Chapter Thirty-Eight

Finnan stirred painfully in his bonds when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Geordie had left him at some point during the night, when Deirdre returned with her blade, but Finnan sensed he had not retreated far and would be there when Finnan released his hold on this life and slipped into the next.

And what would follow then? Would the two of them—he and Geordie—inhabit some warriors’ afterlife consisting of endless battles and wandering? Would there be no peace?

Peace, the trout had whispered in his ear, back in the pool. Aye, but he had chosen revenge. If he could do it all over again…

Ah, and what would he do different? Refuse to avenge his father? Find a way to rescue his sister? Call off his campaign of revenge against Jeannie MacWherter?

Jeannie. A bright image of her flowed into his mind, and his poor heart bounded. If only he might see her one more time.

But he knew he would be granted no such miracle. The stone floor stretched cold at his back, and the bright sky yawned above, mocking him. He had prayed to that sky all night, each time Deirdre employed her blade, driven by the pain not in his flesh but his heart.

And now, when he heard those footsteps, he lacked the strength to lift his head. How much more could his sister hurt him?

The door of his prison, singed and half burned away, swung open upon three figures: Stuart Avrie, Deirdre, and—

Finnan lost what breath remained in his body. Nay, nay, nay—

With a violent shove, Stuart tossed her into the room, her loosed hair a golden flood of brightness, to land on the flagged floor beside him.

“A gift for you, Brother,” Deirdre called almost gaily. “Is it not generous of me? I will even afford you some time together, during which you can decide which of you will die first.” The two of them, Deirdre and Stuart Avrie, went out and the door of the prison banged shut behind them.

Finnan’s heart sank within him, so hard and fast it felt like a mortal injury. During the hours just past, he had not believed he could feel any more desperate. This one moment proved him wrong.

Jeannie had landed hard on the stones and slid. She lifted her head, and he gazed into the blue of her eyes, now darkened by pain.

“Nay,” he said again, aloud this time. Her cheek, scraped against the stone, showed a livid abrasion. Her left arm had received similar treatment. The front of her dress was soaked in blood, as were her hands and forearms.

Finnan gasped and choked out, “What ha’ they done to you?” If they had harmed her because of him…

He could not bear it.

Jeannie, his Jeannie, warm, sweet, and so welcoming beneath him. So loving…

Aye, and when had he given her his heart, this poor, stunted thing that even now took up a double rhythm, struggling to beat not only for him but for her? Geordie had been right: Finnan loved her; by all the gods, he always had. And so long as she lived, he must keep on living also.

For one blinding, wondrous moment nothing else mattered, not what had happened in the past nor whether they had a future together, just that she was with him now, his whole world beside him.

As if she heard his thoughts, her gaze kindled; she took light from what she saw in his eyes.

“Oh, Finnan, Finnan, thank God.”

On hands and knees, she crawled the short distance to reach him. He felt her hands touch his chest, careful for his wounds, saw tears flood her eyes. She should be angry with him—he knew that full well. He had hurt her in the worst way possible and by the most deliberate means he could find. But in her eyes he saw only love; in her touch he felt nothing else. Humility swamped him in a staggering wave. He did not deserve this woman’s heart. But gratitude followed the humility, deep and strong, for he could see he possessed it yet.

“What have they done to you?” she sobbed.

“Never mind that.” He could scarcely reply, his throat tight with emotion. “Jeannie, forgive me. Forgive me if you can. I know full well I ha’ not earned your forgiveness, just as I never earned your love. Not one thing has happened to me since I left your door that I did not deserve for how I used you. I know it. I know it full well.” He closed his eyes against one single rush of desire, to impart how he loved her. For he knew they had only moments, and those rushing like sand through the fingers of the gods.

She touched his face, the slightest brush of love, and his heart nearly burst within him. He opened his eyes, and they gazed at one another long.

Perhaps he did not need to tell her, after all. Perhaps the bond that had formed between them at some point even while he sought to hurt her—magical, unpreventable bond—let her feel everything that lay in his unworthy heart. She deserved better, far better. She deserved someone like Geordie, who understood softness, kindness, and the wisdom of choosing love. But he knew until his last breath she had his heart instead, a ragged, damaged gift, but hers completely.

She smiled, wobbly and trembling, through her tears. “Tell me I belong to you,” she bade him. “It is all I need to hear.”

“Like my breath,” he vowed to her, “like my heartbeat. Like everything I am or ever will be.”

“Then nothing can part us—not hard words or old anger.” Her lips trembled again. “Not death.”

“By all that is holy, Jeannie, I am sorry I brought this upon you—”

He got no further because she leaned forward then and covered his mouth with her own.

And what did he sense in that kiss? Her fear, aye, but also her certainty, and enough love to tear down the walls of this prison.

He knew then he had received an answer to his night-long prayers, far better than he deserved. He knew that in the midst of hatred, his heart had found peace.

Her lips left his, touched again very gently, and lingered. Her sweetness lifted and strengthened him. She raised her head once more, and her light flooded upon him.

“I love you, Finnan MacAllister.”

“I love you, Jeannie MacWherter. Faith, I did not know what love was until you came into my life.”

“Well, then.” The light that embraced him strengthened and united them. “I am complete.”

“Are you?” His lips twisted. “’Twould have been far better, love, had I admitted it before all this trouble came upon us. Where is Danny?”

The gladness in her eyes dimmed. “Caught, him and Aggie both. We made a bid to rescue you with the Dowager Avrie as captive. We failed.”

“That blood all over you”—his gaze caressed her, as his hands could not—“it is not your own?”

“The Dowager’s. We meant to exchange her for your freedom, Finnan. But she sacrificed herself, threw herself against Danny’s blade.” Darkness flickered in Jeannie’s eyes. “How well do you know her, Finnan?”

“I knew her all my life.”

“And did you know that she and your grandfather were lovers? That Gregor Avrie was his son, rather than her husband’s?” Jeannie licked her lips fretfully. “I think she may have been behind much of this trouble, Finnan. She believed Gregor entitled to an inheritance; I suspect she drove the men of her family to chase it.”

Surprise curled through Finnan, battering his already strained emotions. “That means the night he came to Dun Mhor”—the night Finnan’s world had fallen apart—“he slew his own half-brother.” Finnan’s anger stirred again. “And then wed his son to his half-niece.” And he, Finnan, had killed his own half-uncle, upon his return to the glen. Ah, the sorrow that had come from all the twisted desire, greed, and hate!

And no way out of it, now. But he had to find a way out of it, for the sake of this woman at his side.

“Jeannie, see if you can free me. We have not much time.” Deirdre’s cruel version of mercy would not extend long.

“How?” Desperately, she eyed the manacles that bound him. “It needs a key, Finnan.”

“See can you loosen the pegs from between the stones.” He had worked at just that during the brief intervals he had been alone, between Deirdre’s terrible visits, without success. But now he had much more for which to live.

Willingly she slid over the cold stone to reach his wrists. He heard the jangle of the chain as she pulled at it. “The hasps are pounded in tight.”

Aye, and surely Stuart Avrie would never have left Jeannie here if she had a hope of freeing him. He had rarely felt so helpless or, were he honest, so frightened—for Jeannie, if not himself.

“I ken so, but try,” he urged.

She did. She grunted and pulled with all her might, using her slender body as leverage. Finnan helped as best he might by pulling at the shackle, and felt the skin at his wrist tear, but to no avail.

She sat back on her heels and shook her head. Tears choked her voice when she said, “It is tight.”

Finnan thought desperately. “Do you think you can scale a wall and get out?”

She tipped her head up and examined the place. The shelving that had once housed books had burned and fallen away from the stone wall; most of the ceiling gaped open.

“Leave you, you mean?” Her gaze returned to his and locked on. Blood oozed slowly from her scraped cheek, but courage fairly illuminated her. Never had she looked so beautiful. “I will not.”

“Please, Jeannie, lass. For she will use you to hurt me.” Of all things, he could not bear to witness that.

“These walls are too high. And they will have men keeping watch outside.”

Aye, Deirdre would be canny, for she played a game with him. She wanted to see what he would do, whether he would sacrifice himself for Jeannie. He would, in an instant. But if he could not trust Deirdre and her husband, what would that serve?

“Listen to me, Jeannie. This was my Da’s room, the very place where he received his mortal wound. He always kept weapons about him. There must be something we can use.” He sent his thoughts reaching back over the years. “Go to the fireplace,” he told her, his voice a rasp. “Quickly now, before they come. There is a stone on the right hand—six down from the coat of arms. See?”

She scrambled up onto her feet, swayed where she stood. She crossed to the far wall, and he lost sight of her. “Where?”

“There is a loose stone. Draw it out. My father kept a cache of weapons.”

“I do not see—ah.” He heard her fumble. “It is too hard to pull out, Finnan. I do not think I can.”

“You must.”

Did she have strength enough? Not the kind required to move the stone, nay, but to use what she might find within. When they came, would she fight to save herself? He could hope for no more.

But he understood now what had prompted his mother’s actions on the night his father died. She had sent Finnan off, leaving her beloved daughter behind, because she knew she could go on if at least one of her children remained living. Finnan felt that way for Jeannie, now. So long as she drew breath, saw the sky over her head, beheld beauty…

“It has come loose,” she said with a new note in her voice. “There are weapons within.”