11 OUTRAGEOUS LIES

HOW THE DEVIL had this happened?

Finn had told himself that he'd never reveal the truth of what happened between him and Maggie Garvie to anyone save Iain Maclean. The old laird of Duart had taken his secret to the grave with him, and that had been a relief.

But now he was recounting the whole sordid affair—to Astrid of all people.

The last person he'd ever intended to confide it.

And to make matters worse, he'd gone and told her that he'd once pined for her.

Aye, she'd provoked him. With her scornful gaze and haughty voice, treating him as if he were a turd she'd just scraped off her boot. Finally, her baiting had gotten too much.

Astrid wouldn't like the truth, yet she'd hear it. Every last vile word of it.

Nonetheless, telling her how he'd secretly longed for her all those years ago had cost him. He'd done his best to forget about that infatuation, especially since Astrid was now the last woman he wanted. But it was part of the tale, and so he recounted it.

He'd heard it said that when someone released a burden they felt better—and the truth about Maggie's death that he'd been carrying all these years was a weight indeed. However, speaking of what had happened between him and the lass didn't bring any relief. It just made him feel queasy. Guilty.

"Maggie didn't have a boat for us … so she dared me to steal one," he continued then, his gaze never leaving Astrid's face. She was staring up at him, her delicate features rigid, her dark eyes blazing—but Finn stayed where he was, pinning her between the cage of his arms.

The shrew would hear him out .

"I took a fisherman's rowboat from near Craignure and rowed us out. It was a bonnie evening although a stiff breeze made the water rough." Finn halted then, steeling himself for the words he'd have to utter next. "When we were a distance from shore, Maggie revealed the real reason she'd asked me to take her out on the Sound. She wanted me to row us to a sheltered cove … she wanted me to lie with her."

Astrid made a choking sound, indicating that she felt this claim as ludicrous and appalling as his last. Finn's gut clenched. This was why he'd kept the truth a secret all this time. It sounded as if he'd woven an elaborate falsehood, painting a vulnerable young woman as a schemer to save his own neck.

And Maggie wasn't here to tell her side of the tale either.

Finn had wept with relief when Iain Maclean had believed him that afternoon they'd sat alone together in the clan-chief's solar. He'd been sure the laird would call him a liar, but he hadn't.

"I said ‘no'," he continued, his voice lowering now. "Don't get me wrong, I was a red-blooded lad, and usually a lass offering to lift her skirts was all I dreamed about … but Maggie's manipulation had already vexed me. Instinctively, I sensed she was trying to trap me. If I lay with her, she could end up with bairn and use that to force me to wed her." Finn cleared his throat. "She starting weeping then … and when I didn't soften, she tried threatening me again. But I still didn't relent. Instead, I turned the boat around for shore … and she flew into a rage, clawing at my face. Realizing that she'd taken things too far, she then grew desperate."

Finn halted there, his throat suddenly tight. The queasiness that had crept upon him as he'd begun this story was increasing now. God's troth, it had been a nasty business, and, his lingering guilt aside, the memory of it had tainted his view of women ever since.

Meanwhile, Astrid's breathing had turned shallow and fast. Her face was now the color of milk. She looked close to fainting.

Finn's chest constricted. Astrid was ferociously clever and could be a spitting hellcat at times, yet she wasn't as formidable as she appeared. Her response to the betrothal Loch had organized to Kendric Mackinnon had proved that she was more sensitive than most folk realized. Once it had become clear her brother wouldn't relent, she slipped into a dangerous melancholy, one that had made her sicken and waste away.

Aye, he wanted her to know the truth, yet he didn't wish to traumatize her. Nonetheless, he still hadn't finished his tale. Not yet.

"Maggie declared that if I didn't do her bidding, she'd take her own life," he admitted hoarsely. "I told her I didn't believe her … and that's when she threw herself overboard."

Astrid's eyes brimmed with tears then, and they trickled down her cheeks. "No," she whispered, a quaver in her voice.

"Aye," he replied softly. "And ye are right … she was a strong swimmer. I dove in after her, yet she outdistanced me quickly … and swam east, away from the coast toward the heart of the Sound. The waves grew choppier, and I risked getting into trouble … and then, up ahead, I saw Maggie disappear under the water." He halted, swallowing. "She cried out, right before she disappeared … for help. I swam out to where she vanished … and even dove as far as I could to look for her … but it was as if a strong current had caught her and dragged her away."

Finn stopped talking then as remorse gripped his chest in a vise. Astrid knew the rest. How he'd returned to Craignure distraught, and how all the fishermen there including Maggie's father had started searching for her. They didn't find the lass though, and the tide brought her body to shore the following day.

Silence fell in the cave then, one that shivered with tension.

Finn had done it—he'd told Astrid the truth. Nonetheless, her strained face and haunted gaze revealed that she didn't believe him. He wasn't surprised. His story didn't suit the idea of him she'd clung to over the years.

An idea he hadn't gone to the trouble of changing.

To her, he was ruthless, cynical, and self-centered—a man not to be trusted. And perhaps all those things were right. Finn was no saint; he knew it. His parents had too, which was why they'd packed him off all those years earlier.

But he wasn't a murderer.

Astrid appeared to have sunk into a trance following the conclusion of his tale. Her gaze turned inward, as if she'd just traveled back to the past and was reliving Maggie's final days. He wondered if anything he'd said had made her view things differently.

Eventually though, she roused herself, blinking. Her fists still rested upon his chest, and despite himself, Finn found something reassuring about the contact. Holding her within the cage of his arms was dominant, although he'd been careful not to touch her.

Astrid's peat-brown eyes glistened, grief rippling across her face. Her throat then bobbed. She pressed against his ribs with her knuckles once more, making it clear that she wanted him to step back.

And this time, he obeyed.

He braced himself for her scorn then, for the sharp edge of her tongue that he'd come to know so well over the years.

But she didn't speak.

Instead, casting him a look that would have made a weaker man quail, she pushed herself off the damp rock wall and stumbled past him, heading for the cave mouth.

Finn let her go without a word.

As soon as she was free of the cave, and Finn's presence, the tears that Astrid had been struggling to hold back blinded her.

She staggered down the dune outside and onto the beach. She had to get as far as possible from the devil. Scrubbing at her cheeks, she glanced over her shoulder, almost as if she expected Finn to come after her.

But he didn't.

Still, she hurried on, although it was slow going through the soft sand. The tide had risen, covering the coarser, hard-packed sand and leaving the fine, powdery stuff to trudge through.

Astrid pushed on, panting as sobs clawed their way up her throat.

Lies. Disgusting, outrageous lies.

He'd poured them over her, forced her to listen to them. How she wished she could have blocked her ears, for even though his tale was an utter fabrication, there was no unhearing it.

He'd painted her dear friend as a manipulative, unstable, and desperate young woman.

She wouldn't believe such rot .

And yet Finn's face had been strained as he told the story. He'd dropped his usual calculating look. His eyes had been stormy, deeply shadowed, and his voice rough. Aye, it hadn't been easy for him. But then, spinning such deceit wouldn't be easy.

How long had it taken him to come up with such a far-fetched tale? And why tell her now? They were stranded here, their futures uncertain indeed. Was this his way of getting even with her finally, for the part she'd played in whipping the locals up into a frenzy? Did he want to ensure he didn't go to his grave without having his revenge?

Astrid wrapped her arms around herself. The wind was brisk and not overly cold, yet she felt chilled to the bone. She'd left her cloak in the cave and wouldn't be going back for it.

Reaching the end of the long strand, she climbed onto the rocky point, near where the puffins nested. The isle ended here—there was nothing but sea beyond.

Out of breath, Astrid slumped down on the rock and looked out across the water. It was getting late in the day now, although the sun wouldn't set behind her for a while yet. The light had turned golden, gleaming over the glossy sea.

Staring out at the horizon, she tried not to think about the things Finn had told her. Instead, she focused on the crew members they'd lost the day before. She'd prayed that some of them might have been washed up on this isle too, but there had been no sign of them.

All she could hope was that they'd been carried farther east, onto one of the larger isles, or that a passing ship had picked them up.

She couldn't, wouldn't, believe they were all gone.

And neither would she believe Finn's slanderous tale about her best friend.

Astrid's belly twisted then, her breathing growing fast and shallow. She was out of her depth now—as she'd been when it had become clear Loch would indeed force her to wed Kendric Mackinnon.

It was all too much.

She could feel the darkness clawing at her, could feel reality drawing back. It would be so easy to give in to it, to let despair take her—to sink into oblivion as she had six months earlier .

Sweating now, Astrid balled her hands into fists and pressed them hard against the rock.

No, she had to fight this weakness .