Page 82 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
Rowan let the insult slide. “There is food and drink waitin’ at the keep. The cèilidh will begin once we return from the hunt.”
“I would rather be at me own castle,” Kerr said. “I would rather be anywhere than here, breaking bread with a man who took what was meant to be mine. But me council insisted I come. They said it would look bad if I stayed away. They said the other lairds would talk, would wonder why I wasnae there, would assume I was sulking in me keep like a child who had lost his favorite toy.”
“And are ye?” Rowan asked. “Sulkin’?”
Kerr’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Rowan thought he had pushed too far. But then Kerr let out a short, sharp laugh that held no humor.
“Me pride was hurt,” Kerr admitted. “I willnae deny it. I had been told that the Sinclair alliance was mine. I had made plans based on that understanding. And then suddenly, without warning, it was gone. Taken by a man I had never even met.”
“The alliance was offered to me,” Rowan said. “I didnae steal it. I didnae scheme or plot or maneuver behind yer back. CallanSinclair came to me and asked if I would consider marryin’ his sister, and I agreed. That is all.”
“Ye expect me to believe that?”
“I daenae care what ye believe.” Rowan’s voice was calm and steady, though his patience was wearing thin. “I am tellin’ ye the truth. What ye do with it is yer own business.”
Kerr stared at him for a long moment, and then he dismounted. His boots hit the ground hard, and he walked toward Rowan with his hands loose at his sides and his expression unreadable.
“The truth?” he scoffed, stopping a few feet away. “Ye want to talk about the truth? Fine. Let us talk about the truth. The truth is that I didnae want to marry yer wife. I didnae want to marry any woman. I have never wanted to marry. But me council kept pressin’ the matter. They wanted the alliance. They wanted the Sinclair lands, the Sinclair men, and the Sinclair name. I wanted none of it.”
“Then why were ye so angry when the betrothal fell through?”
Kerr’s hands curled into fists at his sides, and his face flushed. “Because it made me look weak. It made me look like a man who couldnae hold onto what had been promised to him. Because every laird in the Highlands heard the story and laughed behind their hands and said, ‘There goes the Mad Laird, losin’ yet another battle he didnae even ken he was fighting.’”
Rowan studied his face, looking for the lie, looking for the tell that would betray him. But all he saw was a man who was telling the truth, a man who was too angry to lie and too proud to hide behind false words.
“Ye think I wanted to marry her?” Kerr continued, his voice rising with each word. “Ye think I cared about some woman I had never met, with her blue eyes and her fair hair and her reputation for being steady and calm? I didnae care about her. I didnae care about any of it. I only cared about how it would look when they took her away from me and gave her to ye.”
“Then ye didnae try to kill her.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Kerr’s eyes narrowed. “Kill her? What are ye talkin’ about?”
“Someone tried to poison me wife.” Rowan’s voice was cold now, hard, stripped of all pretense. “Someone soaked blocks of wood in wolfsbane and left them in her chambers, knowing she would carve them and breathe the dust and die slowly, without raising suspicion. The wood came from yer lands. Wolfsbane grows thick near yer castle. Everyone kens it. Everyone kens ye drink small amounts to harden yerself against it.”
Kerr stared at him, and for a moment, he said nothing. His face went pale, then red, then pale again. His hands trembled at his sides, and his chest rose and fell with each breath.
“Ye think I did this.” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “Ye think I tried to kill yer wife because she married ye instead of me.”
“I think ye had reason to be angry,” Rowan replied. “I think ye had reason to want revenge. And I think that a man called the Mad Laird might nae balk at the idea of poisonin’ a woman he had never met.”
Kerr’s face twisted, and for a moment, Rowan thought he might strike him. But then Kerr stepped back and shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with something that sounded like exhaustion.
“I didnae try to kill yer wife,” he said. “I didnae try to kill anyone. Aye, I was angry. Aye, I wanted to burn yer castle to the ground when I first heard the news. I wanted to ride north with all me men and make ye watch as I destroyed everythin’ ye had built. But I didnae do any of that. I stayed in me own lands, and I drank me own whisky, and I let me council talk me into attending yer cèilidh like a good little laird.”
Rowan held his gaze, searching for the lie. “Then who did it?”
“I daenae ken.” Kerr’s voice cracked. “I daenae ken, and I daenae care. All I ken is that it wasnae me. I would never harm a woman. I have done many things I am nae proud of, but I have never raised me hand against a woman, and I have never tried to kill one.”
The words landed in Rowan’s chest and settled there. He looked at Kerr’s face, at the anger and the hurt and the desperate need to be believed, and he felt something shift inside him.
“I believe ye,” he said. “About the poisoning. I believe ye didnae do it.”
Kerr blinked, the surprise on his face genuine. “Ye believe me?”
“Aye.” Rowan hauled back on his reins, his massive horse sidestepping in the damp earth as he turned the beast away. “But if I find out that ye are lying, I will come back. And I willnae come back with questions.”
Kerr did not answer. He stood in the middle of the glen with his fists still clenched and his chest still heaving, and he watched as Rowan mounted his horse and gathered the reins in his hands.
