopping before him to stare up into his eyes, her hands fisted in frustration. "And who the hell is Madeline?"

His gaze flitted to the fire that gave Sara no warmth because she was cold in her bones.

Sara glanced at the wooden beams of the ceiling, remembering. "She's turning ye against yer own clan like Madeline." She looked back at Rory. "That's what Brodrick said."

Inhaling, Rory's face turned back to her. "She…" He swallowed. "I was eighteen when she came to Dunvegan saying she was running from a grisly old suitor in the north of Scotland. Being a young warrior full of notions about chivalry, I wanted to help her. She said she loved me."

"You were lovers?" Sara asked and tried not to care. It was ten years ago.

"Aye, but I also thought we would marry." He rubbed his jaw that held several days' growth of beard. "Then the Fairy Flag was found in her satchel that she'd packed as if to leave. She was a Macdonald spy sent by yer father."

Bloody hell . Sara cursed her father and how one man's greed for power could hurt so many.

"And during the six months she lived here," Rory continued, "she gathered information for him, and had finally found the flag hidden in Jamie's bedchamber."

"Jamie's?" Sara asked.

Rory's mouth was tight. "To search his room, she seduced him."

"But you were to blame?"

"My father knew she was my lover. He said I'd told her things that she carried to Walter Macdonald. That it was my fault for trusting her. So before me…and the village…he slit her throat."

Sara's hand rose to wrap loosely around her own throat, her lips parted. "Good Lord, Rory."

"And Jamie called for me, before everyone, to vow never to trust a woman again enough to divulge MacLeod secrets, especially a Macdonald woman."

"Your vow," she said. He'd talked of not breaking a vow when they were alone in the tower house. She'd teasingly asked him if he were a priest. She looked at him. "And Jamie was still willing to marry me?"

"He would marry ye," Rory said, "have begotten children on ye, but he would never have trusted ye even if it was only I who swore before everyone."

A mantle of shame covered the kingly one he'd donned. Sara walked closer to him, and her hand slid across his jaw and cheek. "Rory," she said, viewing the torment in the amber of his eyes. "I am not Madeline. I am a Macdonald, but I am not a spy to steal information or your flag or your brother's life. I came to Dunvegan to help forge peace between our clans."

She shook her head. "I have no desire to help my father take over Skye. Dammit, Rory! If it came to that, I'd desire war against the Macdonalds, against my father." She threw her arm wide as if toward Dunscaith.

She turned back to study the hard mask he wore. Dark circles had appeared under his eyes since Jamie had been suffocated in bed. Rory stood tall despite the vicious personal attacks he was probably enduring, his counselors and people condemning him for his inability to judge her without bias. How many times over the last two days had Rory had to protect her from angry revenge-seekers?

He cleared his throat, taking her hand. "There are those saying they saw ye sneak away with a wooden box under yer arm." He stared at her hand as if memorizing the lines across the palm.

"Who said that?"

He shook his head. "Jok and Brodrick both said they've heard villagers talking about it."

"The same villagers who spread that Jamie's head had been bashed in?"

He released her hand as he exhaled, and she crossed her arms over her chest like a shield against the doubt in his eyes.

"You don't trust me."

He crossed his arms, too. "I don't trust myself to know if…I'm being lied to."

"That woman, Madeline," she said, "she really cut your soul to pieces, Rory."

He didn't say anything for a long moment and walked over to stare out the window that looked upon the other tower where the flag had been hidden. "I won't let them hurt ye," he said. "Ye were raised to hate us, and yer father was using Eliza to persuade ye to act."

Sara blinked. "You think I gave myself to you to seduce you into letting your guard down so I could steal the flag or give my father information in exchange for Eliza?" Her voice was soft, a trembling river of words hiding the dangerous depths of anger and despair below the surface.

"I'm saying it makes sense, and nothing else does. There are no other enemies amongst us."

"You don't know that." There were spies within clans. Numbness spread through her, and her heart felt like it was turning to gray ash, breaking apart and falling into nothingness.

"I trusted you enough to show you my back."

He looked away as if gazing upon her was too painful. "I won't let them harm ye," he repeated. "But I wanted to let ye know what was going on. How 'tis unsafe for ye here."

Her heart jumped into a quicker pace. "Eliza?"

He shook his head. "She's my father's daughter, like Eleri, and she wasn't here when things began to happen. No one has said a single word against her."

Relief suffused Sara's chest for a quick moment, only to be dulled by the rest of this nightmare. Sara had trusted him, had felt the trust growing between them was enough to break down the prejudice between their clans. But who was she to break apart a feud that had been honed over centuries? She'd truly need to be one of God's seraphim, a fiery angel flying down from Heaven, to conquer such bloody history.

And she was not.

She was merely a woman who dropped the armor around her heart and was now paying the price of that foolishness. Sara lowered to sit on her bed and stared across the room at the wall. "Thank you for the warning." She was proud her voice didn't shake. Her fingers curled into the blanket under her.

"Food will be brought up for ye," he said.

She continued to stare before her, feeling only the center of her chest hollow out. When she heard the door close, Sara fell sideways and buried her face in the sheet.

Her tears flowed hot and silent.