The Striker by Monica McCarty

Author:Monica McCarty
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Pocket Books

15

MARGARET LOST sense of time. She didn’t know how long she sat at the base of the tree sobbing. A minute? Two? Ten? But suddenly Brigid was there.

“Maggie! Thank goodness, here you are! Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

Margaret lifted her head and met her friend’s gaze in the moonlight.

Brigid paled, her eyes widening in horror. She raced forward to kneel beside her. “Dear God in heaven, what has happened?”

Margaret blinked through the tears of her swollen eyes and shook her head, her throat too tight to respond.

“Did Tristan do this to you?” Brigid said. “I was worried when I saw him come back to the castle without you in such a temper. Oh God, please tell me my brother didn’t force you?”

Only then did Margaret realize the state of her clothes. She hadn’t tied the laces of her gown where Eoin had loosened them, and she probably bore his mark where he’d ravaged her mouth and throat with his kiss. Following the direction of Brigid’s gaze, she looked down and saw the scratch low on her bodice that must have been from his beard.

She shook her head. “N-not T-Tristan.”

Margaret could see the relief on her friend’s face, before it hardened into steel. “Then who? Who did this to you? We must get back to the castle to tell your father.”

Margaret grasped at her to prevent her from standing. “No,” she said. “No, you mustn’t.”

“Of course we must. The fiend might still be in the area.”

“No, Brigid. I mean it. You can’t,” she said frantically. “It isn’t what you think. They can’t know . . .”

Margaret stopped, not wanting to say too much. Eoin might have broken her heart, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to die for it.

She forced herself to stand, though her legs wobbled, and tried to compose herself. Her friend watched her every move, as Margaret did what she could with her appearance.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Brigid asked. “Your husband. He’s the one who did this to you. He’s the one you are trying to protect.”

Margaret tried to deny it, but she was a horrible liar, and Brigid knew her too well. In the end she was forced to admit it, or Brigid swore she would go right to Margaret’s father. “But you must swear to say nothing, Brigid—not to anyone. It might be over, but I still love him.” Hot tears filled her eyes again. “It’s over, Brige. It’s really over.”

Her friend enfolded her in her embrace and did her best to console her. But Brigid could not put back together what had been shattered.

“Are you sure?” Brigid asked.

There was something in her friend’s gaze that Margaret didn’t understand. An intensity—a vehemence—with which she asked her question.

Margaret nodded. “Aye. I’m sure.” Her voice caught with a sob. “He doesn’t want me.”

Once again she was enfolded in her friend’s arms. Brigid squeezed and rocked her back and forth. “Then he’s a fool, Maggie Beag, and he doesn’t deserve you. Maybe . . . maybe a definitive end will be best.

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