Celtic Fury (2 page)

Frowning, Bronwyn thought, “Ahh, Ruiri, how long it has been since that smile reached yer’ eyes.”
In the nearly four years since her wedding, Bronwyn observed Rory becoming more and more solemn and withdrawn.

Three months after her wedding, there was a terrible incident involving a woman named Daria. Daria had been Drew’s lover prior to him meeting and falling in love with Bronwyn.

She claimed to be with child from her union with Drew, but as the months passed, she continued to not show signs of carrying a child. Drew confronted her with the lie. The woman had been affected and spite and jealousy caused her to plot an evil scheme. She abducted a newly born child from the village and claimed it as her own. Ever the defender of the innocent, Rory took up the cause along with Drew to rescue the child and return him to his distraught mother
. O
nly they hadn’t been prepared for the darkness that had infected Daria’s soul. Tracking Daria closely, they cornered her. She stood perched on an outcropping of rock; a dangerous drop below her. Threatening to jump with the child, she would not
h
ear what Drew had to say, she was convinced he had driven her to this point of no return. But with the honeyed words of Rory, she relinquished the child to him, only to jump to her own death on the rough rocks below. In saving the child, Rory could not save the woman, and though he knew that she was filled with hatred; twisted with jealousy and a sickness that plagued her mind
, he could not forgive himself for not being able to spare her
.
H
e blamed himself for not being able to prevent her self-demise.

Bronwyn had been a teenage girl when Rory suffered the loss of his future bride Caitlyn, and she saw him claw his way back from that tragedy; never speaking the name of the woman he had loved.

Bronwyn knew Rory blamed himself for Caitlyn’s untimely death and he slaked his hurt by being with women he could or would never love. He had told her long ago that he “just wasn’t the marryin’ kind,” and he left it at that.

Passion was a common bond in the MacCollum clan. Bronwyn had witnessed it between her own mother and father. Her four brothers were madly and passionately in love with their wives. She could not tire of the joys of love and passion with her husband Drew and so she knew that Rory was not so unlike the rest of them.

Women adored Rory. He was known for his skills in romancing the girls, but Bronwyn worried that his heart would never heal with the casual dalliances he allowed himself to experience. He took the death of the disturbed Daria personally; no more able to save her than he could have saved his beloved Caitlyn. His heart was so pure and Bronwyn hoped that one day the right woman would ease the brokenness in her dear brother. She was grateful that Drew and Rory had forged a bond of sorts. The two men had had a rocky start, what with Drew being English, but they shared one thing that united them; their love for Bronwyn. They were more like brothers than in-laws.

Lost in her musings, Bronwyn was startled when Drew came behind her and kissed the back of her neck.

Ian squealed in delight. “
Papa, papa, did you have a venture?”

“Aye Laddie, come give your da a hug.” 

The little boy fairly leapt into his father’s arms and Drew kissed his chubby little cheek.

Bronwyn stooped down and picked up baby Jenna, “Look who has come home, Baby. See, there’s yer’ handsome Da?”

The baby cooed and gurgled, as Drew laid a kiss on her downy little head. Just then Rory arrived and he smiled at the happy family.

“Uncle Rory!” Rory plucked Ian into his arms and hugged the little boy
,
allow
ing
Drew to kiss Rory's beautiful sister.

He felt a stab of longing watching Drew kiss Bronwyn, knowing how much they loved each other. Seeing their love for each other and knowing they needed to be alone, Rory said, “How about ye
come along with yer uncle Rory?
I need a helpful squire to tend me.” Bronwyn cast a grateful look at Rory. He smiled and said, “See to yer’ man, Bronnie. He has been piqued and foul and I suspect ye know how to fix him.”

“Why is Daddy foul, Uncle Rory?” 

Rory rolled his eyes and he said, “He misses yer ma very much. Makes him grouchy.” 

Drew hooked his arm around Bronwyn’s waist, as Ian trailed next to Rory. Turning back he said, “Dunna’ be grouchy with mama, daddy.”

“Alright, Son. I promise. Be a good boy for your Uncle Rory.” 

“Aye, Daddy. Are you going to kiss mama?” Smiling, Drew said.

“I am, son.” Drew replied.

Toddling after Rory, he exclaimed, “Da kisses mommy very much.”

“Aye, laddie. T’is because yer’ ma likes it. Come along. I have a present for you,” Rory said, lifting Ian in his arms and hauling him off to his chambers.

Once inside his room, Rory plopped his giggling nephew on his bed, tickling him. He never grew tired of the sound of laughing babies. He adored the little boy, who felt almost like a son
. While he knew he would probably never have children of his own, he loved how little babies giggled and talked
.
Rory did not think of himself as a tender man, but something about the little ones made tenderness well in his heart.

Ian said, “Where is my present, uncle?”

“Wait and see!” Rory unwrapped a wooden toy sword and handed it to his nephew.

The child’s eyes grew wide with delight and he said, “T’is like yer’ sword. Am I a knight
, now?”
Rory was amazed at how smart the little boy was.

“Oh Aye, Sir Ian…slayer of dragons…” He watched the little boy stand on the bed and swing his sword as he imitated the movements of the men in sword
-
play.

“
Now, laddie, ye must ne’er hit baby Jenna with the sword…. or anyone else.”  Ian looked horrified.

“Nay, Uncle Rory. Jenna is just a baby and I am a big boy. I would never hit Jenna.” 

“That’s right. Ye must always protect her. Ye are her big brother.”

“Like you are Mommy’s big brother?”

“Aye.”

“Did you p…
patect
mommy?”

“Aye
,
laddie, until she met yer da and now he protects her.” As the words left his lips, Rory knew he should be moving on; making his own way
; creating his own destiny
.

He was no closer to a destined path than he had been some years ago. Long ago, he had been given the name the Wolf of the Highlands. He didn’t like that title, which was born from his rage from losing Caitlyn. People liked to spread rumors and that name was not something he enjoyed living up to. When he came to England, he thought to escape some of his past somewhat and in doing so, escape the name he was dubbed not for his prowess but for his dark rage. It was more a title of a monster than a warrior.

When Bronwyn married Drew, Rory thought to leave the past behind, but Bronwyn was well-cared for by Andrew. Rory needed to find his own destiny. Rory realized there was no running from his past. While he would hate to leave the precious little boy playing in his chamber, Rory knew he should either return home to his clan or seek his destiny elsewhere. In his musings, Rory never saw the little Ian clamber into his lap. He placed a soft child’s touch on Rory’s cheek.

“Why are ye sad, Uncle?”  Rory forced a smile down at Ian.

“I am na’ sad, laddie, I was just thinking. Come, laddie, let us find some food. Come along with me.” Rory and Ian went to the great hall and they sat together eating some fresh bread and stew. Other soldiers were about, eating and talking, discussing their latest successful campaign.

While they ate, a pretty serving maid approached Rory and said, “Will I be seeing you later, Rory?” 

He smiled his disarming smile and said, “Not tonight, lass. I am spending time with
Master
Ian here. Isn’t that ri
ght, lad?”  Ian nodded happily. “
Maybe another time, bonnie girl.” 

She pouted prettily, but in seeing the little boy’s concern, she said, “Alright, Rory, Master Ian looks like great fun to play with.”  She tousled
the baby’s
hair and went on her way.

Rory engaged his little nephew in conversation, telling him tales of valor and adventure. Ian adored his big uncle and he soaked up every word.

Once their supper was done, Rory patted his belly and said, “Mmmm, I am full.” 

Giggling, Ian did the same. Hefting the child onto his mighty shoulders, he carried the boy back up to his chambers. He had a special trundle bed set up for Ian in his quarters. Bronwyn had indulged him, seeing how much the two loved each other. Besides, Rory thought with a smirk, Drew was probably thoroughly and properly being welcomed back by his beautiful sister. Rory enjoyed minding his nephew. It made him feel less lonely and like he had a child of his own, a dream he had long forsaken. Nay, there probably would be no heirs for him, so he used the time spent with his sister's son to fill that space left empty from so many lost dreams of long ago. Taking the child to his rooms, he sat the child down on the little trundle bed.

“Let’s get ye ready for bed, Laddie
,”
he said to the drowsy little boy. Once settled into his bed, Ian quickly fell to sleep. No doubt all the excitement had exhausted him. Rory flopped on his bed, lost in his thoughts. Dragging a hand through his hair, he contemplated what he was going to do.

His brothers would tell him to take a wife and settle down, but they had all married for love. He wasn’t going to marry just to set a course for his life. Aye, he wanted sons and maybe a couple of daughters too, but if he didn’t find love, those things and dreams would remain just that. Dreams; dreams were for the romantic. Life taught him that romance was just silly musings of youth. Thinking about love brought Rory to that dark place. He had made too many mistakes. Love was for the worthy, he was a soldier first and long ago he had made a silent vow to remain a warrior until every last Campbell was wiped from the face of the earth. Now living in England, some of that bloodlust had abated. It was the thoughts of love that brought him back to the vow he had made to avenge his betrothed’s life.

He felt the rage return; something he carefully hid from his family and clan. It filled him like a slow seeping poison, making parts of him die bit by bit. “
Aye, love was for the worthy
,
”
h
e thought. “
Which I can never be
!” He sank into his thoughts succumbing to the darkness that choked his heart and soul.

Chapter Two

Brielle Val ‘Cour looked out on the rolling lawn of her husband’s estates. How she longed for home. She no more belonged to this place than she did her name. She was more like a trapped bird in a gilded cage, being forced to live in a home and country where she would never fit in. Val ‘Cour…even the name was distasteful to her. She smoothed the silk of her English gown over her legs, sitting idly in the large solar of her husband’s home.

Husband…ha! She laughed bitterly. She had been married by proxy to a man she had previously never met. She had been well beyond the age of marrying, but was content to live out her days unwed so long as she got to spend her life in her precious Highlands. She had gone to live with her elderly grandfather when most of her clan had dispersed. Her mother had died when she was still very young from a terrible fall off the back of a horse. Her father sank into despair after that and less than a year later, soon succumbed to liver sickness from too much drink. Once a powerful highland clan,
Campbells were left as
the remnants of which were scattered through Scotland, because of their warring with neighboring clans and then ultimately amongst themselves.

Her brothers had bartered her to the highest bidder after her beloved grand da had passed. At the age of three and twenty years, she was considered a spinster, but to a man of 65 years, she was a ripe young thing for the taking. She shuddered with revulsion remembering how sickened she was to learn his age. He had grandchildren older than her, but her bride price brought monies needed to fund her br
others and their renegade ways.
The two had taken residence in the crumbling old keep that she had called home while living there with her grand da. Her eyes misted thinking of that beloved old man who had taken her in after both her parents were gone. Her brothers were already on a path of self-destruction and she was glad to be away from their cruel taunts. They seemed to derive great joy in reminding her how ugly she was. They had convinced her that she was plain at an early age, teasing her about her looks relentlessly. Old men didn’t care if their young wives were plain, Brielle thought. Her grand da had tried to convince her that she was beautiful, both of face and heart, but when she looked in the mirror she saw all the flaws her mean brothers had forced her to believe she carried.

Brielle was happy to spend the rest of her days isolated in her highland home at Castle Campbell, crumbling and moldering though it had been. There it didn’t matter if she was ugly. She loved the land and the beasties of the forests and barns. Both wee and large came to her easily. She had a way with the animals and her many pets had eased her loneliness. Besides, the beasties didn’t care if she was ugly or not. Looking out on the rolling lawn again, she felt more isolated than when she lived in the old keep.