Highland Promise (6 page)

         Killing was a messy task. 'Twas a good thing he was around to do it.

Four

        It was a wonderful dream.

        Cozy heat, strong arms, and the autumn forest filled her world. Faith smiled and opened her eyes to the early morn. Sunrays peeked through the foliage dancing above as a gentle breeze caressed her cheek. Security and warmth cloaked her.

        Stretching induced a groan as her sore muscles rebelled against a night spent on the damp earth. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

        A dark blue-and-green-checkered blanket covered her. It matched the plaid Brendan had worn the previous day. He must have come while she slept and gave his blanket to keep her warm. Glancing about, she detected no sign of him. She caressed the soft wool and wondered over such kindness given to a stranger. He hadn't condemned her for her sinful nature after hearing the truth either. Instead, he promised to help her.

        He was a perplexing man.

        Well, she would probably not figure out Brendan Sutherland, and she needed to start her day. Faith unwrapped the bandages on her hands and rinsed away the remains of the paste at the brook. Her wounds had almost healed, and she marveled over Brendan's miracle cure.

        She quenched her thirst and pulled the linen square from her sleeve. Wiping her mouth, she stiffened. She patted her upper lip with her fingers.

        Nothing!

        "Rats!" She rushed over to the plaid and pawed through dry leaves, twigs, and peered at numerous pebbles, without luck. What could have happened to her wart? "Oh Lord, I do not have time to make another. I have all my chores from yesterday to do, and it takes forever to get a wart molded just right."

        She searched the area and finally found the infernal thing a good four yards from where she had slept. "How did it get over here?"

        Shaking her head over the mystery, she slipped the wart into her pocket and grabbed her padding. She cinched her abdomen in place and raised her arms to repair her braid. More strands fell into her face and she blew them aside. She was probably making a bigger mess of it. Giving up, she reached for the plaid.

        Brendan's scent stormed her senses. She brought the blanket to her face and inhaled deeply. Shivers of excitement thrilled through her. The man certainly made her feel strange, and he wasn't even present.

        With tender care, she folded the plaid, slipped it under her skirt, and secured it with the cinch of her padding. Then she hurried to the keep. Waving to the tanner, ironsmith, and guards, she rushed through the outer bailey and into the hall. Glad she hadn't passed her brother, she headed for the stairs that led to the upper level of the tower and her chamber.

        Her foot was on the first step when the mocking voice called out, "I am heartened to see you feeling better, milady."

        Faith stiffened and raised her hand to cover her wartless lip. Dropping her gaze, she turned to face her brother's first commander, who in her opinion had too much control over Leland. Edrik carried his ferula, and she swallowed hard, remembering the times she had seen him whip his poor horse with the leather-covered switch. A cunning brute of moderate height, his pox-marked face drew into a sneer as he surveyed her appearance.

        "Good morn, Edrik. Ah...I came down, but now realize I am still too weak to be about." She regretted that lie as it fell from her lips. She had just condemned herself to a day in her chamber.

        Edrik crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his shoulder with the ferula. "'Tis interesting that someone who has not suffered a day since she was twelve should suddenly develop such an incapacitating malady."

        Faith clenched her jaw. "Do you make an observation or an accusation?"

        He shrugged. "Have you a problem with your face that you cover it so?"

        "My tooth aches. The pressure lessens my pain."

        "Leland's plan to avenge Rawlins's death failed yesterday while you were confined."

        "Did it?" Her heart picked up its pace. "I am sure my brother is disappointed."

        Edrik chuckled. "You understate his ire. He believes someone warned the Highlander and vows to kill the traitor." He cocked his head. "Mayhap I should caution him to look closer to home for the culprit."

        Faith dug her fingernails into her left palm, reopening her wounds, and raised her gaze, forgetting to hide her eyes.

        "I do see beyond your artistry, milady. I believe I shall speak to Leland about your future. 'Tis past time you had a strong man to keep you in line." An evil grin oozed across his face as he tapped his ferula against his leg. "Aye, I shall speak to him soon."

        In that instant, Faith knew real fear. Leland usually granted Edrik's requests. She gulped, inwardly cringing over the feral gleam in his pale-blue eyes.

        "There you are, milady," Noreen called from the landing above. "I told you not to be up for another day."

        Faith had never in her life been so glad to see her gray-haired, meddlesome maid. From the Scottish Lowlands, the woman had thought it her duty to foster Faith since the day she was born.

        Noreen made a show of feeling Faith's cheek and brow, then wrapped a maternal arm around her waist and directed her up the stairs. "Let's get you to bed. You have a touch of the fever and are not well enough to be about."

        "Aye, milady, retreat," Edrik called. "The truth will come out."

        Safely ensconced in her chamber, Faith released a shaky sigh and pressed a fist against her stomach. "Oh Lord, Noreen, did you hear? Edrik knows of my disguise."

        The maid snorted and glanced sardonically at Faith. "Anyone would know if they but looked close enough. I told you from the beginning 'twas a bad idea."

        Faith raked her fingers through her hair, disentangling what was left of her braid. "But what shall I do? He is suspicious of my whereabouts yesterday and plans to tell Leland."

        "Edrik may have the young lord under his thumb, but Leland will still believe me. I spent most of yesterday in here. He believes I was tending you." Noreen sat in a chair by the hearth and picked up her knitting. "Now tell me why you were out all night. Did you meet the Highlanders?"

        "Aye, they were suspicious of my warning and forced me to accompany them across Baron Rothley's land in case it was a trap." Faith pulled the wart from her pocket and placed it on a small table near her bed. "And, Noreen, 'twas Brendan Sutherland."

        "Nay," Noreen exclaimed, raising a hand to her throat.

        "'Tis the truth. He promised to help me when he returns from Londontown." Faith pulled her filthy kirtle over her head and tossed it next to a chest by the foot of her bed. "Do you think we can prevent Edrik from telling Leland of my disguise?"

        "He'll not be able to tell unless he rides hard. His lordship left at first light for court."

        "Oh Lord, I hope Leland does nothing foolish when he meets Laird Sutherland." Faith pulled the plaid from under her shift.

        "What have you there?" Noreen eyed the plaid sharply.

        "Laird Sutherland's plaid." Faith lightly caressed the soft blanket and smiled. "He covered me while I slept. I found it this morn when I woke."

        "A Highlander left you with his plaid?" Noreen wiped her brow with her hand. "Ah, lass, do you ken what this means?"

        "Aye. He is a thoughtful man." She grinned ruefully. "I admit he and his warriors terrified me, being such giants. But do you know what he did?"

        Noreen shook her head.

        "He bandaged my hands, and we walked instead of rode. Was that not thoughtful?"

        "Ah, lass, you truly do not ken," Noreen lamented, wringing her apron in her hands.

        "What are you prattling about?"

        "When a Highlander gives you his plaid, he is staking a claim. The man plans to keep you."

        "Do not be ridiculous," Faith scoffed and placed the plaid to her chest. "Laird Sutherland did not give me the plaid. He loaned it to me. I told him about my penance, and I shall return it when he takes me to the convent."

        "I care not what that dreadful priest told you. You were not meant to be a nun. You should be a wife with an adoring husband and a mother with precious bairns."

        Faith narrowed her eyes. "We shall not discuss this again. My mind is set."

        Noreen stared at the plaid nestled among Faith's clothes. Then a cagey grin crossed her face. "Ah, lass, you may not be discussing the matter with me, but do not say you were not warned." She resumed her knitting and chuckled. "I have a notion Saint Andrew smiles upon you, and your mind is going to be unset quite soon."

~ * ~

        The summons came before Brendan and his men could dismount outside the alehouse where they'd planned to stay. Informed they were guests of the crown, the Highlanders soon found themselves ensconced in prime quarters in the west wing of White Tower, King Henry's Londontown residence.

        After cleansing away the dust of travel, Brendan donned dark brown trews that clung to his sinewy legs and black-hide boots that reached his knees. He pulled a black tunic of the finest wool over his head and angled his plaid sash-style over his right shoulder, anchoring his colors at his left waist using a leather belt. A knock sounded at the door as he fastened his laird's badge to his shoulder.

        Expecting the summons from the English king, Brendan left the dagger normally sheathed in his right boot and his sword in his chamber in deference to King Henry. He grabbed the pouch containing the missives from Lady Ranald and her father, Baron Arundrydge, and followed the servant through a maze of corridors.

        Upon reaching the monarch's great chamber, Brendan entered behind the servant, who handed the letters to the king. Henry stood by a tall window and opened the scrolls, ignoring his guest. Brendan clasped his hands behind his back and studied his host. King Henry was tall for an Englishman, though a full head shorter than Brendan. The monarch leaned toward the window to avail himself of the light, but still portrayed a commanding presence.

        Brendan glanced about the chamber. It was a room of strategy and war. Weapons adorned all the walls except one, which bore a giant map of the Island, Britannia, and Normandy. A game table bearing an exquisitely carved ivory and onyx chess set stood near the window. And a long, massive, oak table took up most of the space in the center of the room, encircled by high-backed chairs.

        A bowl of roasted walnuts surrounded by a few scattered shells at the far end of the table brought back memories of two-days past when Faith had tried to de-hull one. Brendan suppressed a laugh as he recalled her searching for that damn wart. She was a persistent little thing. A fighter too. When she found herself backed into a corner, she let fury override fear and came out punching.

        He would have to do something about her terror around horses. The Sutherland's wife would not be permitted to show anyone such a flaw. She probably hadn't been around the beasts much. Aye, he would instruct her and she would overcome her weakness in no time at all.

        Papers rustled. Brendan glanced up to find shrewd pale blue eyes assessing him as the king lowered the missives to the table.

        "You have brought me unexpected and pleasing tidings, Laird Sutherland. My favored baron, whom I believed dead, is alive and my goddaughter as well. Do they truly thrive as their epistles indicate?"

        "Aye, Your Grace. Baron Robert weakened while imprisoned by the Vikings, but much of his strength has returned. I understand he intends to winter at Arundrydge. Then after attending you in the spring, he will return to the Highlands for the birth of his first grandchild."

        "I am indebted to Laird Ranald for saving them both, though I find it hard to believe Alera married him without a fight. She always was hardheaded." The king shook his head and grinned. "Little Alera is to be a mother."

        Brendan wondered how anyone could describe that voluptuous lass as little. "Lady Ranald has grown into a bonny woman. She captivated my friend, and they both flourish in their marriage."

        Henry chuckled. "I would say she has grown into a managing woman. Do you know she had the gall to give me an order concerning you?"

        Brendan raised a brow. "I am not privy to what she has written to Your Grace, but I did observe she likes to issue orders. Her husband finds the flaw a wee bit irritating."

        "I am sure that is an understatement. She commanded me to ensure you carry out a promise to wed her friend, Lady Faith of Hawkhurst." He rubbed his chin and speculation entered his eyes. "Have you met Lady Faith?"

        "She crossed my path as I journeyed here," Brendan replied, not mentioning that she had literally lain across it.

        "Why would you make such a promise without meeting the lady first?"

        Brendan shrugged. "My liege ordered me to wed an Englishwoman, and I find myself indebted to Lady Ranald for saving my sister."

        "And you think any Englishwoman will do." Henry clasped his hands behind his back and paced the length of the chamber before turning back to Brendan. "Tell me what you thought of Lady Faith."

        Surely the king wouldn't oppose the match. Considering most women her age were already wed with several bairns, no one else could be vying for her hand. "She is an unusual woman."

        "Most people would say she is an ugly woman," the king countered. "'Tis why she is almost eighteen and yet unwed. No man will have her."

        "I will."

        "Why?"

        "Pardon me, Your Grace, but—"

        "I shall not pardon you, boy. I asked you why you would have her. 'Tis a simple enough question."

        Brendan hadn't been called boy in a good fifteen years. He didn't like the insult. "I gave Lady Ranald the word of The Sutherland."