12 A SEED OF DOUBT

PULLING HER KNEES up, Astrid wrapped her arms around her shins, hugging tightly. She placed her forehead on her knees and squeezed her eyes shut. She then concentrated on slowing and deepening her breathing.

Her cheeks were still wet with tears, yet she managed to keep her despair at bay—just.

Time drew out, and once she'd regained control, Astrid finally allowed herself to dwell on Finn's shocking revelations.

She recalled the scratches on his face after the incident. At the time, it had just incriminated him further, for it looked as if there had been a struggle between him and Maggie.

But Finn had told her that Maggie attacked him.

Astrid couldn't imagine Maggie clawing at anyone's face. It made no sense.

Drawing in a deep breath, she cast her mind back then, traveling to when she'd been fifteen summers old and as thick as thieves with the fisherman's daughter. Had Maggie ever lost her temper with Astrid?

Only once.

It had been Bealtunn, just a few weeks before the fateful day they'd met Loch, Jack, and Finn on the way back from Craignure. Maggie had been excited for the festival, which marked the first day of summer. It was an eve when couples often declared their interest in each other, and when some would go ‘green gowning'—sneaking off into the shadows to lie together. Many marriages took place shortly after Bealtunn. And, indeed, it was also why so many bairns were born around Yuletide.

Maggie had started showing a lot of interest in lads at that time. Whereas Astrid was still content to ride her pony and explore the coastline around Duart, her friend was changing. Maggie had taken to talking about the lads she liked and the ones she wished would notice her. And she'd often suggest their walks took them by the men-at-arms at Duart, who were training outdoors, or the young men who worked the fields. This change in her friend had irritated Astrid. She wasn't interested in flirting and was cowed by the lewd comments and catcalls that followed them when they got too close to men.

This Bealtunn, Maggie wasn't as enthralled by the dancing as she'd usually been or interested in sneaking cups of mulled cider and playing pranks on other lasses. Instead, she'd stared at the lads who'd attended the celebration, including Loch.

Even at barely twenty, Astrid's brother carried himself with a reckless arrogance that made the lasses swarm around him.

Maggie's stares had gotten so obvious that, eventually, Astrid had told her to stop. It was embarrassing her.

And to her shock, her sweet friend had turned nasty. "Ye don't think I'm worthy of him, is that it?" Maggie had snarled.

"N … no, of c … course not," Astrid had stammered, taken aback by her vicious response. "But Loch's a rogue when it comes to the lasses … and I wouldn't want ye to get hurt." That was true, although the thought of her brother and her friend flirting was disconcerting, to say the least.

Maggie's blue eyes had narrowed, her anger simmering. "I don't need ye to look out for me, Astrid," she'd said then. "Let me choose whether a man is right for me or not."

A wave of heat washed over Astrid then as she recalled the incident. It had been short, yet she'd marked her friend's words and afterward had been wary of commenting on the lads Maggie showed an interest in.

So, when Maggie had thrown herself at Finn, she'd held her tongue.

And now that Astrid had recalled that incident, she remembered other details—things that she viewed in a new light. Maggie's brittle good humor at times, as if she was hiding something. Her unhappy life at home, for her parents fought like pit dogs and drew her into their squabbles. Maggie had been desperate to leave home, yet unless she found a husband, she couldn't. Astrid remembered her friend's growing obsession with lads, to the point where she talked about nothing else.

Maybe Finn isn't lying, a voice whispered to her. Maybe .

Astrid scrunched her eyes tight. "No!" she gasped. She wouldn't believe it. If he was right, then Maggie's death was even more tragic. It would mean that her beloved Maggie was unstable and suffering, and yet had said nothing to her best friend.

It would mean that Astrid hadn't really known her at all.

It was dark by the time Astrid returned to the cave.

As she'd expected, Finn was still awake. He sat cross-legged by the faintly glowing hearth, wrapping a thin strip of leather around a fork-shaped piece of driftwood. At the scuff of her boot, his chin kicked up and their gazes met.

"I was about to go looking for ye," he greeted her gruffly.

Astrid gave a soft snort. "I couldn't go far, could I?"

"No," he replied. "But ye were upset when ye left. I thought ye might have gone and done something … foolish."

Astrid's step faltered at these words, and she drew to a halt a couple of yards from the fire. "Like Maggie?" she whispered.

Cold washed over her then. Of course, Finn had witnessed her humiliating ‘illness' over her betrothal to Mackinnon. He likely thought her weak and volatile. Did everyone at Duart see her that way now?

However, there was no disdain on Finn's face as he stared back at her. Instead, his gaze guttered before he looked away.

Astrid watched him, her brow furrowing. She'd spent hours going over the things he'd said, and then sorting through her memories of Maggie. She still didn't believe him, but the bastard had planted a seed of doubt in her mind, one that had now germinated and was steadily growing.

All the same, part of her wanted to rail at him, to tell him he was not just a murderer, but an arch-manipulator. Yet she held her tongue. She was exhausted, body and soul, too tired to fight any longer.

Swallowing the ire that merely the sight of him roused, she lowered herself to the ground opposite the dying hearth. "Ye're letting the fire go out."

"Aye … best I save our fuel for cooking. It's not cold. "

No, it wasn't, although Astrid found herself shivering all the same. It was likely a culmination of tiredness and shock, but she felt as if she'd never be warm again. Picking up the cloak she'd left behind, she slung it over her shoulders and wrapped it tightly around herself.

Her eyes were scratchy from weeping and exhaustion. Her body ached, while her belly was hollow. The two puffin eggs she'd eaten earlier were a distant memory. Her stomach gave a loud growl then, and Astrid winced, placing her hand upon it.

Glancing over at Finn, she noted that he was observing her, his expression veiled now. "I'm making a slingshot" —he nodded to the item in his hands— "I'll go hunting tomorrow."

Astrid nodded.

His jaw tightened then. "I'll do my best to make sure ye don't starve."

Astrid's eyes widened. His words took her aback. The man loathed her, yet ever since the storm, he'd taken care of her, looked out for her with an attentiveness that contradicted the hostility she'd witnessed in his gaze all these years.

Ye are Loch's sister, she reminded herself then. And he'd do anything for his friend . Indeed, Loch and Jack were the only two people alive that Finn seemed to care about.

He cared about ye once too.

Astrid's jaw tightened at this reminder. Maybe, but those days were long gone.

Indeed, Finn was a lone wolf. She'd never heard him mention his family back on Islay—and she'd never witnessed him show any warmth or affection toward a woman.

In fact, since his return to Mull, she had barely seen him interact with lasses, besides her and Mairi, at all. Had Maggie's death scarred him so badly?

Astrid caught herself. Aye, of course, it had. It had scarred them all . Even murderers could develop a conscience with the passing of the years.

However, even as she reassured herself, the voice that had whispered to her earlier returned. If he's telling the truth, it would be difficult to trust any woman again.

Astrid ground her teeth. Enough of this nonsense. She wasn't about to let compassion for Finn in—she wouldn't allow exhaustion and despair to muddle her tangled thoughts any further .

It was time she got some much-needed rest.

Without another word, Astrid stretched out on the hard floor, rolling onto her side and giving him her back.

She'd thought it would take her a while to get to sleep, for the stone floor of the cave was hard and uncomfortable. Yet she underestimated just how drained she was. The moment Astrid nestled her head into the crook of her arm, fatigue crashed into her.

And a heartbeat or two after that, sleep pulled her under.

Finn awoke to find himself alone in the cave.

Sitting up, he blinked and tried to get his bearings. The sun rose early this time of year, yet the light that filtered into the cave mouth was still dim.

Where was Astrid?

Rolling to his feet, Finn shrugged off his cloak and headed outside. And as he went, apprehension knotted his gut.

Yesterday, he'd been reminded of Astrid's fragility, and in the long hours until she returned to the cave, he'd considered what effect the truth might have on her. He'd let his temper best him earlier. If he'd been thinking clearly, he'd never have told her what really happened to Maggie.

He'd felt vindicated initially, seeking to punish Astrid, but as he recounted the tale, he'd regretted taking this course.

It didn't change anything.

Maggie was still dead. Many of the fisherfolk of Craignure still blamed him for her death—as did Astrid.

But when she'd fled from the cave, he'd worried what she might do.

His first instinct had been to follow her, yet he'd quashed it. She wouldn't welcome his presence, and he had to trust that she wouldn't let grief and anger make her lose her wits.

All the same, he'd been relieved when she'd returned to the cave.

Finn had sensed a change in her too. It was clear she still didn't believe him. However, she'd lost her rage. Like him, she'd spent their time apart thinking things over .

There was an uneasy truce between them now. That came as a relief to Finn, for they had enough to worry about at present, without being at each other's throats all the time.

No, he shouldn't have worried that Astrid would do something rash—for he spotted her then.

It was low tide, and the lass had kicked off her boots, knotted her skirts around her thighs, and walked out as far as she could to where the water glittered in the distance.

She was now crouched over, digging into the wet sand with a knife.

Intrigued, Finn drew near.

It was another bonnie morning, and the early sun had turned the calm sea molten gold. The sun also gilded Astrid, making her pale hair gleam, and bringing out the glow in her creamy skin.

Finn's gait slowed as he approached her, and without meaning to, he took the sight of her in—silently admiring her slender, yet shapely, legs. There was no doubt about it, Astrid Maclean was lovely. He remembered then, how just the sight of her years ago was enough to make his chest ache. How he'd stolen glances at her whenever he could.

Finn's mouth thinned. What a fool he'd been. Looks were deceiving—and he'd learned that the hard way.

Astrid glanced up, her eyes snapping wide as she spied his approach. "Stop!" she cried out, whipping the long-bladed knife out of the sand and waving it at him. "Don't come any closer."