Hadn’t enough words already been exchanged?
“Come, where the men won’t hear,” he said, urging her along the pier.
When he stopped, she cast her gaze to the center of his chest. “Do ye expect me to thank ye for keeping me captive for two months?”
“Nay,” he said, his voice gravelly. “I fear I was insensitive last eve and I’ve hurt ye.”
“’Tis for the best. Our destinies are at odds. Is that not what you said?”
“I should not have been so brash. I… Damn,” he cursed. “I am not good at making amends, but I want ye to ken I wish for your happiness, and I would face an army of archers afore I let ye waste your youth in a poor monastery, working your fingers to the bone.”
God help her, Anya looked into his eyes. Shaded by moonglow, he appeared dark and dangerous and far too fetching. Before her knees turned to mushy peas, and before she humiliated herself by grasping his hands to her breast and begging him to take her away to a land where they could start anew, she shook her head. “Then I am grateful to be home, my lord. Fare thee well.”
“Anya,” he whispered, gripping her fingers between his palms. “I do not want to part with hostilities between us.”
Her eyes stung as the Lord of Islay dropped to a knee and kissed the back of her hand. “I wish we had met in a different place in a different time, mo leannan. I do care deeply for ye.”
As a tear dibbled onto her cheek, Angus released her and strode back to the boat. Unable to move while she held in the sobs wracking her body, she forced herself not to call after him. Not to declare her love. If only she were able to put her charcoal to work and draw the anger she’d built on the voyage across the sea. But Fairhair had utterly disarmed her with a mere kiss applied to the back of her hand. Those blasted lips had taken her ire and turned it into ash floating about in her soul.
As she watched the men row away from the pier, Angus stood beside his tiller, his hand raised as he bid farewell.
Forever.
Oh God in heaven, why must it hurt so badly to say goodbye?
When the boat was but a dot in the black abyss of the sea, Anya wiped her face and looked to the tower. No, Carrickfergus was not her home, but she had lived there for seven years. It was unusually odd to return, akin to being a stranger in a place that was once familiar. What ought she say to the earl? What will he think after all this time? She’d been so upset with Angus, she hadn’t thought as to what might happen next.
Gathering her wits, Anya walked toward the sea gate. “Guards!” she shouted. “’Tis Anya O’Cahan, returned from the grip of Robert the Bruce.”
Marshalled into the hall by a retinue of guards, the warmth inside blasted her face as if someone were holding a torch close enough to burn. The noise from the crowd ebbed to a low murmur as they escorted her along the aisle and toward the dais steps.
At one end of the high table, Finovola caught Anya’s eye first. Her sister gasped, then exchanged glances with Lord Chahir O’Doherty, who sat beside her.
Anya’s mind raced. She hadn’t expected to see His Lordship. Had he remained at Carrickfergus since Saint Valentine’s Day? Surely, everyone had thought the worst. Even as Anya continued forward, she felt as if she’d returned from the dead. Bucking up her courage, she painted on a feigned smile, giving her sister a nod as she approached the lord and lady of the castle.
“Praises to Mother Mary and Joseph,” said the countess.
“Anya?” asked Ulster. “We thought we’d lost ye forever, child.”
She sank into a deep curtsey. “I fear I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The day Robert the Bruce came to ask for your assistance, I was beyond the sea gate. Upon hearing the battle, I sought refuge in what I thought was a fisherman’s boat—”
“And there was a fierce storm that eve,” said the earl. “When my search parties turned up with no news, we feared ye had fallen victim to the tempest.”
“Forgive me. There was no opportunity to send word. I was held as a prisoner—intended to be used as collateral for negotiations in Elizabeth’s return.”
“Did ye escape?” asked Her Ladyship.
Anya bit down on her lip. “I was released.”
“Released? That seems rather odd.” The earl rested his eating knife on his plate. “Ye were released by whom?”
“Angus Og MacDonald, Lord of Islay.”
Along the table, Finovola again gasped.
Ulster sprang to his feet. “Is Fairhair here? Guards!”
“Nay. His Lordship’s birlinn is long gone,” Anya said, stepping forward. Unless she explained everything, her guardian might set sail and attack Dunyvaig come dawn. Steeling her resolve, she told them about the shipwreck, omitting the incident when she flagged the English ship. She told them about Robert the Bruce declaring her a political prisoner and his plans to send her to a monastery somewhere in the north of Scotland. She explained that it had been the Dowager Lady Islay’s idea for her to remain at the castle, yet she said nothing of Angus, or of the kind treatment she’d received.
“Thank the good Lord ye have been returned to us at last. We shall discuss these matters further come the morrow,” said Ulster, gesturing toward Finovola’s side of the table. “Sit. Eat.”
Anya’s stomach was tied in so many knots, the last thing she wanted to do was eat. “Thank ye, my lord, but I would rather retire for the evening if you please.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Finovola.
As she began to rise, Lord O’Doherty quickly hopped to his feet and held the lass’ chair. “Miss Anya, allow me to say it brings me much comfort to see ye are well.”
She curtsied politely, wondering if he would want to recommence negotiations for their betrothal, though trying not to care. “Thank you, my lord.”
When her sister wrapped her hands around Anya’s arm, it was the first time she allowed herself to take a deep breath.
“I am so relieved to see ye safely home,” said Finovola. “I cannot tell ye how many nights I cried myself to sleep.”
“I’m so very sorry. I had no way of sending ye the letters I wrote.” Anya leaned into the lass as they ascended the stairs. “I knew ye would worry the most.”
When she opened the door to the chamber the sisters shared, everything on her side was in its place as she remembered it, yet moving inside was surreal, as if she belonged there no more. “And how have ye fared, my dearest?”
“Aside from worrying about ye, things…” Finovola picked up a doll from Anya’s bed and toyed with the lace on the collar. “Things have changed little.”
“I figured ye would have told Ulster about my alcove.”
“How could I not? That was the first place we looked.”
“I dropped the key and was unable to enter through the cellar gate.”
“Aye, we found it. Needless to say, our guardian has replaced the lock with something far sturdier.”
“Unfortunate.”
“Do not tell me after your ordeal ye would deign to slip beyond the castle walls ever again.”
No, Anya’s sister would never do anything to subvert their guardian’s authority, but even after everything that had happened, Anya could not imagine always being trapped inside. And though she had been guarded by Rory, her ever-present wolfhound, she hadn’t really felt trapped at Dunyvaig. “I suppose not.”