Claiming the Highlander (24 page)

“What are you doing? You could have been hurt.”

“Listen,” she said.

“Woman—”

“Alastronia, tell his lordship.”

She stepped up and began to tell him. Neacal ambled closer.

“Do ye think Grant plans to attack? That wod be foolish.”

“He was here the night the MacLeods attacked. He must have seen something we missed and with the information…he could plan anything. Gather our commanders. We must prepare.” He turned to Brenna. “Return home. I do not want you leaving. The danger is too great.”

“That is not all, my lord,” Brenna said.

He reared back at her words. He crossed his arms. “What else is there?”

“Oran,” she said.

“Meaning?”

“He has proven his loyalty. He is in danger. I wish him to be brought here. He could be of use to you.”

“My lord, haw do we ken this?”

“He is. If na fae him, I wodna be ’ere,” Alastronia retorted. “He sent me ’ere to share.”

“Why dinna he come?”

“He believed that if he cam ’ere, then the ithers wod ha’e ken.”

“Neacal, bring him here. If he betrays us, I will put my sword through him.”

Brenna nodded.

“Return home, now.”

Brenna did as he requested. She refused to think of it as an order.

“My lady, he wants to kill Oran.”

“Do not fret. I know Oran. He is a man of honor. Caelen will have not have a reason for it.”

“Even wit Manus? Manus will gae him a reason.”

“Caelen will not listen to Manus. He knows he wishes to wed you and will do anything to rid himself of his competition. Now, return home. I wish you to gather your things and come here. I will not be surprised if they try to use you to accomplish their plans. Bring your father too, if you must.”

“Thank ye, my lady.” Alastronia sprinted away, vanishing into the bustle of the courtyard.

Brenna looked at the faces of those around her, trying to find one that did not belong. Father Murray appeared at her side.

“Oh, Father, I am glad you have returned.”

“Me as well. I am in need of a drink. I have seen to the clan’s spiritual needs and may be losing my voice.”

“Good. Not that you are parched, but I shall get you something for it, and I am in the need of speaking.”

She cupped him by the elbow and hurried him into the great hall. She guided him to the dais and forced him down on the seat. She filled the cup halfway and slid it before him. She sat down and rested her folded hands on the surface.

“I am in need of your help. I do not know what my father has planned, but I believe many men will die. But, Father, together we can prevent that. I need you to ride to court and to the King. Please have him call both Caelen and my father before him.”

“My lady, you know Highlanders, they may not listen.”

“Please, I must try.”

“I will assist you. May I add to your plan?”

“Aye,” she said.

“If I send a messenger to the king, it may halt any plans for a short period of time.”

“Aye, word would spread that a messenger has ridden out, and then…I could kiss you, but you are a priest and I am a married woman. Besides, my husband has just entered and he will scream down the hall. And ’tis a beautiful hall.”

She watched the messenger ride out minutes later. Father Murrary followed moments later. She settled before the hearth and worked on a tapestry. One of the servants came to her and informed her that the chamber in which Father Murray had stayed was now cleaned. She thanked her and went back to stabbing the needle through the fabric. It was a mindless task that stilled any thoughts that might have occupied her mind.

Her marriage was for political reasons. Still, Caelen cared for her. That she knew. From the evening when he had come to the clattan for her and shared bread and cheese, she let herself believe that he more than cared for her, that he loved her. He had held her in his arms. He had worried about her when she stole Thor. He had even tried to teach her to ride. Aye, he cared, and she foolishly hoped that emotion would develop into love—one that matched her own.

Yet, she was having doubts. The steadfast belief she always carried was diminishing and she was losing faith. She could wail and drag herself about, even work on this silly tapestry. She refused to call defeat. She couldn’t sit by and let others control her life. Didn’t a wife have to interfere with a husband’s life? No one else in this world saw the hero Caelen was. He wielded a sword and terrorized men from North to the South. There was more to Caelen that his fighting skills. He was a good man who was much more tenderhearted than he let on.

She stabbed the needle into the linen.

“My lady, can we gae see the fightin’ between the earl and Keir?” Jinny asked as servants crammed the doorway.

“I had forgotten. Of course, and I will be attending as well.” Jinny rushed off as Brenna flung the tapestry aside and jumped up from her seat. She pushed her way through the large hall’s doors and into the sunlight. The castle residents and the guards hurried to the training grounds. She hurried behind them, caught up in their excitement.

Men gathered about, leaving a large clearing on the rocky, sloping islet edge. She pushed her way through. Caelen’s broad back faced her. A breeze rose from the loch and picked up the strands of his blond locks. She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the warming air. Caelen was so frightening. She was happy that he wasn’t her enemy. To face him on a field of battle…she would run in terror. His men—Raemon, Miach, Uilliam, Jock, and Keddy—stood before him while opposite the clearing, Keir gave instructions to his five men.

Oh, Caelen was arrogant, but he had proven his right to be. She moved to her right to see the coming clash. Both sides walked to the center and took their stances. Brenna blinked and the clash began. She flinched at the thud of thick wood as it reverberated around them and traveled over the loch. From behind her, a wave of manly shouts rolled over her. The men broke off into pairs.

Raemon parried with the towering Eoin. He circled about and seemed to be leading Eoin to where he wanted to lead his foe. Eoin corrected his stance and slipped, the ground slippery from high tide. Eoin went down on one knee with his claymore ready to block. Raemon brought his sword down. Gripping its pommel with one hand, Raemon punched him in the nose. And when Eoin lowered his sword, Raemon struck with another blow. He was the first to fall. He laid splayed on the ground, blood coming from his nose.

Caelen stood with his legs planted hip-width apart, and his arms were crossed. He gave no reaction. Keir screamed at his men, calling out directions. Keddy stumbled over the rocky ground. He rolled over as the blunted training axe came straight at his head. Brenna gasped. He jumped to his feet. With a circling motion, he sent the axe flying. It bounced off the moss and lichen covered rocks, landing in the water. Keddy kicked out the legs of his opponent.

Keir stared across the clearing at Caelen. He knew he had lost his wager. Jock cracked his opponent with his elbow and Caelen smiled, his first sign of pleasure, as the man fell. Miach sent his man down with a blow to his chest. Uilliam slashed his man in the ribs, and his rival crumbled at the well-struck blow. They spit blood and bruises were already starting to appear.

Keir looked at his men and ambled across the clearing, avoiding his men resting on the ground. “I was wrong, my lord.”

Caelen clasped his outstretched arm. “Your men gave a good fight.”

Keir looked back at the men. “Tis cod ha’e been better.”

“Arrogance lost the fight.”

She looked sharply at Caelen. Too bad he didn’t know how apt his words were.

* * * *

The fire’s heat blasted against her face. The tips of her fingers were so cold that if they brushed against her, she would jump from the change of temperature. Brenna ran her hands over the messages pooled between her crossed legs.

She picked up one. She held it over the fire and pulled it back. She raised it to her lips. The scent of dust and age sent a rush to her head. The parchment had cracked from age. The oils from her hands had smoothed the edges.

For some reason, she couldn’t burn them. Each one had banished her loneliness, had given her an elusive thing to hold onto. And still did. She could feel herself reaching out for something, something she knew was just out of her reach but was there.

There was still a chance. Caelen could love her. He could see that her worth was more than the land. He could come in here and hold her. She could see as vividly as the orange flames flickering before her their future days together. The meals to be shared in the great hall—the moments when their lips met and she felt the rush that dizzied her and made her weightless so that she had to hold on to him. She could see the nights when their bodies were wrapped together. She could feel the weight of their children in her arms. She couldn’t give up on those future memories that she yearned for with such longing that she could taste the savory flavor. Her chest cramped from the pangs of longing.

Caelen walked in. She held her breath, waiting to see what he did. He filled the doorway. He glanced from the letters to her face. “What are you doing?” He crossed the space and loomed over her. “You plan to burn them.” His tone sharpened so she felt the accusation in his voice. He lowered to his haunches. “Don’t. Brenna.”

She looked up at the tenderness softening his words. “It does not matter.”

He gathered up the letters. “I do not want you leaving here even to go into the clattan.”

“Think I shall be stolen away from you?” she asked.

“Aye.”

She smiled.

“I do not know what your father may do. There are not enough men for an attack, but he could kidnap you then say I put you aside. I don’t know, and it is best that you are protected.”

She blinked to stop the burn in her eyes and climbed to her feet, using the time to gather herself.

“Brenna, I am doing this for us. I am the one who fights the battles. It’s the Highlander way.”

“Do not forgot, husband, I am a highlander, too.”

* * * *

The evening meal had finished when Caelen crossed the hall. With a slight incline of his head, he gave the signal to his men for their departure. This night, he would no longer play at politics. He would antagonize the man and force his hand.

Caelen was swinging into the saddle as Brenna raced across the courtyard. She had her skirts about her knees. She slammed to a stop by bumping into him. She gripped his leg. Her fingers dug into his calves.

“Where are you off to? Please do not go.” Her voice rose and shook with fear.

“Nay, I must.” He pulled his leg away.

“Whatever does that mean?”

“Do not question me.”

She yanked at the reins in his hands. “What have you done? I do not need my father to be antagonized. I have sent a messenger to the king and now what will happen? My father can use this against us.”

“You sent another message.” His menacing tone chilled his throat.

“Aye, to the king,” she replied.

“Your only duties are to the household. You have worked against me.”

Her face flushed. “Against you? I am your wife and am doing all I can to stay as such.”

“I am as well. With you running off doing as you wish without my notice has caused trouble. The time is not right to inform the king.”

“Time has never been right. The time had never been right for you to collect me. The time had never been right for you to return home. The time had never been right for a great many things, it seems. When will the time be right for you to fight to keep me as your wife? You want the land more than you have ever wanted me.”

“The very reason we wed.” His tone was chilled. He stared down at her, a glower upon his face. Another would take the silent warning that his patience had been worn out and to tread with caution.

“The very reason you wish to save this union. You do not love me.”

A wee bit of his icy rage chipped off. “I will protect and care for you, but this marriage was based on politics. Do not pretend otherwise.”

She loosened her grip on the reins. “I foolishly believed that it had become more. You shall get all you desire.” Her voice hollowed.

He expected her to storm away; instead, she turned and walked away with measured steps. Her head was high and her back straight. He waited for a glimpse of her face.

Caelen had said nothing wrong. He did care for her and would give her all she desired. He would make her days happy. She would be safe and live the life her station befitted. Her station included obeying her husband.

* * * *

In the morn, the pale sunlight struggled to shine in the bedchamber. Not that Brenna needed the light. She was alone. Caelen had yet to return, which worked for her and the plans she had concocted after his departure. She dug deep in her other trunk and wrapped a plaid around her belongings. Caelen might fight on the battlefield, but as a woman in this time, she understood politics better than most men. After all, noble women were pawns in men’s games and this was her chance for checkmate.

She tied her bundle to the lairdess’s saddle. She led her mount from the stable and slipped among the people departing from the castle. The bridge stretched out before her, seeming longer. She jumped at each voice. She kept her head down, avoiding any gaze that might land upon her and call her out. She tucked her cloak tighter around her.

At the edge, she turned west. She lacked riding skills, but Brenna knew her direction. She knew she was in the right since the sun shined. If rains came, her absence would be noticed. Five other people traveled along the track made from cart wheels and animal hooves. She opened her cloak, letting the sweet air cool her.

“My lady,” a voice hissed from behind her.

She spun around, yanking the horse’s face with her. “Oran.” Her gaze darted about and landed on Alastronia standing on the opposite side of his animal. “What are you doing?”

“Follaing ye,” Oran said.

“Why?”

“Because ye left the castle an’ I ken ye up to something.”