Highland Promise (35 page)

        "Brendan, do you plan to introduce me to this warrior?" Faith asked.

        "He knows who you are. Everyone here does," Brendan said flatly.

        "But I do not know who he is."

        "He is Douglas MacGregor, commander over my warriors."

        "I thought Roland was commander?"

        "Roland is my first commander, and Douglas is my second." His tone indicated the matter was closed.

        She smiled at the warrior and nodded, since a curtsy was impossible while her husband carried her. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Douglas."

        The warrior looked at her, turned crimson, and stumbled.

        Faith groaned. She had seen that reaction before and received a flogging for it. "I told you I had this problem, Brendan. I did not mean to entice him. You should have taken me to the convent."

        "Do not smile," he ordered.

        "That is a ridiculous command." She glared at him so he would know she wasn't obeying it either. "If I never smile, our clan will think me meanspirited."

        "You become a distraction when you smile," he whispered, then turned to Douglas and raised his voice. "Douglas, join me at the keep and give me an accounting after I turn my wife over to Gemma."

        "Who is this Gemma you plan to turn me over to?" she asked as Douglas mounted and rode up the trail.

        "She has been tending the keep since before I was born. She will help you get settled."

        Faith was about to ask if the woman spoke English when the trees began to clear. She made the mistake of glancing up the path. The keep came into view and knocked all rational thought right from her head.

        The gray monstrosity seemed to grow right out of the mountain. Low clouds floated eerily about the weather-darkened stones. Ghosts and ghouls surely inhabited such a forbidding place. Faith hugged Brendan tighter.

        "Are you unwell?" he whispered.

        She cleared her throat and looked at him then glanced back toward the keep. "It is rather...austere. Does your holding have a name?"

        "My enemies and warriors-in-training have a name for it. They call the Sutherland holding Perdition."

Twenty Two

         "You made that up to irritate me." Faith glowered and shoved his shoulder. "Put me down this instant."

Brendan couldn't hold back a grin. Saint Andrew, she pleased him. He had always thought he would want a docile wife, but he'd been wrong. Faith was perfect with her stubborn streak and daring, not to mention her soft-loving heart. He should break her habit of speaking her mind to him in front of others, but he was too pleased with her to chide her for anything. He decided then and there not to act aloof with her in front of his clan. He enjoyed her too much to deny himself.

        Tightening his hold on her wiggling rump, he walked toward the keep. "My home is called Mathandruim."

        "I do not care what it is called," she grumbled. "Now put me down, so I may enter my new home as a dignified lady."

        "Why is she angry, laird?" Douglas asked. "You told her the truth."

        "She is English," Michael answered as he and the other warriors from the England expedition joined them.

        She turned a vicious scowl on Michael. "Quit saying that I am English as if it were an insult. My patience with you is about gone."

        Brendan chuckled, and she returned her glare to him. "Well, Brendan?"

        He masked his amusement and was proud of his ability to keep a straight face when he asked, "Well what?"

        "When are you going to put me down?"

        "When I am ready."

        Her nostrils flared the tiniest bit. "When do you suppose that will be?"

        "When you are inside the keep. Considering your agitation, I cannot risk you walking in on your left foot and stirring the evil spirits."

        "Methinks I stirred the evil spirits when I warned you of the ambush."

        "Laird Sutherland, is that our new lady?" a woman's voice called in Gaelic from inside the keep.

"Aye, Gemma," he replied in his native tongue.

        "Well, bring her inside so I can take a look at her," the woman demanded.

        Brendan entered the keep, stepping directly into the hall of the large rectangular structure. Three huge unlighted iron chandeliers suspended at intervals from the high ceiling on large ropes. Wooden stairs rose against the wall to his right leading to three bedchambers and a solar on the upper level. An armory of weapons graced almost every spot on the stone walls. Fire crackled in the mammoth hearth that dominated the opposite wall.

        A tall, rawboned woman with white hair approached from behind the buttery screen, which stood near the wall to his far left. "Do not dawdle, laird." She crossed the hall, wiping her hands on her apron. "I want to see this Englishwoman you dragged into our midst, so I will know if she is a fiend likely to slit our throats while we sleep."

        Brendan sighed. His relic of a housekeeper had the cranky compunction of an elder who took more liberty than he should permit. He turned a mock frown on Gemma. "Can you not at least show your laird a wee bit of respect in front of his new lady?"

        "Humph!" She placed her hands on her hips, though the laugh-lines beside her eyes crinkled. "Just you remember who it was that pampered your fine lairdly backside and changed your swaddling. Now put her down."

        "My lairdly backside is not so fine any more. My wife put a hole in it with an arrow."

        A light flickered in Gemma's pale-blue eyes, and she cackled. "The lass may have promise after all."

        Brendan lowered Faith to stand before him and turned her to face the housekeeper, keeping his hands on her shoulders. "Gemma, this is my wife, Lady Sutherland. She will not understand you." He noticed Faith's hands wringing in front of her waist and was glad to see she wasn't grinding her fingernails into her palms. "Faith, this is Gemma," he said in English. "She has been running the keep since my mother's day and will help you manage."

        Gemma raised a stunned gaze to Brendan. "Why, she is naught but a wee bit of a thing. We need to fatten her up so she will survive the winter."

        Faith dipped into a curtsey worthy of a queen. "I am pleased to meet you, Gemma, but I do not understand a word you are saying."

        "You should teach her our language, laird," Gemma chided. Then she gasped. "Look at me, keeping the lass standing here when the poor dear is probably exhausted. Nothing but men to tend her for the last few weeks, and you probably didn't slow your pace even a wee bit." The housekeeper shot Brendan an accusatory glower and slipped an arm around Faith's shoulders. "Come with me, milady. We shall get you settled so you can have a bite and take a nap."

        Faith turned a bewildered gaze to his. "What is she saying?"

        As Gemma ushered her away, he grinned. "She is going to feed you

to fatten you up and settle you in our chamber so you can take a nap."

        Faith gasped and pulled away from the housekeeper, then rushed back to Brendan and clutched his arm. "I am through being fat, and I do not need a nap. Tell her, Brendan."

        "Aye, you do need a nap," he replied sternly, giving her a push toward the old woman. "You were so tired you could not even walk up the last hill."

        "It is not a hill, it is a mountain," Faith retorted. "And 'tis barely midday."

Gemma clucked in her cheek and took Faith's arm again.

        "I want to look around my new home." Faith rooted herself beside him.

        "You can do that later." He disengaged her grip on his arm and set her back. "You need to rest and that is an order."

"But—"

        Brendan turned a frown on Gemma and spoke in Gaelic. "She is to rest undisturbed."

        The housekeeper nodded and ushered Faith toward the stairs. "Laird says you are to rest, so you rest."

        Faith looked over her shoulder at him, her face a plea. "Brendan, I need someone to help me understand what she is saying."

        "You do not need to talk. You need to rest."

        "Come rest with me," she begged as Gemma dragged her up the stairs. "I do not wish to be alone just yet."

        "If I come, you will not get any rest, but I shall send you company." Brendan released a shrill whistle, and Dog bound into the keep. "Dog, go with your mistress and guard her well."

        The wolfhound barked once and dashed up the stairs as Gemma tugged Faith out of sight. His last view of her revealed that her mood was predictably indignant. "Brendan, come here now and I mean it!"

       "Does she dare to order our laird?" Douglas asked in astonished tones.

       "All the time." Roland chuckled. "He allows it too."

       "Put an arrow in his arse and he did not retaliate either," Luthias added.

       "Aye, our new Lady Sutherland has heart," Jamie boasted.

       "More than one heart," Michael quipped. "She has the laird's too."

        Brendan placed his fists on his hips and turned to scowl at his men. Damn them for figuring out he loved his wife. He wouldn't allow them to think he obsessed over her too. "Douglas, I will hear your accounting now."

        The clansman nodded and folded his arms across his chest. "The harvest is in. We shall be well fed this winter. We cut the last sheath two days past."

         "I suppose Suisan was in her element." Brendan held back a grin, thinking about the beauty with a tendency to flirt that was driving one young warrior in particular to distraction. "Did she manage to accept young Donny when he proposed?"

        Douglas shook his head and turned somber. "Donny never got the chance. Suisan went missing near the time you left. We have yet to find her. Most believe she was taken by either the MacInneses or the Gilmores."

        "Saint Andrew, help her," Brendan uttered under his breath. "It must have been the Gilmores. The MacInneses would have at least enough honor to let us know she was safe."

        "For all their honor, the MacInneses raided our sheep," Douglas said. "We took them back along with a few of their cows."

        Brendan nodded his approval. His feud with the MacInneses was halfhearted at best. They shared a border to the west, so it was only natural that they should each occasionally try to shift the boundary in their own favor. If it came to a battle with a mutual enemy, they would probably band with each other. "Anything else?"

        "Your sister presented a few problems." The commander sounded as if he hated to tell tales on the lass. "She wandered off more than once. Fell from a cliff onto a ledge on the north mountain one time and fell into a bog another."

        "She what!" Anger knotted the muscles in Brendan's neck and his scar twitched.

        "Laird MacInnes pulled her from the bog and brought her home, so I gave back his cows." Douglas raked his fingers through his long, brown mane. "Do not be too hard on the lass. She didn't mean to be disobedient. Your sister has a mischief problem."

        Brendan rubbed the back of his neck. The headaches he suffered while in England had been warranted. "I will deal with her."

        "I solved the problem," Douglas said.

        Brendan cocked a brow. His sister had done a fine job of wrapping this warrior around her finger. "How did you manage that?"

        "I assigned Dog to her."

        Before Brendan could tell him that was the most ridiculous solution he had yet to hear, Heather burst into the keep like a whirlwind of sunshine. "Bren, Duncan is racing up the mountain, and he looks mean enough to kill a bear with his bare hands."

        "Heather, go sit alone at the table," he ordered. "You are not to leave or talk to anyone until I come speak with you."

        His sister scowled and put her fists on her hips. "Why?"

        Hell, he now had two mule-headed females to contend with living under his roof. "We will talk later. I am sure if you think hard, you will know why."

        Heather glared at Douglas accusingly and muttered, "Traitor."

        "Now, Heather." His cheek ticked almost wildly and that telling sign probably convinced her to obey. He would never raise a hand to his sister, but he had found other methods that worked better anyway. She hated being confined to the hall for even five minutes alone. This episode would ensure at least of week of good behavior—or at least as near to good behavior as Heather could manage.

        Brendan exited the keep and saw Duncan leap from his roan stallion. "What brings you on my heels?"

        Duncan tossed his reins to a nearby Sutherland warrior. "Shortly after you left, one of my cotters came with news that he found Brigid dead. The lass was murdered."

        "Do you think the Gilmores responsible?" Brendan asked, a hard edge to his voice.

        "Nay. I hate those bastards, but even they wouldn't descend to the savagery of this kill against a woman." Duncan gazed off toward the distant peaks as if he were trying to bridle his wrath, then turned back with smoldering eyes. "Whoever did this was surely a demon fresh from Hell, if not Satan himself. The lass was not only beaten and raped, but covered with bite marks." He wiped a hand over his face. "Damn it, Bren, she looked as if she'd been feasted upon."

        Brendan frowned as he remembered King Henry using those same words to describe the woman killed in England. "Was there any sign of the bastard responsible?"

        Duncan returned to his saddle and retrieved a bundle. He opened it, revealing a bloody ferula and dagger. "This whip was found beside the lass, and the blade was found in her chest. The dagger belongs to Geddes, but I know my commander. He could never have committed such a heinous crime. And I do not even know of a Highlander who would use a damn switch."

        Brendan grasped the leather-covered stick and fought the fury that seethed through him. "Son of a—"