Claiming the Highlander (17 page)

He heard the scrap of footsteps and looked over his shoulder to see Gilroy drag himself to a stool. He waited for the others of the council to join them. The heat of his temper fired inside him. Grant—that damn man frustrated him. Did he think him a little boy playing at power? Worse, he thought him a fool. And his treatment of Brenna…the man didn’t even know his own daughter and her smarts. That was what kept him from jumping over the table and landing a solid blow to the chin. Grant would learn one day.

Tavish and Finian slipped inside. He pushed off the wall.

“We heard that Laird Grant arrived,” Tavish said.

“He is in his chamber now.”

“He maun be here before he plans his next mair.” Finian smacked his lips, disgusted by the laird.

“Gilroy, have you found anything?”

“Not a thing. There is no relation between you and Brenna. Your paternal line is from Kenneth Alpin, the Conqueror,” he said, referring to the king who united Scotland, “whereas your mother hails from Viking and Norse.”

“Laird Grant carries Norman blood. One of those men who followed David the First from England. I do not know about the mother. I have sent a messenger to a monk who knows all.”

“We can raise questions to the countess,” Finian said.

“Nay—” Caelen cut his arms through the air, “—I will not have her hurt in any way.”

Tavish shook his head. “Her answers might gie us the information we require.”

“Tavish, hate me if you wish. I do not care, but do not harm my wife. She’s been hurt enough.”

“Wat aboot the clan? Wat aboot the harm to them?” Tavish pointed his arm in the direction the Grants resided.

“You say that now. You are the one person who speaks of nothing but land and pushing off the Grants. Brenna has brought that land and is most important to this clan.”
And me.
He turned away, not from the council, but from his own thoughts.

“Caelen is correct,” Finian said. “Wit Laird Grant present, we ha’e a chance to watch him an’ the Grants. Then we shall decide wat we do next.”

“Her ladyship maun be watched.” Tavish slammed the flat of his hand against his open palm.

“Caelen can do that. Though, I don’t believe she has any part in this. She loves Caelen, and that is all that matters to her.”

“That can be an advantage.” Tavish leaned his elbows on his knees.

“I cannot do that. I will not harm her.” Caelen loomed over Tavish. His breathing increased and matched his galloping heartbeat. He fisted his hand.

Tavish leaned back. “Wha’ever is necessary to keep our power we maun do. I am nat wrong.”

“I see where your son inherited that dishonorable streak from.”

Tavish charged Caelen. His head buried in his chest. By the shoulder, Caelen shoved him off. Finian and Gilroy clutched him by the shoulders.

“Ye dinna speak aboot him.” Spittle sprayed from his mouth. “Ye dinna ha’e the honor. Ye left him to be stabbed in the back. Ye ran instead of stood an’ fought.”

Caelen jumped at him. His fist connected with Tavish’s mouth. Blood and spit sputtered as his head twisted to the right.

Finian pushed him back. “Enough!”

With a simmering hatred, Caelen stormed from the chamber. He stared down at his knuckles and the blood pooling about the teeth-made cuts. He shook his hand, flicking the blood off. He made his way upstairs. He stopped at the landing of his father’s chamber. The door was closed. He ought to have shared the truth with him. So much would be different. But he never had the correct words, and then the right time never came either.

He turned away. He stormed his way into his chamber, muttering curses, and fisting and stretching out his hand.

“What happened?” Brenna grasped his hand.

Every instinct in him demanded he pull away from her caring touch. He couldn’t hurt her again with his rejection. He refused to see her disappointment in him again. If he was honest with himself, he loved that she saw a heroic side of him, thought him better than he did himself.

“A foolish act of a man who lost control,” he replied, his voice dripping with contempt at himself.

She held his hand over the bowl and poured water over his wounds. She peeked up at him to see if he was pained. “Are you planning to share this foolish act? Or hint at the one whom you punched.” She poured more water over it. She set down the ewer. “I suppose not. I hope it was not my father.” She patted his hand dry.

“Not yet.” Some of his tension vanished. He curled his fingers around her delicate hand and squeezed.

Her warm, sable brown eyes sparked, and then she blinked and the light vanished.

“Forgive me for breaking your trust. I cannot change what I have done, but I will earn it again. Will you give me the chance?”

Her bottom lip trembled. “I cannot deny you anything.”

She wanted too.
The thought gnawed at him. He never meant to do this. Secrets and the unearthing of them damaged lives.

He molded his lips to her smooth mouth. The supple flesh warmed under his. He stayed like that, afraid if he shifted she would step away. Her feminine scent, floral and inviting, enveloped him. She parted her lips. His tongue touched hers. He groaned from the savory taste of her mouth and her arms slipping around his waist. She leaned into the kiss, fully trusting him. He cradled her close. The damn plaid blocked the feel of her.

The kiss wasn’t enough. He yearned for her love and trust, to have it again, and this time, he would not soil it. Never would he lose her again.

She broke off the kiss first. Desire hooded her eyes. Her face pinked and her supple lips were swollen.

He placed a kiss upon her forehead. A teardrop landed on his forearm. Cupping her face, he lifted it. Tear tracks ran down and wetness pooled in her eyes, the corners drowning with the ones yet to fall.

“Please, Brenna, do not cry. I never wished to pain you.”

“Foolishness, nothing more,” she said, blinking and catching tears on her lashes.

“All that we share is not foolishness. I have been the fool and disappointed you, but I vow I will never again.”

She gave a shaky nod. “I believe you.”

“I know,” he said, though the lack of conviction in her voice rocked him.

Now came the time to show her. Secure their marriage, however, he must, and then she’d know for sure.

“We must see to the games.”

* * * *

Manus ran to Caelen as he left the chamber. He flicked his head, motioning him to follow. They made their way to the battlements. Guards strolled about, watching the vista. Tents spread about the land, bright against the trees. The tenants were beginning to arrive but up here, all was silent. The games would soon begin.

Manus rested his arms on the top of the wall. “The two riders returned. They are heading to the games. You think they will try to make contact with Laird Grant?”

“At some point, I imagine. But if they rode back with him, they would not need to.”

“They will before he departs.”

“Three days hence,” Caelen said. “I want you to assign men to watch them at all times. Whatever they do, I want to know immediately.”

“You think the laird will try something?”

“He would be foolish to do so now, but he must be plotting something. I will try to keep him at my side and if not, you are to step up.”

Manus grinned. “I shall. I can put men on the Grants.”

He slumped against the wall. “Do that, but keep this between me and you. I want the man to feel welcome, and let him think he is free to roam about. I might take him to visit the Grants.”

“You think that is the proper act?” Manus squinted up at him.

“He may not reveal much, but I may learn more, not just about him and his plots, but these men on our land.”

“You should bring Brenna.”

Caelen gave him a sharp gaze. “I don’t want her involved in this.”

“You should. She knows her father and her emotions and thoughts show on her face. You can learn something that way. There is also the chance to gain her support.”

Caelen nodded absentmindedly. “I see your side.”

“Truly?” Manus straightened. “Do you jest with me?”

“Nay, I can listen to various opinions especially from those who aren’t against me.”

“Like Tavish?” He flicked back his black hair.

Caelen frowned down at his cut knuckles. “This Oran. What do you make of him?”

Manus clenched his jaw. Caelen heard his heavy breathing before he said, “I don’t care for him. He doesn’t know his place.”

“Because he pays regard to Alastronia. Your jealously is not needed. If you cannot give me the information without prejudicing your opinion, then you are useless to me.”

Manus pushed off from the wall. “I will do as you wish. I’ll find out more about his character.”

“Also, Manus, you must know father wished you to wed the Stuart lass.”

“He told me. I will not. I have spoken to Alastronia. I must wed her.”

Caelen pushed off the wall and straightened. “You erred. You must speak to her. Let her know that you have obligations to the clan.”

“Father is dead. You do not have to act upon it.”

“Manus, Father has started negotiations, and in breaking them off a feud will begin.”

“Are you afraid of fighting? Afraid someone might put a sword in your back?”

Caelen clutched a handful of his leine, lifting Manus to his toes. “Do not test me, lad. You will wed the Stuart lass and know this, you shall never wed Alastronia.”

* * * *

“I had been ordered never to ride again,” Brenna said, beaming at him, overly pleased to throw his order back at him.

“I shall control Thor. You may ride this time.”

She laid her hand over her chest. “Nay, I cannot disobey my lord husband.”

“Come on, wife, before I throw you over arse up.” Caelen pulled her playfully toward his waiting horse.

Laird Grant had already mounted. “Brenna has never been a rider. Not since she was nearly trampled under their hurried hooves.”

“A fear she no longer possesses. I am pleased by her riding skills.”

Brenna steadied herself with her hands on his shoulder as he gave her a foot up. Once Caelen mounted, she snuggled against him. For the briefest of moments, he rested his chin on the top of her head.

With his mother, the council and Laird Grant, they rode to the games. Reaching their seating, he set Brenna down before handing Thor to a groom. Father Murray ambled to them.

“It is good that you were able to come for the laird,” Laird Grant said.

“I was here for another reason. The bishop sent me.”

The skin around Grant’s eyes tightened for a blink before he recovered. “Aye, I think for the time we can forget that.”

“I know what is proper.”

Caelen jerked his head back. Father Murray never lost his even-temper countenance.

Grant made a motion, something between a nod and a shake of his head. Caelen escorted his mother and Brenna to their seats before he motioned for the games to begin. A cheer went up.

On the flank of the crowd, he spotted the new members. Each donned the MacKenzie plaid. They stood about, watching but not joining in the fun and just behind them stood men from the garrison.

Caelen rose. Lined up where boys and girls. Their ankles tied to one another with a cut of rope. He held the piece of linen. The children leaned forward, ready to set off. He let it drop.

The adults began to cheer for their team.

The children set off. The ones who worked together were faster, while those who failed toppled to the ground.

Two girls crossed the line. A man ran from the crowd and lifted up the girls while some folks groaned and others cheered. The betting had begun. Caelen presented the first prize to them.

The morn passed and the betting increased along with the drink and food. There were bowls, horseshoes, and mock battles that left a few men bloody and all bruised.

Then came time for the hammer throwing. “Come, your lordship. Let’s see if any man can best you.”

“Aye, Caelen do join in,” Brenna said.

Caelen picked up the hammer. He flexed his hand about the handle, getting the feel for the smooth wood. He went to his spot and swung the weapon above his head. The whoosh of the hammer cutting through the air encircled him. With the proper flick of his wrists, he released it with a grunt.

It landed, buried in the ground. He dusted his hands off. “Can any best me?”

Manus stepped up next. He fell short of Caelen by a distance. “One day, brother, I shall best you.”

“Not this day.”

With each throw, Brenna drew closer. She clutched his forearm, digging her nails into him. Next, her father joined the challenge. Caelen watched. His hammer went through the air and landed beyond Caelen’s.

From the corner of his eyesight, he caught one man throwing a fist in the air. “It seems I am better skilled at the game.”

“It appears so.”

Brenna placed a peck on his check. The crowd cheered. “You did great.”

“As long as you think so, then I am happy.”

For how long?

Chapter Nine

Brenna watched as the targets were set out. She had thrown horseshoes and had even played tag with the children. This game captured her attention. She watched with rapt attention. All the talk around her faded to a low hum. She narrowed her eyes on the center marked with an X. She stood up. “Brenna, what are you doing?” Caelen raised his brows to her.

“I wish to join in. Do not look so surprised. I am skilled at this. Your father taught me when I was fostered here.”

“Truly?” Caelen said, disbelief stretching out the simple word.

“Aye, he said it was the only way to keep me from mischief.”

“I believe that.”

She strolled to the pile of arrows leaning against a quiver crammed with bows. She picked one up, and finger by finger, curled her hand around the wood.

Caelen strolled to the center. The crowd fell silent. “The Countess of Wester Ross will be joining in. In tribute to my father, who taught her this skill when she was but a lass.”