Caelen's Wife: Book One - A Murmur of Providence (Clan McDunnah Series 1) (14 page)

T
wo full days
had passed since they said goodbye to Bridgett. A reverent shadow of sadness had enveloped the entire clan. People went about their daily business, tended to their chores, simply going through the motions of daily life. There was not one McPherson who was not affected by Bridgett’s death. Some because they knew her well and loved her deeply. For others, ’twas the pending war that hung over their heads.

For the first time in more than one-hundred years, Fiona’s people were afraid.

She could not blame them, for she, too, was afraid and uncertain.

For two years, she had diligently worked at keeping her clan safe, fed, and sheltered. How many times had she said she did not want to be the reason why her clan failed or went to war? Even after the raids first began, she had done her best to keep them out of any clan war.

Now, it seemed ’twas all in vain. War, it seemed, was inevitable.

However, she was not without a plan. She had sent men out with missives, asking those chiefs who had proposed over the past months, to come to her keep. Purposefully, she had left out
why
she wished to meet with them. Ever mindful of the fact that she had been less than kind to some of them, she hoped they would not deny her request for aid when she went up against the McDunnahs.

Fiona kept to herself as much as she was able, staying in her private study and meeting only with her brothers and advisors.

This afternoon, she sat at the long table with Collin, William, Fergus and Seamus.

“I grow worried,” Collin said, his voice filled with concern. “We’ve no’ heard from Brodie in more than two weeks. I would have thought he’d have at least sent word by now.”

Fiona was concerned as well. “Mayhap, the messengers we sent to the other clans will have heard somethin’,” she said, trying to sound hopeful. “They should be back on the morrow.”

“And if they’ve no’ heard of or from Brodie?” Fergus asked as he softly drummed his fingertips against the cold wood.

“Then we shall send out a search party,” Fiona answered. Silently, she prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

William, who had been customarily quiet, finally spoke up. “Fi, what shall ye do if the other clans refuse to join us?”

Truthfully, she hadn’t allowed herself to think about that possibility. With very limited options, she began to feel even less hopeful of a positive outcome. Alone, the McPhersons could not fight any clan, at least not any with significant numbers. But if they could join forces? The possibilities were endless.

“I will cross that bridge when I come to it, William,” she told him “Fer now, I must focus on what I need to do to win support in our cause.”

Collin sighed. “But is our cause just? Do we truly wish to go to war to avenge Bridgett’s death?”

“I do no’ wish to go to war, Collin! I’ve tried avoidin’ it. But again, I ask
what are we to do?
Allow the McDunnah to continue his raids? Allow them to continue to kill innocent people? Nay, I’ll no’ wait until they’ve killed again. We
must
take a stand, Collin. To do otherwise is akin to suicide. I might as well have married the Farquar or the McGregor or any of the others that asked, fer the outcome would be the same. Clan McPherson would cease to exist.”

Fiona, emotionally drained from the events of the past few days, went to bed early. Ever since Bridgett’s death, sleep had been difficult. If she wasn’t tossing and turning, trying to work out how she would keep her clan from being massacred, then her dreams were plagued with visions of Bridgett and Caelen.

’Twas the middle of the night when she was rousted from her sleep by William.

“Fi!” he whispered with a level of urgency that made her bolt upright in her bed.

“William? What is it?” Her initial thought was that they had suffered another raid and more of her people lay dead.

“I need ye to dress and come with me straight away,” he said as he set his candle on her bedside table. ‘I need ye to hurry!”

“Go with ye?” she asked as she swung her feet over the edge of the bed. “Why? Tell me what be the matter!”

“I’ve heard from Brodie. We must go to him at once.”

She jumped to her feet, worry and dread settling in. “Brodie? Where is he? What has happened?”

William began pulling clothes out of her chest and tossing them at her. “I need ye to trust me, Fi. Please, just hurry and dress. I’ll explain on the way.”

Fiona dug in her heels. “Nay,” she said firmly, fighting back the urge to knock him over the head with a blunt object. “I’ll no’ dress, I’ll no’ hurry and I’ll no’ leave until ye tell me what is happening.”

William stopped, ran a hand through his hair as he turned to focus on her. “Fi, fer once in yer life, I need ye to
trust
me.”

“I do trust ye, William,” she told him, refusing to budge. “But I’ll no be dragged out of me bed in the middle of the night because ye say I must. Tell me now, where is Brodie?”

He let loose a frustrated breath. “First, I need ye no’ to panic.”

“Well of course I’ll panic! Ye canna wake a body up in the middle of the night, tell them
no’
to panic and expect them no’ to!”
Had he lost his mind completely?

“Promise me first, ye’ll no’ panic or lose yer temper.”

Not panic? Not lose her temper?
Her stomach wound itself into knots and warned that she was not going to like anything that William was about to tell her. Lying, she said, “Verra well, I promise.”

“Brodie has been injured—”

He was unable to get another word out after that.

“Injured?” Fiona punched William hard in his arm. “Brodie lies injured somewhere and ye tell me no’ to panic? Are ye
daft?
”

“Ye promised ye’d no’ panic or lose yer temper!” he politely reminded her as he rubbed his arm.

“I am no’
in a panic and I have no’ lost me temper! This is me being worried over me brother and angry that yer no’ hurryin’!” Quickly, she pulled on her trews under her sleeping gown as she rushed to the dressing screen on the other side of her room.

“Brodie is fine, Fi!” William whispered harshly. “He’s injured, but ’tis no’ so bad as to worry he’ll die.”

Fiona threw off her sleeping gown and tossed it over the screen. Cursing under her breath, she pulled on an undershirt, then the tunic and hurried from behind the screen.

“Where is he?” she asked as she began to quickly braid her hair.

William cleared his throat once, then twice. “I need ye to promise me ye will no’ lose yer temper, get angry, furious or otherwise harm me in any manner. I’ll no’ tell ye otherwise. And if Brodie dies before we get there, ’twill be on
yer
head, no’ mine!”

She stopped mid-braid. “Dies? Ye said he wouldna die!”

William threw his hands up in the air. “Ye’ll be the death of me, Fiona! I need ye to remain calm.” He ran a hand over his face. “Brodie is fine. He has
been injured, but ’tis no’ life threatenin’. I only said that—” he stopped and gave a shake of his head. “Never mind. I need ye to remain calm and trust me.”

Fiona went back to braiding her hair. “Fine. I’ll be calm. Now tell me, where is Brodie?”

“At the McDunnah keep,” he blurted the words out rapidly.

William had expected her to be angry, however, that would not have been an apt description. Fiona was beyond furious.
William reckoned there hadn’t been a word created yet to describe just how furious she was. His sweet sister, known for being calm under pressure, erupted into a litany of curses that would have made the most hardened man blush.

Shoving dirks into her belt, boots and sleeves, she cursed Caelen McDunnah to the devil. “When I get me hands on him, I shall
no’
hold back, William! I shall cut his bollocks off first, then I’ll cut out his bloody, lyin’, tongue!”

William had filled Collin in on all that he knew before he’d gone to see Fiona. Together, they decided that Collin would stay behind in charge of the keep, while William and twenty-five of their best men escorted Fiona to McDunnah lands.

It had taken William more than two hours to convince Fiona that one, Brodie would be fine, and two, this was not some trap that had been set by the McDunnah. It had taken three hours of riding before she quit mumbling curses and coming up with clever ways to take Caelen McDunnah’s life.

William found himself beginning to feel sorry for the McDunnah.

They were less than an hour from the McDunnah keep when Fiona began to ask more logical and pointed questions. He could only hope it meant she was beginning to calm down, thereby able to think more clearly.

“Are ye certain the missive was written in his own hand?” Fiona asked.

“Aye, in Brodie’s own hand,” William answered.

Fiona thought for a moment before asking her next question. “And yer certain there was no hidden message within the letter?”

William nodded, “Aye, I be certain. He says he is well but needs to speak with ye.”

“But why would he no’ just come home? Why must we
be forced to retrieve him? This makes little sense to me, William.”

“’Twill make more sense after we talk to him.”

Fiona shivered. “I’ve declared
war
on the McDunnah, William. I do no’ trust him. I do no’ see how we will be safe behind his walls.”

“Because he gave his word, Fi. He promises to allow us safe passage, that he’ll no’ raise arms against us while we go to Brodie.”

Fiona sensed there was more to this than what William was telling her. She trusted her brothers. Even though she might not always agree with them, she knew without a doubt she could trust them to do what was right. They were not naive men, not by any stretch of the imagination. If William or Collin had any sense of danger, they would not have allowed her off McPherson land.

Still, something niggled, gnawed at the back of her mind. There was something amiss here, something not quite right. Unfortunately, the answers lay behind the walls of Caelen McDunnah’s keep.

D
awn was beginning
to break over the horizon when they arrived at the McDunnah keep. Fiona’s hands had begun to shake when she caught sight of the gates — not from fear, but from outrage. Her injured brother was somewhere within that large, cold edifice that Caelen McDunnah called home. It made her ill to think of what Brodie must be going through.

Immediately upon announcing who they were, the gates were lifted and they were allowed inside. Fiona could not shake the overwhelming sense that something was not quite right about the situation. Worried they were being either led to their deaths or their imprisonment, she had carefully hidden three additional
sgian dubhs
under her clothing. The only way those would be found is if she was stripped of every stitch of her clothing.

The courtyard was quiet with very few people about. Doubt began to creep in. Were they headed to their end, would there not be men crawling about like dung beetles on a pile of manure?

In a low whisper, she spoke to William. “’Tis far too quiet here, William. I do no’ like this.”

“’Tis early in the morn, Fi. Mayhap they’re all still abed. Do no’ worry it overmuch.”

For someone who, only days ago, thoroughly believed Caelen McDunnah was the devil incarnate, her brother was behaving as though they were visiting an elderly grandparent.

They brought their horses to a stop near the entrance to the massive four-story keep. As they dismounted, men approached to take their mounts to the stables.

“I do no’ like this, no’ at all, William,” Fiona whispered as they stood at the steps. “If we die this day, I shall never speak kindly of ye again.”

William chuckled and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Fi, ye need to trust me.”

“’Tis hard to trust ye when ye have just brought me to see the devil himself.”

Ignoring her worry, William led the way up the stairs.

P
assing through the narrow corridor
, they were met by Phillip. He looked tired, but actually happy to see them.

“Me lady,” he said with a slight bow at the waist. “’Tis good to see ye.”

Because she could not say the same without lying, Fiona remained quiet and simply inclined her head toward him.

That all-too-familiar warm smile came to his lips and with it, a twinkle in his eye. Oh why did she have to like this man? It would make killing him and every last McDunnah all the more difficult.

“Some of the men thought I should disarm ye before lettin’ ye in.”

Fiona gripped her sword more tightly and stood even taller.

“I asked them if
they
would like to be the ones to either ask or try
,
” he said with a chuckle. William joined him. Fiona found no humor in it. None at all. She wanted to get her brother out of here as quickly as possible.

“Where is me brother?” Fiona asked, wanting to dispense with any further pleasantries. ’Twas difficult to watch William being so bloody kind to anyone associated with the people responsible for Bridgett’s death.

“Brodie is above stairs,” Phillip said politely. “Would ye like to see him?”

Would she like to see him? Were all the McDunnahs as insane as their leader?

William, sensing she was about to say something they might not live to regret, placed a hand on her arm. “Aye, we would.”

Phillip smiled, turned away and led them up a narrow, winding staircase.

With each step she took, the more her worry for Brodie, as well as the rest of the McPhersons, intensified. Keeping a firm grip on the hilt of her sword, she followed behind Phillip and William as five of her men trailed behind. Silently she prayed for her pounding heart to settle for it certainly felt loud enough to reverberate off the stone walls.

Reaching the second floor, she breathed a little easier when she saw the landing and hallways were devoid of men waiting to attack. Phillip led them down a long corridor to their left, paused at the last door, and gave a gentle knock. Not waiting for a response, he carefully opened the door and stepped aside to allow Fiona and William to enter.

F
iona gave
a cursory scan of the small room before entering, only to make certain no one lay in wait.

No one was about, save for Brodie, who was asleep in the small bed that sat perpendicular to the wall. His head was propped up on pillows, as was his left leg. Other than the fact that he looked rather pale, he looked well and thank God alive. That was all that mattered.

Fiona pushed William aside and rushed to Brodie’s bedside. Falling to her knees, she took his hand in hers and whispered his name. The relief at seeing him alive was overwhelming. Fighting back tears, she repeated his name.

His eyes fluttered open and it took a moment for recognition to settle in. “Fi,” he said happily. “Yer here.”

“Aye,” she said, placing a kiss on his hand. “William is here, too.”

Brodie smiled after he saw William standing near the hearth. “I see ye got me letter,” Brodie said with a smile that defied all logic.

“Aye, I did,” William said as he approached them, and placed a hand on Fiona’s shoulder. Leaning in to whisper into her ear, William said, “I told ye he was well.”

Fiona fought back tears of relief, nodded her head, and asked, “Brodie, what happened? Why are ye here? Have ye no’ heard we’ve declared war against the McDunnah?”

Her questions spilled out in rapid succession, so fast that Brodie was almost unable to understand them. Raising his hand, he said, “Fi! I ken about the declaration of war. I also ken about Bridgett.” His smile faded at the mention of Bridgett’s name.

Fiona could not understand why he was here, especially if he knew about Bridgett and the impending war. “Why are ye here? What happened?”

Brodie gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “First, I need ye to listen. Can ye do that fer me?”

At this point, with her relief at seeing him alive, she’d agree to anything. “Aye, I’ll listen, but hurry, fer we need to leave this place. We brought a litter with us, no’ knowin’ how bad yer injuries are.”

Brodie shook his head, “I said that I need ye to listen, no’ be givin’ me orders.”

She gave a nod of understanding believing the faster he could tell her whatever it was he was going to tell her, the faster they could be gone from this place.

“Caelen did no’ kill Bridgett and neither did his men.”

Fiona let go of his hand and shot to her feet. “Ye’ve suffered a head wound, haven’t ye?” She leaned over and began searching his scalp for signs of trauma or injury.

“Nay, Fi!” Brodie said as he pulled her hands from his head. “’Tis just me leg. Now sit down and listen.”

William grabbed a chair that set against the wall and sat it next to Brodie’s bed. “Sit, Fi, and listen,” he told her.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, she sat down with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I ken fer a fact that Caelen was no’ there the night Bridgett was killed,” Brodie told her.

She raised one brow, quite doubtful that he knew with any certainty that Caelen was innocent. Deciding she did not want to prolong her time here, she remained quiet and listened.

“I was here, with Caelen, Phillip, and Kenneth the night Bridgett was killed.”

The air left her lungs and for several long moments, she could not breathe. “Ye were here? With Caelen?” she asked as doubt began to creep in for the first time in days. “But I saw him, Brodie. With me own eyes.”

“Ye saw a man with a wolf’s head helm. Ye did no’ see Caelen. I was with him all the night long. He was no’ there and neither were his men. He is no’ responsible fer any of the raids or for Bridgett’s death.”

Her world began to spin. She’d been so certain that she’d seen Caelen. There in the pasture, with the wolf’s head helm.

“Fi,” Brodie said as he reached for her hand. “I ken ye saw a man wearin’ a wolf’s head helm, but did ye see his face?”

For a long moment, she could not speak, could barely make sense of what was happening. She thought back to that night and tried to remember every detail of what had happened, of what she had seen.

“’Twas dark,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Only a sliver of a moon. We were attacked, it all happened so fast. There were so many of them. ’Twas the first time I was ever in a true battle, a battle fer me life.” Swallowing back the tears, she explained all that she could remember. “I had spun around, ye see, and there he was. Atop a large horse. He wore the wolf’s head, just like the one above his mantel below stairs. That is how I knew ’twas him, that ridiculous helm.”

“But did ye see his face?” Brodie asked, eager to hear her answer.

Fiona had to admit the truth. She hadn’t seen his face. Only the helm and the McDunnah plaid. She nearly choked on her own words. “Nay. ’Twas too dark. I only saw the helm and plaid.”

The room fell silent, save for the crackling of embers in the fireplace.

“Fi,” Brodie said giving her some time to catch up with what she was now realizing was the cold, hard truth. “From the beginnin’, someone has been tryin’ to put Caelen in a bad light, to get us to hate him and his people, to have us at war. It appears now they’ve succeeded.”

A tear escaped and trailed down her cheek. “Good lord, what have I done?”

Over the next half hour, Brodie explained everything that he had learned of late. Fiona sat, numb from the realization that she had declared war on a man she easily could have loved, a man she had begun to think of as a friend, and mayhap much more.

“Someone believes our water is magic,” Brodie told her.

Only half listening, for she was feeling so lost and bereft, she dismissed his statement with a wave of her hands. “Of course our water is magic,” she told him.

Brodie and William were visibly surprised at her statement.

“What do ye mean, it be magic?” William asked.

Fiona rolled her eyes. “People have been sayin’ that fer decades. They believe it cures all ailments, makes people live to be five hundred years old and makes a man more virile,” she said with a sarcastic tone. “Some believe ’tis because of the fairies that make the mountain their home and play in its streams. Others swear the water has been touched by God’s own hand.”

Her brothers were staring at her with perplexed expressions.

“What? Do no’ tell me ye’ve never heard people say such?”

She sighed. “Ye really need to spend more time with Fergus,” she told them. “He be the one with all the stories about our water bein’ magic. There be no truth to it, mind ye, but still, ye canna change people from believin’ what they will.”

“I must admit that I usually turn a deaf ear to Fergus, when he begins to tell stories,” William said.

“It makes no sense that now, after all these years that people are takin’ an interest in our land or our water. Why now?” Fiona asked. Whether it was instinct or intuition, she felt certain that wasn’t the whole of the story. “Nay, there has to be more to it than that. Fer if that be all it is, then the world has certainly gone mad.”

“I agree,” Brodie said. “As does Caelen.”

Just hearing the man’s name brought back all the guilt and shame over how she had behaved toward him.

Brodie took notice of her sagging shoulders and forlorn expression. “He’s been gone since ye left, Fi, tryin’ to see if he can learn more.”

There was some relief in knowing that Caelen wasn’t here for then she’d not have to face him just yet. Thinking such made her feel like a coward.

“He’ll never be able to fergive me,” Fiona said to no one in particular. “I behaved horribly toward him. I called him a liar, I even slapped him.” Hanging her head in shame, she said, “I have made a terrible mess of things.”

“He’ll fergive ye, Fi.”

“Nay, he won’t. I’ve been a complete eejit.”

“Fi, he has already fergiven ye.”

Her head shot up and she gave him a look that said she questioned his sanity.

“What do ye mean he’s already fergiven me?”

Brodie smiled at her. “Caelen is a smart man, Fi. He kens he’s innocent and he hopes to prove it.”

“But that doesn’t explain how he was able to fergive me so easily, Brodie,” she said, with the belief that Brodie did not quite know what he was talking about.

“Of course ’twas easy,” Brodie said. “He loves ye.”

Had Brodie just declared himself leader of the centaurs or the son of Zeus, ’twould have been easier to believe than his declaration that Caelen McDunnah was in love with her.

“Yer daft,” she told him.

“I only tell the truth,” he countered.

She’d rather have her ears pulled off by a rabid cat o’mountain than to have this particular discussion with these particular brothers. Quickly, she changed the subject. “Can ye ride? We need to return home.”

“Yer avoidin’ the subject,” Brodie accused.

“Aye, I am, fer I’ll no’ be discussin’ the matter with ye. Now, can ye ride?”

Brodie pointed to his leg. “Nay, I canna fer at least a week.”

“What
did
happen to ye?” William asked.

Brodie’s face turned red with humiliation. “’Tis no’ important.”

Sensing there was something he would find terribly funny about how his brother injured himself, William crossed his arms over his chest and asked again. “What happened? Ye ken we’ll eventually learn the truth.”

“I said it be no’ important, William,” he said through gritted teeth. “Leave it alone.”

William laughed at his brother. “Nay, I’m takin’ great pleasure in seein’ yer discomfort.”

Knowing well that his brother would not cease until he told him the truth, he gave in. “I fell off me bloody horse!”

William and Fiona stared in utter disbelief. Brodie was an expert rider. He hadn’t been thrown from a horse since he was a young lad.

“I was comin’ back from the McGregors. The ground was verra muddy. Me horse slipped in the mud and we fell down an embankment.” He threw the blanket off to show them his leg as evidence. The entire thigh was wrapped in bandages. They could just make out faint traces of blood along the side of it, about four inches in length.

“I fell into a gulley, where I was impaled with by a long, heavy tree limb. I nearly bled to death, and would have had Phillip and Kenneth no’ come along when they did!”