At her aunt’s words, the wooden spoon Raine had been holding clattered to the floor. Her face drained of color, the girl raced out of the room.
“Raine!” Lady Nina called to her daughter, then met Joanna’s horrified gaze. “I’m sorry, my dear,” she said sadly. “I wanted Raine to get to know you first, before she learned you were the granddaughter of Somerled Macdonald.”
Joanna stared at her in shock. “Your husband was…”
Lady Nina’s eyes, the same brilliant cerulean blue as her gown, suddenly blurred with tears. Her pale brows pinched together as she nodded unhappily. “Gideon Cameron. The man your grandfather murdered.”
“Grandpapa didn’t murder your husband,” Joanna said. “My grandfather would never have killed any man without just provocation.”
“Gideon was struck from behind,” Nina replied with quiet certainty. “No matter what the provocation, a true gentleman would never strike an unsuspecting man in the back.”
Joanna’s voice rose excitedly. “If Gideon was killed from behind by an unseen assailant, it proves Grandpapa didn’t slay him. And because of your family’s mistaken accusations, my grandfather was taken to Edinburgh and wrongly executed for a crime he didn’t commit.”
Rory and Alex came into the kitchen in time to hear her last breathless statement. The two men, their hair and clothing damp from the rain, looked at her grimly. Standing near the doorway, they seemed to have brought the cold in with them, for the air grew frigid in spite of the crackling fire.
“You’re wrong, Joanna,” Rory said with clipped gravity. “We had unequivocal proof of the Red Wolf’s guilt.”
Furious that he would tell such a brazen lie about her grandpapa, she braced her floury hands on the trestle table and glared at him. “I don’t believe it!”
Alex moved to stand beside Lady Nina. His placid eyes troubled, he put his arm around his good-sister’s shoulders, offering her his support. “This is terribly painful for Nina,” he said calmly, “but you should know the truth, Lady Joanna. Gideon’s severed head was delivered to Archnacarry Manor wrapped in a tartan pinned with a Macdonald clan badge.”
“That proves nothing!” she countered. “Many Macdonalds wear that badge. Someone could have stolen it.”
Widening his stance, Rory folded his arms across the front of his saffron shirt and lifted a brow sardonically. “That particular badge was accompanied with the written compliments of Somerled Macdonald.”
Joanna ripped off her apron and threw it on top of the pastry dough. “You’re lying!”
Isabel smiled, her hands folded in front of her in unruffled detachment. “’Tis no lie, Joanna MacLean. On that very table, your husband and his two brothers swore an oath on Gideon’s head to bring the Red Wolf of Glencoe to justice.”
Shaking with fury, Joanna clenched her hands at her sides. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to give in to such a humiliating weakness in front of her grandfather’s enemies. She met their gazes straight on, determined to show them she had the backbone of a true Macdonald.
Then she turned to her husband and addressed him with brittle disdain. “I wish to go home to Kinlochleven.”
Rory’s jaw squared; his eyes turned frosty. “We’ll return home when I say, Joanna, and not before.”
At his harsh words, Nina glanced at Rory, then looked back at her trembling guest, her lovely eyes filled with sympathy. With her silky apricot hair and creamy complexion, she looked like a compassionate angel.
But Joanna Macdonald didn’t need the woman’s pity. She didn’t need anything from the Camerons. She believed in her grandfather’s innocence with every ounce of her being. In their haste to seek revenge, they’d caused the death of a blameless man. They were the ones who deserved to be pitied.
“Had I known how you felt about my grandfather,” she said through stiff lips, “I would have slept by the roadside rather than enter your home.”
Before anyone could say another word, Joanna spun on her heel and left the kitchen.
Instead of returning to the bedroom where MacLean might follow her, Joanna entered a large chamber on the second floor, its door having been left wide open. She hoped to avoid a confrontation with her husband until after she’d regained control of her emotions.
She hadn’t the least shred of doubt that her grandfather had been guiltless of Gideon Cameron’s death. She’d been allowed a brief visit with her grandpapa the day before he was hanged. He’d clasped her to him, reassuring her of his love.
“Darling of my heart,” he’d said, using the familiar endearment for the last time, “I swear to you on your father’s grave that I am innocent of the cold-blooded murder of Gideon Cameron.”
Joanna brushed the tears away and looked about her. The room was in semidarkness. The heavy damask curtains on the tall windows had been drawn, allowing the gray morning light to filter in. But no candles had been lit.
A harp and a virginal stood in front of the windows, telling her she’d discovered the music room. Bookshelves and portraits graced the walls, as well as a tapestry depicting Hercules slaying a lion. Armchairs and small tables were scattered about the room, and a high-backed settle faced the hearth.
Joanna walked to the cold grate with the intention of kindling a small blaze. When she reached the fireplace, she found Raine curled up on the cushioned bench, her head resting on a pillow. Startled, the girl immediately sat up, her long braids swinging.
“I’m sorry,” Joanna said. Her heart ached for the unhappy youngster, who was the one truly innocent victim among them. “I didn’t realize you were in here. I’ll go.”
Raine put out a hand as though to stop her. “Please stay.”
Joanna hesitated, not wanting to upset the girl more than she’d been already. “If you’d rather be alone, I quite understand.”
The lass shook her head, her dark eyes solemn. “I wouldn’t. I’d like you to stay. Honestly.”
Joanna sank down on the tufted gold cushion beside her, wondering what she could possibly say to the pensive girl who’d been told, wrongly, that Joanna’s grandpapa had murdered her father. Then she noticed the piece of gray stone that Raine clutched in her hand.
“What do you have?” she asked kindly. “May I see it?”
Raine immediately handed it to Joanna with a bashful shrug. “’Tis a faery arrow.”
Joanna took the chipped piece of flint with genuine interest. Though she’d never seen one, she knew that tiny arrowheads such as this were used on mortals. Unable to throw the elf-bolts themselves, the Little People compelled a man in their power to hurl it at another human being. The person struck instantly lost the power of his limbs and was taken to the dwelling place of the faeries. She turned it over in her hand, studying it with curiosity.
“Did you find this?” she asked.
Smiling shyly, Raine nodded. “I found it two summers ago in the woods nearby. I kept it especially for you. ’Twill guard you from evil.”
Touched by the warm-hearted gesture of friendship, Joanna tugged on one of the child’s long braids playfully. “Thank you, Raine. I shall treasure it always.”
The youngster regarded her with quiet contemplation. “I knew I would meet you one day, Lady Joanna, though I didn’t know your name. I saw you there in the birch woods the day I found the faery arrow.”
“How could that be?” Joanna inquired with a dubious shake of her head. “I’ve never visited this glen before.”
Unruffled, Raine met her guest’s disbelieving gaze. Her sooty eyes shone with a tranquil confidence. “I have the sight,” she said simply.
“You do?” Joanna took a deep breath as she leaned back on the settle. Although she’d never met anyone fey before, she knew that some Scottish people did, indeed, have the second sight. In fact the MacNeil clan was noted for it. “And you saw me in a vision?”
Raine nodded. “I want you to keep the elf-bolt,” she insisted with an earnest smile. “’Twill protect you from evil.”
Deeply moved, Joanna took the lassie’s slender hand and squeezed it compassionately. “Even though you believe my grandpapa murdered your father, you still want to give me this?”
Raine clutched Joanna’s fingers, and her answer rang with conviction. “The Red Wolf did not kill my da.”
“How do you know?” Joanna questioned eagerly. “Did you see that in a vision, too? Do you know the identity of the man who murdered Laird Gideon?”
Raine bent her head, her thick black braids hanging down in front of her poppy-red gown. Her shoulders slumped in discouragement. “I have no knowledge of the man who’s responsible,” she admitted. “But when I saw the note signed with Somerled Macdonald’s name, I knew in my heart it was false. I tried to tell the grown-ups how I felt, but they paid me no heed.”
“Oh, Raine!” Joanna cried, knowing how painful it must have been for her to lose her father in such a gruesome way. “I pray God, you didn’t see—” She stopped, too horrified to continue. She threw her arms around the lass and hugged her close.
“I saw my father’s severed head,” Raine confided, dry-eyed. “I was in the garden when they tossed it into the yard.” Though she didn’t break into tears, she wrapped her thin arms around Joanna and clung to her tightly.
“I’m truly sorry about your father,” Joanna told her softly as she bussed her temple. “Having met you and your family, I know Gideon Cameron must have been a very fine man.”
Raine drew back and looked up at the portrait above the fireplace. “My mother misses him terribly,” she said in a small, hurt voice. “I miss him too.” A single tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed the crystal drop away with the edge of her hand.
Joanna followed the girl’s heartbroken gaze. The gentleman in the painting resembled his younger brother. Built square and solid, Laird Gideon Cameron had the same reddish-blond hair and the scholar’s detached expression. His eyes, like Alex’s and Isabel’s, were light hazel.
She looked at the dark-eyed girl and smiled comfortingly. Drawing her close, she brushed back the tight wisps of curly ebony hair that had worked free from her braids and kissed Raine’s high forehead.
“I hope we can be friends,” she said sincerely. “And that someday the identity of the evil person who killed your father will be revealed.”
Rory stopped in the doorway of the music room, watching Joanna and Raine embrace. When his wife had rushed out of the kitchen, he’d stayed to apologize to Nina and Alex. Then he’d gone upstairs to his bedchamber, expecting to find Joanna spitting invectives. Finding the room empty, he’d hurried to the stables, suspecting she might have decided to ride back to Kinlochleven on her own. But the grooms assured him that Lady MacLean hadn’t tried to saddle Fraoch or any other mount.
Growing angrier by the moment, he’d methodically searched the great hall, the lesser hall, the solar, the gallery, the pantry, the buttery, the garderobe, and even the rain-soaked kitchen garden. Only chance had brought him past the music room’s open door.
Joanna looked up at that moment and saw him. Without waiting for an invitation, Rory walked over to stand beside the two lassies seated on the bench.
“Raine gave me a faery arrow,” Joanna told him quietly, “to shield me from misfortune.” She offered the flint arrowhead to him, and he took it, absently turning it over to examine the chipped stone.
Relieved to find Joanna’s fiery temper had cooled, he smiled at the dark-haired girl beside her. “You’re spending too much time with your aunt,” he chided fondly. “Soon you’ll be making potions to ward off the evil eye and chanting rhymes to cure everything from the toothache to pleurisy.”
Though he didn’t approve of the middle-aged woman’s eccentric ways, he suspected that Raine felt closer to Isabel Cameron than she did to her sweet, gentle mother. He also thought he knew why.
“Aunt Isabel knows nothing about the elf-bolt,” Raine replied with utmost seriousness. “I want Lady Joanna to keep the arrowhead with her always. ’Twill protect her from danger.”
“My wife needs no amulets or talismans,” Rory told the girl affectionately. “I will keep Joanna safe.”
The thirteen-year-old studied him, her intelligent eyes thoughtful. “When you are with her, Laird MacLean, no man will ever hurt her. But when she is separated from you, you will not be able to shield her from her enemies or yours.”
With a confident grin, Rory took Raine’s hand and placed the piece of chipped flint in her palm. “Then we have nothing to worry about, do we, lass? For Lady Joanna will never be separated from me. Now you’d best go downstairs and find your mother. She’s been looking for you.”
Raine dropped the elf-bolt into Joanna’s lap, and with a quick smile at her, hastened to the door, then paused. “I have a gift for you, too, Laird MacLean,” she called to him, a sudden, impish smile lighting her youthful features. “For the success of your marriage. I’ll bring it to you soon.”
“Thank you, Raine,” he said with a chuckle. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
When the child had closed the door behind her, Rory gazed down at his bride. Even in the stained and faded yellow gown fashioned for a much younger lass, Joanna glowed from within, lit by some buoyant inner radiance. At the moment, however, her usual spontaneous joy had been carefully banked, and she watched him with troubled eyes.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, the pain in her voice not quite hidden by her obvious anger. Laying the arrowhead on the cushioned seat, she rose and stood rigidly before him. “Why here to Archnacarry, when surely you must know how I feel about my grandfather’s execution and the part you and the Camerons played in it?”
“I wanted you to meet Gideon’s family, Joanna,” he replied. “I wanted you to realize what a fine, decent man he was and what a tragic loss his family felt at his death. I wanted you to understand why I had to track the Red Wolf down and bring him to justice.”
Her stormy blue eyes snapping, she faced him squarely. “You and your brothers hunted down the wrong man, MacLean, and the Macdonalds are not likely to forget it.”
Exasperated at her stubbornness, Rory strode across the rug to stand before a tall window, bracing one hand on its heavy wooden shutter. Outdoors, a spring mist covered Archnacarry Glen, bringing its soft moisture to the white heather that bloomed on the hillsides.
He took a deep, calming breath, determined not to lose his temper and shout at his wee bonny wife. The memory of their passionate coupling had intruded on his thoughts all morning. He’d never spent more than a moment or two thinking about a night’s dalliance with a woman before. To be so enraptured by Joanna’s naïve yet eager manner in bed was a new experience—one he thoroughly enjoyed. He was looking forward to this evening, when they’d be alone in the privacy of the bedchamber and ensconced in their warm, soft bed.
“The feuding between the clans must stop,” he said in an even tone, “or it will destroy Scotland as a nation. With our marriage, lass, we have a chance to end the bitter fighting that has been tearing the Highlands apart.”
“Don’t place all the blame on the Macdonalds,” she retorted. “There was no rebellion until James Stewart’s father decided to usurp Donald Macdonald and make himself Lord of the Isles.”
Rory turned from the window and returned to stand before her once more. “By bringing the Glencoe Macdonalds under the authority of the Crown, we—you and I, Joanna—can forestall the threat of another rebellion. We can save hundreds of lives and give our children something we’ve never had: a lifetime without war in the Highlands.”
As the force of his words struck her, Joanna sank back down on the bench and absently picked up the elf-bolt. Head bent, she traced the uneven edge of the triangular stone with her thumbnail. “I don’t wish to see the warfare continue,” she said in a subdued voice, “and I harbor no ill-will for this family. Their deaths wouldn’t bring Grandpapa back from the grave.”
“I’m relieved to hear you say that,” he replied. “More deaths would only compound the tragedy.”
Her fine-boned features drawn and tight, she looked up at him warily. “I realize now why you and Gideon’s family were so convinced he was guilty. You made a horrible mistake, Rory, but I do understand your reasoning. I could forgive you, I think, if only you’d admit you were wrong.”
Rory felt as though he’d just been savagely kicked in the stomach. He dropped to his haunches in front of his bride and enclosed her slender hips between his hands. “’Twas no mistake, lass. I would do it all over again, if I had to.”
She slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze and teardrops clung to the tips of her lashes. Her obstinate refusal to recognize her grandfather’s guilt could be seen in the set of her jaw and the intractable cast of her delicate features.
“I must return to the kitchen,” she said stiffly. “I left Lady Nina with the pies half made.”
He longed to hold Joanna in his embrace, to rock her in his arms until the pain went away. Her pain and his. But he knew she needed time to accept the harsh truth. “Very well,” he said quietly as he regained his feet.
Joanna rose from the settle and moved to the door, her spine rigid and unyielding. She left the room without looking back.
After his wife had gone, Rory stood gazing at the portrait of Gideon Cameron. The laird had earned the respect and admiration of all who knew him. Rory couldn’t remember his own father; he’d been too young when the warrior had been killed in battle. Most of what he’d learned about the human race had come from his wise foster father.
Gideon had encouraged Rory to strive for high ideals, to fulfill his duties with honor and valor, and to place the good of his country over his own aggrandizement. Yet it had also been Gideon, the astute scholar of history and geography, who’d encouraged Rory to build a ship and seek his fortune on the seas.
Rory knew that his part in Somerled’s death on the gallows stretched like a vast ocean between him and his wife. He couldn’t change the past, nor would he want to. But until he convinced Joanna that the Macdonald chieftain had been guilty of murder, she’d always blame him for her grandfather’s execution. Rather than being the chivalrous knight she’d envisioned marrying, Rory would forever play, in her mind, the role of wrongful avenger.
He leaned both hands on the granite mantelpiece and stared down at the cold hearth with unseeing eyes. Rory wanted Joanna to be as infatuated with him as his mother had been with his father. So infatuated that she’d willingly forgo her blind loyalty to her traitorous clan and cleave to her kinsmen’s mortal enemy. ’Twas the reason he’d striven to make her wedding day perfect. He longed for his wife to see him through a smitten lassie’s eyes, filled with idealistic wonder.
With a rueful shake of his head, Rory finally admitted his unconscious wish. While he and Joanna had been so intimately joined, he’d wanted Joanna to tell him she loved him.
“I brought your wedding gift, Laird MacLean,” Raine said, and he turned in surprise to find her standing at his elbow. She’d moved across the rug with such noiseless grace, he hadn’t heard her join him in front of her father’s portrait.
The tall, thin lassie held out a padded square of linen embroidered with roses in pink and scarlet threads. “There’s rosemary stitched inside,” she told him.
“Ah, rosemary for remembrance,” he said softly as he took it. “Thank you, lass. Lady MacLean will be pleased.”
Raine fluttered her hand in warning. “Oh, you mustn’t show this to your wife.”
“Why not?”
Her raven eyes regarded him solemnly for a moment, then she smiled entrancingly. “’Tis a love charm,” she confessed. “You must hide this beneath her pillow while she’s sleeping. ’Twill make her love you.”
He smiled at her fanciful imagination. “Now I know you’ve been spending too much time with Aunt Isabel. And do you intend to give Lady MacLean a secret love charm for me?” he teased.
Twisting one long braid through her fingers, Raine shook her head. “There is no need, milord. You are already deeply and irrevocably in love with your wife.”
He scowled at the preposterous notion. “I don’t believe in such foolishness,” he said, more gruffly than he’d meant to.
Raine laughed, the sound tinkling like merry bells as she raced to the doorway. “Your mind doesn’t believe in love, Laird MacLean,” she said from the open portal. “But your heart and soul have already surrendered.”
Rory glared down at the damnfool token. God Almighty! What made the elusive and mysterious lassie think he was in love with Joanna?
About to toss the embroidered linen square on the bench, he paused. If Raine returned to the music room and found it lying there, her feelings would be hurt. With a soft snort of disgust, he dropped the cockamamie love charm in his sporran.