The Striker Read online

  Even in the growing darkness she could see the small frown on her son’s face. “I don’t like surprises.”

  So much like his father . . .

  Her chest squeezed, trying not to think about how much it hurt. She could do this. She’d done it before, hadn’t she?

  “I know, but I hope you shall like this one.” Turning around and seeing that the tower had faded from view, she decided they were far enough away. The anchorage point was just on the other side of the islet of Eilean Orasaig in the bay. “How would you like to see your favorite uncle?”

  “Uncle Duncan?” the boy asked excitedly. “Here?” He frowned and looked up at her with a furrowed brow. “Has he decided to fight for the bloody usurper, too?”

  Margaret winced, realizing the short time on Kererra had not wiped away all traces of her father’s anger. “Nay. He’s with your grandfather and the rest of your uncles on the Isle of Man. But he’s come to take us for a visit.”

  He stopped, letting his hand fall from hers. “But what about . . . what about my father?”

  She knelt down to face him. Over his shoulder the sun flattened on the horizon. It was almost dusk. She knew how confusing this must be to him—it was confusing to her—but she vowed she would do whatever it took to see that Eachann was not hurt by her decision. Even if it meant she had to be apart from him sometimes—God help her. “You may come back and see him whenever you wish, but I—” Her voice dropped off. What could she say? “I can’t stay here any longer.”

  She couldn’t be half a wife—even for her son. She wanted to share Eoin’s life, not merely be a part of it. But the secrets between them from the first were still there.

  Eachann’s face drew so serious she wanted to squeeze him tight and never let him go. “Doesn’t he want us anymore?”

  She threw her arms around him and gave him a fierce hug. “Of course he does, sweetheart. He wants you very much.”

  “Then why are we running away?”

  “We aren’t—” She stopped, staring at him. He was right. She was running away. Just like before. Maybe they were doomed to repeat their mistakes after all. All of them.

  She was trying to figure out what to say when she was saved by a dot of white in the distance. A sail. She stood and took his hand. “Come, son, we must hurry. Your uncle is here.”

  Eoin was too late. They were gone.

  He’d raced up the tower staircase to the room he shared with Margaret, only to find it dark and empty. He didn’t need to look in the antechamber to know that Eachann was gone as well.

  It felt like a stone wall had crashed down on him as he realized everything he’d lost. It was like the last time, when he’d come home to realize she was gone, except maybe even more devastating. He’d lost his wife and his son.

  They’d fled and it didn’t take him long to realize how: her brother. Eoin had been so angry about the failed trap he hadn’t asked her the details of how her brother planned to “rescue” her. He must have planned to pick her up on the way back from Appin—today.

  A quick questioning of the guards on duty at the gate told him he was right. The lady and the wee laddie had left over an hour ago for a short walk to the village. Not the village in reality, Eoin knew, but one of the other anchorages on the isle. There were three, including the one at the castle. The one on the northwest side opposite Oban would be too busy—even at this hour—but the one on the east side of the isle would be easily accessible for a ship of marauding MacDowells sailing down the Firth of Lorn who wouldn’t want to draw a lot of attention.

  The anchorage was a short walk. Twenty—thirty—minutes at the most. If they’d left over an hour ago, he knew they were likely long gone. But he had to make sure. Knowing it would be fastest to ride, he started toward the stable when someone blocked his path.

  “She’s gone,” Fin said.

  It took everything Eoin had not to kill him. Only the fact that Fin was married to his sister prevented his grandfather and namesake’s fabled battle-axe from coming down across his head. But still, his hand itched to reach to his side and pull it from the strap.

  Not cognizant of the imminent danger, Fin added, “I saw her and the boy boarding a ship by the dock at Bar-nam-boc.”

  Eoin took a threatening step toward him, his hands fisting at his sides. He’d never wanted to strike someone so badly. “And you did nothing to stop them?”

  Fin shrugged, obviously mistaking the source of the threat that he was too good of a warrior to have missed. “I figured it was for the best. She betrayed you again. The traitorous bitch is better off gone with her kin.”

  “Don’t you mean better off gone where I won’t discover the truth?”

  Fin’s confidence slipped, but only for a moment. He did, however, straighten from his relaxed stance into something slightly more defensive. “You know the truth.”

  “Aye, I do,” Eoin said darkly, his muscles tensing as he took a step closer.

  “I told you about her brother Duncan being here on Gylen.”

  “You did,” Eoin said, seething. “But you neglected to mention that you were the one who told him my plans. You were in the barn, weren’t you?”

  It was the only explanation, and the one Eoin hadn’t considered when he’d been so focused on condemning his wife. Someone had overheard them. It was his fault, damn it. He’d been in a rush and hadn’t checked.

  Fin hesitated. He seemed to be weighing whether to lie. Apparently recognizing the futility, he just shrugged again. As if it were nothing. As if his betrayal hadn’t cost Eoin everything. “Fortuitously outside the window. I saw you come back and decided to stay.”

  “So you spied on me and decided to betray me?” Eoin couldn’t contain his rage. He slammed him up against the stone wall of the barmkin. “I trusted you. You were like a brother to me.”

  Fin’s expression slipped, revealing anger and bitterness that must have been simmering for years.

  “Were like brothers, until you married her. Married her!” He scoffed with disbelief. “You surprised me. With all those rumors going around . . . I never thought you would be the knight-errant type to ride into her rescue.”

  It took Eoin a moment to realize what he meant. “It was you. You started the rumors about what happened in the library.”

  Fin didn’t bother denying it. “It was no more than she deserved. The lass was shameless and totally wrong for you. But you didn’t see it.” His mouth hardened. “But I never spied on you. I was curious, and I thought she was trying to have you send me away after what Marjory did. I would never have said anything, but when I saw MacDowell the next day . . .”

  “You decided to take advantage of it, knowing I would blame Margaret, is that it?” Opportunistic bastard. Fin had done the same thing in the war. Eoin had made excuses for him, but he wouldn’t do so any longer. He held him up by the scruff like the dog he was and shook him. “Men were killed. Good men. I could have been killed, damn it. All so you could take out your misguided hatred on a woman who would have been a friend to you, if you’d given her a chance?”

  “Friendship?” Fin sneered, ignoring the hand that was squeezing around his neck. “I didn’t want her friendship. I just wanted to fuck her.” Eoin’s fist slammed into Fin’s jaw before the offending words had even left his mouth. Blood ran down his foster brother’s chin as he smiled. “She must be as good as she looks, for her to have turned you against me so quickly.”

  Eoin was barely listening. He was too busy pummeling his former friend with everything he had. The face. The gut. The ribs. It took him a minute to realize Fin wasn’t fighting back. He was bent over, half on his knees.

  The blood was still pounding through Eoin’s veins as he leaned over him, holding him upright by the edge of his cotun, his fist poised for one last blow. “She never tried to turn me against you. She didn’t need to. You did all that by yourself when you attacked her.”

  Fin’s eyes turned black with rage. “Aye, but it’s cost me, hasn’t it? That