I had to get out of there. That was the only half-coherent thought in my head, and I clung to it. I had to leave. I couldn’t stay, not with Laoghaire and her daughters in the house. They belonged there—I didn’t.
I managed to tie up the garters this time, do up the laces of the dress, fasten the multiple hooks of the overskirt, and find my shoes. One was under the washstand, the other by the massive oak armoire, where I had kicked them the night before, dropping my clothes carelessly anywhere in my eagerness to crawl into the welcoming bed and nestle warmly in Jamie’s arms.
I shivered. The fire had gone out again, and there was an icy draft from the window. I felt chilled to the bone, despite my clothes.
I wasted some time in searching for my cloak before realizing that it was downstairs; I had left it in the parlor the day before. I pushed my fingers through my hair, but was too upset to look for a comb. The strands crackled with electricity from having the woolen dress pulled over my head, and I slapped irritably at the floating hairs that stuck to my face.
Ready. Ready as I’d be, at least. I paused for one last look around, then heard footsteps coming up the stair.
Not fast and light, like the last ones. These were heavier, and slow, deliberate. I knew without seeing him that it was Jamie coming—and that he wasn’t anxious to see me.
Fine. I didn’t want to see him, either. Better just to leave at once, without speaking. What was there to say?
I backed away as the door opened, unaware that I was moving, until my legs hit the edge of the bed. I lost my balance and sat down. Jamie paused in the doorway, looking down at me.
He had shaved. That was the first thing I noticed. In echo of Young Ian the day before, he had hastily shaved, brushed his hair back and tidied himself before facing trouble. He seemed to know what I was thinking; the ghost of a smile passed over his face, as he rubbed his freshly scraped chin.
“D’ye think it will help?” he asked.
I swallowed, and licked dry lips, but didn’t answer. He sighed, and answered himself.
“No, I suppose not.” He stepped into the room and closed the door. He stood awkwardly for a moment, then moved toward the bed, one hand extended toward me. “Claire—”
“Don’t touch me!” I leapt to my feet and backed away, circling toward the door. His hand fell to his side, but he stepped in front of me, blocking the way.
“Will ye no let me explain, Claire?”
“It seems to be a little late for that,” I said, in what I meant to be a cold, disdainful tone. Unfortunately, my voice shook.
He pushed the door shut behind him.
“Ye never used to be unreasonable,” he said quietly.
“And don’t tell me what I used to be!” The tears were much too near the surface, and I bit my lip to hold them back.
“All right.” His face was very pale; the scratches Laoghaire had given him showed as three red lines, livid down his cheek.
“I dinna live with her,” he said. “She and the girls live at Balriggan, over near Broch Mordha.” He watched me closely, but I said nothing. He shrugged a little, settling the shirt on his shoulders, and went on.
“It was a great mistake—the marriage between us.”
“With two children? Took you a while to realize, didn’t it?” I burst out. His lips pressed tight together.
“The lassies aren’t mine; Laoghaire was a widow wi’ the two bairns when I wed her.”
“Oh.” It didn’t make any real difference, but still, I felt a small wave of something like relief, on Brianna’s behalf. She was the sole child of Jamie’s heart, at least, even if I—
“I’ve not lived wi’ them for some time; I live in Edinburgh, and send money to them, but—”
“You don’t need to tell me,” I interrupted. “It doesn’t make any difference. Let me by, please—I’m going.”
The thick, ruddy brows drew sharply together.
“Going where?”
“Back. Away. I don’t know—let me by!”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” he said definitely.
“You can’t stop me!”
He reached out and grabbed me by both arms.
“Aye, I can,” he said. He could; I jerked furiously, but couldn’t budge the iron grip on my biceps.
“Let go of me this minute!”
“No, I won’t!” He glared at me, eyes narrowed, and I suddenly realized that calm as he might seem outwardly, he was very nearly as upset as I was. I saw the muscles of his throat move as he swallowed, controlling himself enough to speak again.
“I willna let ye go until I’ve explained to ye, why…”
“What is there to explain?” I demanded furiously. “You married again! What else is there?”
The color was rising in his face; the tips of his ears were already red, a sure sign of impending fury.
“And have you lived a nun for twenty years?” he demanded, shaking me slightly. “Have ye?”
“No!” I flung the word at his face, and he flinched slightly. “No, I bloody haven’t! And I don’t think you’ve been a monk, either—I never did!”
“Then—” he began, but I was much too furious to listen anymore.
“You lied to me, damn you!”
“I never did!” The skin was stretched tight over his cheekbones, as it was when he was very angry indeed.
“You did, you bastard! You know you did! Let go!” I kicked him sharply in the shin, hard enough to numb my toes. He exclaimed in pain, but didn’t let go. Instead, he squeezed harder, making me yelp.
“I never said a thing to ye—”
“No, you didn’t! But you lied, anyway! You let me think you weren’t married, that there wasn’t anyone, that you—that you—” I was half-sobbing with rage, gasping between words. “You should have told me, the minute I came! Why in hell didn’t you tell me?” His grip on my arms slackened, and I managed to wrench myself free. He took a step toward me, eyes glittering with fury. I wasn’t afraid of him; I drew back my fist and hit him in the chest.
“Why?” I shrieked, hitting him again and again and again, the sound of the blows thudding against his chest. “Why, why, why!”
“Because I was afraid!” He got hold of my wrists and threw me backward, so I fell across the bed. He stood over me, fists clenched, breathing hard.
“I am a coward, damn you! I couldna tell ye, for fear ye would leave me, and unmanly thing that I am, I thought I couldna bear that!”
“Unmanly? With two wives? Ha!”
I really thought he would slap me; he raised his arm, but then his open palm clenched into a fist.
“Am I a man? To want you so badly that nothing else matters? To see you, and know I would sacrifice honor or family or life itself to lie wi’ you, even though ye’d left me?”
“You have the filthy, unmitigated, bleeding gall to say such a thing to me?” My voice was so high, it came out as a thin and vicious whisper. “You’ll blame me?”
He stopped then, chest heaving as he caught his breath.
“No. No, I canna blame you.” He turned aside, blindly. “How could it have been your fault? Ye wanted to stay wi’ me, to die with me.”