Miranda by Susan Wiggs

this in years.
    A man with gray hair and beard shuffled forward. “Is that truly Ian MacVane and his betrothed, then?” he asked in Gaelic.
    A number of the villagers still had only the Gaelic, and to Ian’s ears it lilted like a lullaby. For Miranda’s sake he spoke in English. “Aye, this is Miss Miranda Stonecypher.” He told himself he had no reason to smile, but he grinned like the village simpleton. “Soon to be my wife.”
    Duffie had done his work quickly and well; none of the people looked surprised by the news. Tam Alexander, who operated the ferry across Lock Fingan, nodded sagely. “They always come back to marry, eh?”
    â€œShe’s a bonnie thing, isn’t she?” a woman observed.
    Ian scanned the crowd, spying the small figure, the wizened face. “Agnes.”
    She held open her arms. “Come here, laddie, and bring the lassie with you. Lord, but it’s been an age.” She embraced them both with her sturdy arms. “I’ve waited years for this day,” she whispered, for their ears only. “How I’ve waited, Ian! Waited for you to find love, to find someone to live in your heart.”
    He gave her a squeeze and stepped back. In all the eventful years of his life, he had done many unspeakable things, but this was quite possibly the worst. Duffie had done his work too well, filling Agnes’s head with romantic notions of a love match. Ian should set her straight. But when he saw the joy and pride in her kindly face, he could not bring himself to deny it.
    Miranda kept hold of the older woman’s hand. “It is fine to be here, Agnes.”
    â€œAnd Duffie told me much about you, mo chridh . If it’s healing you need, you’ll find it in the love Ian bears you.”
    They were all listening, Ian noticed. The villagers who had shaken their heads and wrung their hands over the destruction of the MacVane family now nodded to one another and murmured words of hope, of faith. Two things he had lost the day Adder had dragged him away.
    Clearly Agnes still believed these were things that could be recaptured. Ian glanced at Miranda—she looked flushed and lovely amid all the attention—and he wanted to believe it, too.
    â€œThere, Agnes,” he said with a cocky grin. “We’re not an hour off the boat and you’re getting sentimental on us.”
    She laughed softly. “Aye, I’ll save it, then, for the wed—”
    A hoarse screech rent the air. The townspeople reacted with discomfited sympathy, stepping back, exchanging glances.
    â€œGood gracious!” Miranda looked around wildly. “Someone’s been hurt.”
    He felt a dull horror in his gut. Someone had been hurt, aye, but it had happened long ago. He took Miranda by the arm. “Dinna worry, love—” He broke off, feeling helpless and furious as every eye in the village watched him.
    â€œWe’d best be going, then.” Tam touched Ian’s shoulder. “’Tis good to see you back, lad, and on such a happy occasion.”
    Others murmured their farewells, but the words were drowned by the ragged roar of a tormented soul. People drifted away to go about their business, for what else could they do?
    Miranda’s eyes widened in outrage. “Will they all just leave, then, when someone needs help?” She pressed against Ian as if he could protect her. “We should help the poor soul,” she said, still not understanding.
    Ian MacVane could protect no one. He had failed his father the night Adder’s men had shot him like a stray dog, and he had failed his brother the day Gordon had fallen from a rooftop. But the failure that haunted him most was embedded in the present moment, possessing him, hurling him back into the nightmare again...
    Weeping and shivering, he crouched beside a stone wall. The screams of women and children tore into the night sky. Flame shadows from burning crofts