Her One Desire (27 page)

“I would not have known.” He winked, trying to humor her. “Chin up, Lady Maxwell. All will be well. I vow it. Remember your status in the clan is higher than hers.” Broc tossed the door open and spun Lizbeth around by her shoulders. He set her in front of him like a shield and gave her a little shove into the radiant light of late mora, which dimmed in comparison to the vehemence in Mam’s glare. Lizbeth raised her chin and took two bold steps, making him proud to call her wife.

With his palm over the hilt of his sword, he sidled up behind her and held Lizbeth’s hand up to display her wedding band. “Mam, I’d like ye to meet my wife, Lizbeth.” “Think ye that ring makes her your wife?”

“We pledged our troth yester eve,” Broc defended. “Ye had no witnesses,” Mam hissed and sliced her blade through the air.

He placed his hand at the small of Lizbeth’s back and felt her flinch. “God was my witness. I need nay other.” “In order for it to be binding ye do.”

Grandmum limped into view beside Smitt, who didn’t even attempt to hide his enjoyment of the situation. He thought this amusing, did he?

“Ogilvy, step forward,” Broc ordered.

“Ogilvy?” Lizbeth asked, s

Broc knew now wasn’t the time for antics, but he couldn’t quite help himself. “Aye. His Christian name is Ogilvy, named after his da. He prefers Smitt because he thinks the women are smitten with him.”

Smitt obliged and stepped into their circle, his smile no longer dazzling. Broc spun Lizbeth around, holding her shoulders tight. “I, Broderick Maxwell, pledge my troth to ye, Lizbeth Ives.” He nodded his head for her to repeat the words back to him. When she stammered, he shook her shoulders. Her mouth was open, but her head slowly turned toward Mam’s menacing snarl.

He caught her chin, forcing her eyes on him, and gave her a look that demanded she be brave. “Speak the words, angel.”

“I, Lizbeth Ives, pledge my troth to you, Broderick Maxwell.” “There, ‘tis done. With witnesses.” Broc raised a brow at Mam. “Are ye appeased, or shall we reenact our consummation before ye as well?”

Mam visibly shook, then cried a guttural scream that echoed throughout the woodland. Within the span of a single heartbeat, Smitt lunged backward, Mam reared her sword above her head, and Broc shoved Lizbeth aside. Feet braced shoulder wide, he unsheathed the weapon at his hip in time to block the blow. Scraping metal rasped as he flung Mam’s blade wide. She turned a full circle, gaining momentum, and came at him from the side.

He again deflected the strike. Battling Mam’s fury was much easier with swords than words.

“Cease! Cease!” Lizbeth bellowed.

Mam balanced and reared back her elbow for a direct stab. With the hilt held tight in one hand, she aimed the sharp point straight at his heart and thrust.

“Nay!” Lizbeth screamed and dove in front of his chest with her arms clasped around her head.

His heart jumped out of cadence.

The tip of Mam’s blade stopped a baw hair from Lizbeth’s spine. Broc wrapped an arm around her violently shaking body and spun her to the side and out of danger. “Enough!” he yelled at Mam. “Put down your weapon.”

Mam’s blade lowered, and her eyes rounded beneath raised brows. “Is she wowf!”

“Mayhap. But nay more than ye.”

Lizbeth pushed out of his arms and gawked at them. Her gold eyes twitched beneath the sun’s rays like flickering flames. “What manner of woman wields a sword against her own kin?”

“Think ye I was going to kill him? He is my son.” “And he is my husband.” Lizbeth stepped toward Mam, and Broc prayed his bold wife didn’t push her. “Whilst I am not familiar with the way you and your kin resolve your differences, where I come from, when a blade is wielded, a man dies.” She filled her hands with her skirts and rushed into Grandmum’s awaiting hands.

“Come.” Grandmum patted Lizbeth on the back. “Let us go inside. I’ll fetch us a flask o’

whisky.”

“Better fetch two,” Smitt suggested and followed. “Da will make more.”

Broc sheathed his sword at his hip and wished he didn’t turn to ice when he stood next to Mam, but she’d always had that effect on him. He’d tried to gain her affections, hoped she might one day see the strong warrior he’d become and proudly call him son. but even now she stood unmoving, uncaring. How would he ever get this woman to accept his wife when she wouldn’t even accept him?

Mam’s mouth closed, and the point of her sword drew a crooked path in the dirt. “Think ye I intended to kill ye?” “Nay, but she did.”

“She shielded ye,” Mam stated with little emotion. ‘Twas a fact Broc hadn’t considered. A sudden ache clutched his heart. Pride? Love? “I s’pose she did. The lass must be growing a wee bit fond of me.”

“Fond of ye?” she questioned with that familiar accusatory tone. “No warrior, man nor woman, steps in front of a sword because of fondness. Had we been engaged in actual battle, she would have sacrificed her life for ye.” “Aye.” Broc could no longer contain his smile. His wee wife tried to protect him.

Mam searched the ground, her head tilting this way and that. “Think ye Lady Juliana would have thrown herself in front of ye?”

His smile fell instantly. “Lady Juliana is no longer my concern. I will meet with Laird Scott, along with the Wardens of the Marches, upon my return from Edinburgh.” Broc intended to say more regarding his plans to rally the border lords, but Mam paid no attention to his words. “S’truth.” Her gaze traveled from him to the dirt path leading to Skonoir Castle, then back to him. “I’m nay certain I would have done the same for my Magnus.” She crossed herself out of respect for her deceased husband. “I loved your da. Bore him a dozen bairns, I did. But…”

“Has she earned your respect then?” he asked when Mam’s words trailed off. Hopefully, Lizbeth’s act of bravery gained her Mam’s acceptance.

“She’s spirited. Aye?” Mam smoothed silver-laced strands of brown hair back into her braid.

“Oh, aye.” Mayhap too spirited deep down.

“She’s bonnie for English. That wee bit of red in her hair will help.” Mam tapped her finger against her bottom lip. “The aunts will take to her well enough, as will your sisters. The elders might need encouragement. Is there favor to be gained with the English through your marriage? Does she come with any entitlements?”

Broc knew the path this conversation would take, and while he once intended to hide Lizbeth’s secrets, he knew it best Mam knew the truth. “She comes with nay dowry. She bears the epithet of iady’ because her father holds a lord’s rank in England.”

“She is the daughter of an earl? A marquess mayhap?” she asked with far too much excitement.

A step back gave him enough distance to draw his sword.

“Lizbeth is the daughter of the Lord High Executioner.”

“Mo
chreach”
she whispered and stared at him, an odd fascination smoothing her harsh features. “She is skilled with the weapons then?”

Broc dipped his head to hide his humor. Lizbeth was so much more than the executioner’s daughter. “She’s a healer, like Grandmum, only I suspect a wee bit more knowledgeable of the craft. She cares a great deal for her loved ones and will make a gentle mother, but she holds nay likeness for the weapons. Instead, she is fond of flowers and making scents.” His efforts to convince Mam of Lizbeth’s qualities made him realize how very fortunate he’d been to find her. “Ye cannae protect Scotland with flowers. She’ll have to learn how to handle a sword.”

Broc snorted. “Ye go too far, too fast, Mam. Ye have only met her, and ye already have her wielding swords. Mayhap ye can start.with something less intrusive. Say, instructing her on delegation of duties.” He offered Mam his arm and blew air from his nose when she took it. They shared steps over the stone path toward the entrance to Grandmum’s.

“Can I trust ye to keep her safe inside the stronghold whilst I’m away?”

“She will be safe.” Mam turned away from him and looked down at her sword.

“Heed me, Mam, or ye will find yourself living with Grandmum and milking her goats.”

“Shh…”

Giggle.

What is that smell?
Lizzy’s nose awoke before the rest of her. She moaned and hugged the softly stuffed bolster of Broc’s bed, her bed—a very large, very empty bed. Her legs stretched and her feet slid between the silky sheets. Oh, the things she intended to do to her husband in this bed made her ache in places still tender from their lovemaking. He might have dominated her at noontide yesterday before he’d left for Edinburgh, but she would have her way with him soon. Very soon. Her mind wandered to all the sinful places in the laird’s solar she intended to tease him. She would await him naked on the velvet bench seat beneath the arched stained-glass window and let the afternoon light pour color over her skin. They would make love atop the dark green and scarlet carpet in front of a crackling fire in the hearth. Little did he know what she had planned. He wouldn’t always be the one in control. She squirmed, rubbing her aching bare breasts over the sheets. She yawned and then sniffed.
Dirt? What is that smell?
She sniffed again. It smelled like peach jam on burnt bread.

Giggle.

“Shhh.. “

Her eyes flew open with a start. She flipped over, dragging the heavy counterpane to her chin. Children. She smelled children, and they were layered in rows at the foot of the bed grinning and snickering.
Two, four, six, eight
… She counted them in pairs.
Mercy Mary!
There were eighteen of them—blue eyes, green eyes, some so brown they were black, dirty boys holding wooden swords and freckle-faced girls with flowers laced through their braids. Lizzy stared at them. What else could she do? She was naked. Curse it! Broc had told her to sleep in her skin and think of him often while he was away. Why had she obeyed that order?

She s’posed she could scream, but she didn’t want to frighten them.

“Good den, m’lady.” A girl in the back with carrot-colored hair splayed her crossbar kirtle and dipped a quick curtsy. “We were eager to meet ye and snuck away from our morning chores to do so.”

The rest of the children nodded.

“I am Lucy, Radella’s daughter,” the same little girl said.

“Broc’s aunt?” Lizzy asked and continued to fret over the state of her undress. The children shook their heads side to side and frowned. “Nay, m’lord’s sister. M’lord’s Aunt Radella is my grandmum’s sister, but not the old grandmum who lives in the little castle on the border.”

Wide-eyed head shakes followed that comment. A little boy with black hair, huge dark eyes, and grime smudged from forehead to chin reached out an equally filthy hand and pinched her toe.

She jerked her foot back. She had no experience with children other than Eli and Martin. Two was a lot smaller number than eighteen. And she knew there were many more. How was she ever going to manage such a household? The little boy reached out and pinched her other toe. He covered his nose and mouth to hide his mischievous grin. “Broderick, behave,” Lucy scolded.

Broderick?
“You are m’lord’s nephew?” Lizzy asked, already warming to the little hellion.

He nodded, puffed his chest, and pinched her toe again. His was ornery, arrogant, and would, no doubt, grow to be as handsome as his uncle.

“Get up,” he demanded, reminding her furthermore of her husband. Lizzy’s cheeks heated while they all waited for her to follow Little Broderick’s order. Of course, this wasn’t going to happen. “Mayhap I could have some privy time.” They all nodded, but didn’t move. The girls twisted back and forth, swinging their skirts, and the boys stood and stared. Mayhap she said it wrong. They did talk differently here in Scotland. “I need to tend my morning ablutions in private.” Again came the nods, but not one of them turned to leave. She was trapped. Little Broderick hiked one knee up onto the bed, and she felt her eyes go round and dry. “Ye are all in verra big trouble. Verra, verra big trouble.”

A tall woman towered behind them, fists on her hips, with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. The children all swiveled, giving Lizzy their backs. Little Broderick jumped from the bed and clasped his hands behind him the same as the rest.

“Ye all are going to be scrubbing the steps before noonday. Ye laddies lay down your swords. There will be no play this day. Get yer arses to the stable and finish your chores. Girls, go to the kitchens and help prepare the morning meal; then go to the gardens to help your Aunt Jean pull weeds.” The children pushed each other like a herd of sheep to get to the chamber door. Wooden swords clattered at the woman’s feet as they took their leave.

“Ye, too, wee Broderick.” She pointed out the doorway. “Be nice.” Little Broderick wagged a stubby finger at the woman. He then glanced back at Lizzy, squeezed both eyes together in what she thought might be a wink, and then darted out the door. Relief made Lizzy smile, but she kept her humor silent, not knowing the temperament of this woman. At least she wasn’t wearing a sword. She shared Broc’s features: wavy black hair, light blue eyes, heart-shaped full lips. Lizzy guessed she was one of his many sisters and could only hope the woman didn’t have her mother’s disposition. Just thinking of the many sidelong looks Muira Maxwell had given her on the way to Skonoir Castle made her cringe. The woman gathered up the little swords with a frown. “Forgive their curiosity, m’lady. I can assure ye they will be severely punished.”

“Nay. Please.” Lizzy’s eyes pooled instantly, which was ludicrous, but what she imagined as severe punishment for those children made her nauseated. “They only wanted to meet me. ‘Tis my fault. My sleep has been minimal as of late, and I fear I retired before making an appearance yester eve.” In truth, after Broc left the solar, she didn’t have the courage to leave the chamber and face his kin alone. The woman smiled, displaying the same dimples as Broc. “Four of those bairns belong to me and my husband, Gregor, including the wee Broderick. I will let them know ye saved them from cleaning out the cistern. I am Deirdre, Broderick’s sister.”

“Pray forgive me if I do not get up.” Lizzy felt foolish for continuing to hide beneath the covers.

“John’s wife is in the corridor. Shall I send her in to help ye dress for morning mass or would ye prefer a maid?” “I need no maid, but do send Celeste in.”