Page 57 of Dorchad

He doesn’t want me. I can’t stay here anymore.

Rebecca ran toward the back of the bailey, where the gate had been left open for the fisherman bringing their catches in from the loch. The two guards standing on either side gave her a startled look as she flew past them, but neither one tried to stop her. That made bitterness rise and mingle with her irrational need to escape.

No one messes with Chieftain Dorchad’s wench, even after he dumps her.

“My lady.”

The sound of the war master’s voice made Rebecca stop in her tracks. “What do you want?” she asked without looking at him.

“Naught but to return this to you,” he said, coming up and offering her the scarf and bag she’d lost when she’d dropped in the loch. “’Twas found by a maid, washed ashore near where Dorchad pulled you from the water.”

“Thank you.” She tied the scarf around her neck, shouldered the bag, and headed for the dock, hoping he wouldn’t follow.

Cath kept pace with her. “You appear troubled, my lady.”

“I’m not, actually. I’ve been set straight on my place here, which is not with your chieftain.” She stopped and glared at the tattooed man. “He tried to give me to his brother, like I was a jacket he could lend out. He even offered to tell him what I liked him to do to me.”

The war master winced. “Dorchad didnae intend such, my lady. He but wished to drive you away.”

“Yes, I know that—and guess what? It worked.” Before he could say anything more she held up her hands. “Please, I need some space right now. Would you leave me alone?”

Cath bowed to her and went back toward the stronghold. Rebecca waited until he was out of sight before she went to the dock, where she saw several small skiffs tied to the carved cleats along the edge of the decking. She saw one small boat with a pair of paddles she thought she could manage, and stepped off into that one.

“Thank you for teaching me to row, Granddad,” she muttered as she sat down and pushed the oar handles into the rowlocks on either side, and then cast off from the dock.

It took longer than Rebecca expected to row across the loch to the shoreline, which helped disperse the panic that had been threatening to choke her. Whether Dorchad cared about her or not, he’d made a very bad mistake by pushing her away. The fact that he thought she’d fall for his nonsense made her wish she had done something to hurt him just as much. Didn’t he understand that she knew him, the real man behind the scary act he put on for everyone else? Did he really believe he could throw her away just like this? She knew she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Why couldn’t he see that?

Doesn’t he sense how much I love him?

She stopped rowing and looked at the stronghold. Some of the men on the outer curtain wall had to have seen her leaving the dock; they would report to Dorchad that she had left the island. Would he care enough to come after her? Or should she just turn around and go back?

I ran after him once. Something stubborn inside her made her determined not to make the same mistake again. Now it’s his turn.

Once she reached the small dock on the other side of the water Rebecca tied off the skiff, drew the oars inside and climbed out. Her legs seemed a bit wobbly, so she walked slowly across the decking and down the steps. The trail leading into the forest was probably the one that Lucy had told her led to the village. Maybe she’d walk there and see if she could find the herbalist who knew so much about the cluet. He might recall something he hadn’t told the laird’s wife, something that would help them figure out where the treasure was hiding itself.

“Mistress McIan?” someone asked in a deep voice behind her.

Pretending to convalesce from imaginary wounds strained Kiamh’s patience, especially as Fifer sent others to check on him. Yet he knew if he did much more to catch the laird’s attention he might end up being sent to the nearest druid settlement for better treatment, which would ruin all his complex and carefully constructed plans. He’d not left Dun Maor since sneaking out to deal with Malvina Duff, for he was almost convinced someone had been watching him swim in the loch. Now, as he watched the sun disappear behind the forest canopy from the narrow window slit in his chamber, he wondered if he had already failed, and simply couldn’t face it.

All that I’ve done should have snared him and brought him to his knees before me. All.

The knock on the door that jolted him from his thoughts made him close his eyes before he called out in a frail tone, “Enter, please.”

Instead of a maid, Fifer came in and closed the door behind him. “How do you fare, lad?”

Kiamh hid a smile as he went and bowed before the laird. “Much better, my lord, my thanks.” When he looked up he saw Fifer’s pale eyes watching him intently. Now is the time to press him, he thought, and added, “If you wish me leave Dun Maor, I shall go on the morrow.”

The older man regarded him in silence for so long he wondered if he’d offended him with his offer to leave.

“My lord, if I should work to repay your kindness I may stay–” He fell silent as the laird held up his hand.

“You owe me naught,” Fifer said. “You’re free now, lad. I shall direct my stable master to provide you with a mount and a guard to escort you to the nearest druid settlement. ’Tis one some ten leagues to the west, I believe.”

He hung his head to hide his frustration. “I fear I cannae go to them, my lord. When my tribe condemned me for my kin’s dark practices, they also convinced the council to shun me as unnatural. I may never again dwell among druid kind.”

“Why should they do such? You never wielded forbidden magic,” Fifer said, sounding angry now.

Meeting the laird’s gaze with tears in his eyes should have taken some effort, but Kiamh suddenly grew beyond weary, his obligations hanging on him like a thousand iron chains. “I’m called unnatural for refusing to take a mate. I’ve no affection or desire for any female.”