Unable to speak, Angus stared at Anya with his mouth agape. If only he could drown himself in the cup of whisky sitting before him rather than look this woman in the eye.
She drew a trembling hand to her chest. “Have ye nothing to say?”
“I…ah…” Angus glanced to the folded missive from the king sitting at his right. Damnation, he’d never felt like such a heel. And yet, when it came to Anya, he had never practiced so much restraint. Most times when he wanted a woman, he wooed her, bedded her, and moved on. But everything had been different with this Irish rose.
He felt different when he was with her. Aye, he wanted her to his very bones. He ached for her. Yet she had never been his to woo.
And now she’d gone and pledged her affection. Uttered the very words that had been on the tip of his tongue for weeks.
He mustn’t lose sight of the fact that Anya O’Cahan had planned to wed another before she was torn away from her life. And heaven knew she hadn’t been gone so long Lord O’Doherty would have moved on.
Angus swiped a hand across his mouth. He needed to tell the truth. He owed her at least that, and there was no gentler way than to have out with it. “I have been ordered to take ye to live at the monastery in the north.”
The hand at her chest slid to her throat as an expression of stunned disbelief filled her eyes. “Nay.”
“On that we are agreed.” Angus thrust to his feet, turned away and braced his hands on the mantel. He was incapable of taking her to Orkney, yet the woman could no longer remain at Dunyvaig. If the English laid siege to the fortress because of her, he would never hear the end of it.
And he hadn’t forgotten the war, nor had he forgotten the promises he’d made to the King of Scots and his duty to the kingdom as well as his clan, his kin, and the brother who had given his life to protect the lordship.
“I beg your pardon?” Anya whispered. “Ye would subvert an order from your king?”
Little did she know that the war trumped all, even an order to ship her to Eynhallow. Aye, it was a risk to take her to Carrickfergus, and doing so would surely have its repercussions, but a slight disobedience would most likely be overlooked if Angus proved his worth on the battlefield. “It is I who must face Robert in due course. But I have made my decision. It is time for ye to return to the life ye had afore ye stowed away on my boat. Ye must go now, whilst there’s still time to pick up where ye left off.”
The silence filling the air was enough to slay him.
Angus faced her and set his jaw. He was no stranger to delivering bad news. He was no stranger to pain and suffering, but what he was about to say had his gut tied in knots and his heart crushed in an iron vise. “Our destinies are at odds, lass. No matter how well we may get along, ye are promised to another. Ye must return to the life ye were meant to live.”
“Oh,” she whispered, as a scarlet flush spread across her entire face. “I-I have been so utterly foolish. Ye must think me nothing but a silly goose!”
As she stood and dashed for the door, her chair clattered to the floorboards.
“Anya.” Angus hastened after her, tripping over the blasted chair. “Wait!”
“Leave me alone,” she shouted, slamming the door in his face.
Stopping abruptly, Angus stared at the timbers, wanting to run after her but knowing he must not. He was damned to hell no matter what, and Lord knew the Bruce would also take his pound of flesh. But as far as Anya O’Cahan was concerned, she did not deserve to spend the prime of her life laboring in a monastery, barely surviving on a meager diet of gruel and broth.
And so be it. Angus had made his decision. He would face his king and bear the Bruce’s ire, knowing the lass was safe and content. Anya would marry and raise bairns that would be as spontaneous and imaginative as their mother. She deserved to be happy. She deserved to be worshipped and loved.
With a love I cannot possibly give.
Aye, Angus had just been ordered to sail into battle. And this time he would lead the charge. There was every chance he would not live through this year. How could he be so selfish as to pledge his adoration when his days were numbered?
He knew his time was nigh. His father was killed in battle, as was his brother.
The vise clamping his heart tightened enough to make the appendage bleed. Angus staggered to his chair and guzzled the remaining whisky. Then he turned and threw the cup at the hearth, making the pottery shatter.
He gritted his teeth against his urge to bellow. Through the blur of the water in his eyes, Anya’s drawing danced as if the charcoaled lines were swimming. Angus grabbed the flask and took a healthy swig before he paged through the rest.
God. On the bloody. Cross.
Not only were they beautifully rendered, she had captured the essence of his expressions in every last one. It was as if he were looking into a mirror.
Heaven help him, if he traveled to the corners of Christendom, he would never find another woman as astonishing as this Irish rose.
The sun shone low in the western sky as Anya shaded her eyes and stared at the horizon, dreading her first sight of her beloved Ireland’s verdant shore. It wouldn’t be long now, though the MacDonald crew were waiting for dark before they sailed within sight of Carrickfergus Bay.
During the voyage, Anya had remained in the bow of the birlinn, unable to bring herself to look at Angus while he manned the tiller. She had foolishly bared her soul to him, thinking he returned her feelings in kind. But she had been ever so incredibly naïve. She’d thought him kind and generous. He’d made her believe he was not the monster her kin had reputed him to be.
How wrong could she have been? Fairhair was as black-hearted as the self-proclaimed king who had imprisoned her in the first place. And now she rued the day she had stolen into his boat.
I wish I’d never seen his face or allowed him to give me comfort on the Isle of Nave. I wish I hadn’t gone to the Oa with him or awakened to find him beside my bed when I suffered from winter fever.
I am nothing but a fool! I opened my heart to a man who is incapable of love. A man who chooses battle over all else. Worse, the very brother of the scoundrel who killed my father!
By the time darkness fell and Islay gave the order to tack into the harbor, Anya was in such a lather, she wanted to leap into the icy sea and swim for the pier. But doubtless, His Lordship would dive in after her in a display of ill-begotten heroism.
The castle loomed against the moonlit sky, growing more ominous as the birlinn approached, cutting through the waves with a gentle rush.
“Furl the sail and take up the oars,” Angus ordered, his tone commanding but no louder than necessary.
Anya wrapped her arms across her midriff and waited in silence until they reached the pier. One of the men hopped out and secured a rope around a mooring cleat. Angus disembarked, strode to the bow, and offered his hand. “Allow me to assist ye.”
“I am perfectly able to alight on my own,” she said, climbing onto the bench.
His meaty hand secured her elbow. “That may be so, but I would be no gentleman if I stood idle and watched.”
Such was the lot of women. Men were able to do whatever they pleased, but the poor females were seen as weak and unable to help themselves. Anya stepped onto the pier and started off, but Angus didn’t release his grip on her arm. “Ye’re not thinking of leaving without bidding me farewell?”