He ignored her every plea. Fin watched his brother approach and bit back the smirk on his lips.
“Let me down.”
Quiet, Tara.
Let me down, and I’ll be quiet.
He saw the image of her running away from him if he did as she asked. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Since when do you think?”
Duncan took the stares of his men and some of the jibes as he marched past them all. “Women,” was his only explanation.
Many laughed. Some rolled their eyes and went back to their tasks. Fin closed the doors to the Keep once Duncan had Tara inside.
He didn’t set her down until she was back in her room.
Her fury had calmed slightly, replaced by the humiliation of being carried around like a sack of potatoes. But she still dared him with her words.
“You have to sleep sometime. And when you do, I’ll make my way out of here, away from you.”
Her words sobered him, and the words of his brother rang in his ears. “You cannot leave. Maybe when you’ve calmed down, we can discuss the why, but right now you simply need to trust—”
“Trust? You want me to trust you?” She flopped down in a chair. “Ha.”
“I see you’re not ready to talk about this.”
“You think?”
Resigned with what he had to do in order to keep her there and safe, he walked to the door.
He glanced at her one last time before he left.
All she awarded him with was her profile.
Fin stood in the hall, smiled, and calmly handed Duncan a key.
The second they heard the loud noise of the lock sliding in place, they both learned how colorful Tara’s vocabulary could be.
He didn’t know which was worse, her wrathful vengeance or the silent misery he sensed when she realized she had no way out. He sat staring into his cup, thankful that after two full days and nights, she had finally ceased crying. How many times had he stopped himself from going to her in that time? He couldn’t count.
The ale he drank wasn’t potent enough to drown out her pain, pain overwhelming him in waves. He knew every time she cursed his name in her head, felt every insult she threw his way.
But of late he hadn’t heard her voice. And that worried him more.
Every hour since their handfasting, he felt her more, sensing her every need. Even if the maid hadn’t reported her activities, he knew what she did.
He knew she refused to eat the meals he sent her, knew she existed on only a few hours sleep every night.
His mother’s words stopped him from going to her when she went weak from hunger. Lora assured him Tara was drinking enough broth to survive, and told him she needed time to sort out her feelings. He risked her running away again if he cornered her now. And next time, he might not be able to stop her.
So instead of doing what he thought was best, he sat with his drink and, along with her, refused to eat.
Lora entered the room with little more than a whisper. Tara, dressed in the shorts and tank top, sat in a chair pulled over next to the window. Her legs were tucked under her, and her head rested on the tall back of the wooden chair. Her pale features worried Lora. It was time to pull Tara out of her depression.
She walked up behind her, yet Tara didn’t take notice. Nor did she notice when Lora set a tray of food down and took a seat.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Slowly, Tara moved her eyes, glanced over to her, and then continued to stare over the green rolling hills. “Yes.”
“Have you ever been to Scotland before?”
“No.”
Always patient, Lora gave pause between each question, each statement. “My sons tell me your California is hot and dry. This must be very different for you.”
“It is.”
Lora poured some tea and brought it to her.
When Tara took it out of politeness, but didn’t bring it to her lips, Lora thought it best to rile her enough to bring some fight back. She had overheard much of the argument Tara and Duncan had the first day.
The woman sitting in front of her resembled little of the fiery lady her son had brought home. “He is riddled with guilt.”
“Good.”
A spark. Lora sensed it. “If there was any other way he wouldn’t have brought you here.”
Tara sighed. “Mrs. MacCoinnich...”
“Call me Lora.”
“Lora, if you’ve come in here to defend your son, or his actions, you’re wasting your breath.” She sipped the tea with a trembling hand.
“I was quite angry at him when he told me his tale.” Lora brought the bread and cheese over and pulled her chair closer. “Duncan was always one to act on impulse, no matter how hard I tried to get him to think everything out more thoroughly.” She buttered the bread, handed Tara a piece, and broke off a small amount for herself.
“He certainly didn’t think this one out.” Tara absently nibbled on the bread in her hand.
Smiling, Lora went on, “Nay, he didn’t. What’s done is done however, and there is no way to reverse it.” “Are you sure?” Tara washed down her bread with more tea. “That there is no way I can go back?”
“Not safely. Your return would mean death to you.” Both of you, she thought.
Tara ate in silence and continued to stare out the window. Lora saw her watching children playing with a puppy in the distance.
“I had a life you know.” Her eyes swelled with tears. “I was almost finished with school. I was going to be a nurse. I shared an apartment with my best friend, Cassy. We were going to celebrate our graduation by going to Europe. Cassy will think I’m dead. She’ll blame herself for convincing me to go to the Ren’ fair.”
Tara wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Oh, God,” she sobbed. “I was going to help my sister who is raising my nephew by herself. Help her, so she could go back to school.” A choking sob burst from her lips.
Lora placed a gentle hand over Tara’s in a form of comfort in her grief.
Grief for a life she would never live.
Grief for the family she would never see again.
Chapter 11
Light. Searing bright light pummeled the back of her eyelids. She lifted her hand shielding the rays from hitting her full force.
Lora’s voice filled the room as much as the sunshine. “It is the most beautiful of days, Tara. In fact I don’t think I’ve seen one much better.” She stood by the drapes she had pulled open.
Lora came to the edge of the bed and sat. Tara whipped her hand across her face trying to shake the sleep from her head. She’d slept peacefully. Better than any of the other four nights since she’d arrived.