Surrender (20 page)

"I should have given ye this sooner." He
handed her the small, folded parchment with a raptor on the seal.
"I canna help but be curious about all I've heard of this brother
of Elyne's. Her father said the day we wed, I would have the devil
as my brother-by-law. I dinna see how he would say such a thing
while ye talk about his son as an honorable man."

While Mother Cecelia read the note, Brother
Michael answered for her.

"Other than God, his son Ranald is the only
man Chief Broccin will heed. He is shamed because he cannot
frighten his son as he has every other man. Over the last couple
years, they have learned to deal with each other. 'Tis a kindness
that Ranald has forgiven his father for many things. But the father
knows he can never cross his son. He would not survive the
outcome."

Mother Cecelia cleared her voice to get their
attention. When they looked at her, she pressed the paper out flat
and stared down at it. Her face appeared flushed and she made a
small sound in her throat as if choking on a laugh.

"I think you and Elyne should spend some time
alone together afore the wedding vows."

Graemme sat up straight, surprised when this
saintly woman suggested such a thing. Had she read his mind and
known he intended to take her to a hunting lodge in the woods? Or
did she mean for them to sit across the great room from Chief
Broccin and talk to each other?

From the twinkle in her eye, he didn't think
it was the latter.

"A good start would be a walk in the orchard
surrounding the small chapel on the grounds," she said,
understanding his shocked look. "It was Lady Muriele's favorite
pastime. It will take you at least two days before you are fit to
ride. And once Elyne reads this, she will be reassured. She trusts
her brother with all her heart.

"Chief Broccin was short and to the point. He
stated they should open the gates to Sir Gramme. He and Elyne were
properly betrothed, and her would-be husband had fulfilled his end
of the bargain by appearing at Raptor Castle at the appointed time.
His son Ranald approved of the wedding and he and his wife will be
in attendance."

She stood and handed him Chief Broccin's
note. "I think her father expected you to give this to the guard at
the gate.

All would have been fine, if the Chief had
only stopped writing then. But he stated if Graemme changed his
mind and left without his bride in tow, he would forfeit his
ballocks when he returned.

No wonder Mother Cecelia had a hard time
keeping her laughter from rising when she handed the missive to
Graemme!

Graemme near shouted an obscenity as he shot
out of his chair. He clamped his teeth together then sat back down
as abruptly as he'd stood. His nose started to bleed again. He
fumbled around for something to stop it. He couldn't use his kilt
because it would expose those very ballocks Broccin wrote
about.

Blood blurred Broccin's signature, which was
fitting.

Brother Michael sprang to his aid and tipped
Graemme's head backward. Magically, Mother Cecelia placed a small
cloth in the monk's hand, which he used to cover Graemme's nose.
She must have dunked it in the basin with water from the pitcher.
Its coldness was a welcome shock and seemed to help staunch the
bleeding.

Magnus took Broccin's letter from Graemme's
hand. He had the nerve to laugh.

"Well, now, young man," Mother Cecelia said.
"You need not worry further about forfeiting any of your
treasures
for Elyne. I am sure she will come around once
she understands how serious her father is about this marriage."

Graemme snorted then choked for his efforts.
He barely heard someone scratch on the door.

"Come." The older woman called out. Elyne
entered and jolted to a stop when she saw the blood on Graemme's
face. Calmly, she looked him over then decided it was not from a
dispute with the monks but simply from getting his nose in the way
of her chin.

"If ye had caught me properly, ye could have
saved yerself an injury."

"Caught ye properly?" Graemme's muffled voice
growled. "If ye were a proper lass, ye wouldna have been upon the
gatehouse in the fist place!" His narrowed gaze shot sparks of
rage.

"If ye want a
proper lass
, dinna
fear I will be insulted if ye look elsewhere for one."

All he had shown her was anger and dislike.
Why didn't he disappear and hie himself off to the Highlands where
he belonged? He could take his evil temper out on the wolves that
probably raised him! What had he said his family motto was?
With a Strong Hand?
Seemed to her it should have been
With Slashing Teeth and Claws
.

He turned and looked at her through squinted
eyes. If a cold, menacing stare could kill someone, she would drop
to the floor and breathe her last. Good thing she wasn't a weakling
or she'd have backed up, gained the door and ran.

On hearing Graemme's voice, Squat bounded
into the room and made directly for him. He stood on his
barrel-shaped hind legs and clawed at Graemme's arm, demanding
attention. Unconsciously, Graemme reached over to ruffle the hair
behind Squat's right ear. It stood at attention even in his sleep.
Squat leaned his head back pressing into Graemme's hand, his eyes
half-closed in enjoyment. The fool dog had taken a liking for the
enemy. The little traitor!

Elyne whistled to him, but he ignored her.
Graemme didn't, though.

"Yer father has grown tired of yer strange
and unmaidenly behavior. He selected me to tame ye and bring ye to
the chapel in time for the wedding. He is determined to ruin my
life. Why, I dinna know."

He reached up and took the cold cloth from
his face, giving her a baleful look. "We will walk on the garden
paths and learn to know each other."

He glanced over in time to see the amused
look on Mother Cecelia face.

The woman had a warped sense of humor!

"I already know enough about ye to know
marrying ye would be the worst mistake of my life!"

Graemme snorted. "How do ye think I feel? I'm
in dire need of hiring a taster to assure ye dinna poison me
again."

Elyne put her hands on her hips and scowled
at him. "'Tis unfortunate ye forced me to vow not to." She mumbled
under her breath, "A shame, truly!"

Brother Michael changed the water in the
basin and rinsed the cloth. When he handed it back to Graemme, he
wiped his face as best he could.

"Ye bleed like a stuck piglet! Ye had best
wipe yer neck and chest too." Elyne turned her nose in the air and
sniffed, like he was doing something dim-witted and she wasn't
going to fall for it. "If ye think a little blood is going to make
me soften to yer high-handed ways, think again!"

"Where might I go to properly cleanse
myself?" He ignored her and turned to the monks.

"We have a well in the orchard," Brother
Octavius replied.

"A well?" He glowered at Elyne then turned to
Brother Octavius. "Will ye stand guard so my future bride doesna
spy on me again? She'll likely follow. She is known for her
fondness of watching men bathe at wells."

Elyne's face flamed so hot she wanted to grab
the cold cloth, blood and all, to cool it down. The nasty man was
blaming her for his own predicament. If he'd been polite and
apologized to her while she was still in the tree, this never would
have happened. But no! He had to put on a show fit for only a whore
to watch then pulled her down on top of him. And he blamed her?

"Bleh! I hope ye use as much soap and water
as I did washing the stench of yer body from mine! May I be
excused, Mother Cecelia?"

On getting a nod of the head in reply, she
turned on her heels and strode to the door, keeping her back
straight and haughty. At the door, she skidded to a stop,
remembering Squat. His tongue was half in, half out the side of his
mouth, and his straggly, bent tail beat the floor. 'Twas obvious he
wanted the loathsome man's attention.

"Come, Squat!"

When he looked at her and then back at
Graemme, she slapped her leg and whistled, loud enough to make
Mother Cecelia wince.

He came.

The frisky little dog followed her to the
kitchens, where the sisters there made over him and found a bone
left over from the soup last eve. She sat and talked to them while
Squat happily chewed on it until his few teeth grew tired. She
thanked the women and led him out of the back door leading to the
gardens and the cleared area where a small chapel stood.

Brother Octavius had made paths winding
around in no certain way other than to give the walker beautiful
plants and flowers to observe. She stopped to listen to the wind
blowing through the trees and birds talking and singing. Closing
her eyes, she took it all in, at peace for the first time since
she'd been at the convent.

Finally, she opened her eyes and found Squat
inspecting the flowers. Some must be flavorful, for he'd nip one
off then swallow it. But then, he was as likely to eat dead,
shriveled worms so she doubted he had much taste in food. She
sighed, wondering if the flowers would upset his stomach. She
didn't look forward to cleaning up the aftereffects.

"Ye should be ashamed of yerself, little
mister, falling for a scratch on the head," she grumbled as she
started walking again. "He might pet ye now and mayhap kick yer
arse this next morn. I'm telling ye, Squat, everyone knows ye canna
trust a wily Highlander."

She followed another path, mumbling to the
one listener not likely to disagree with her. "Why, Magnus must
have put a spell on Muriele for her to fall in love with him. I
willna believe it until I see them together."

She kept mumbling and grousing to herself
hoping Graemme took overlong in cleaning himself. It was such a
lovely day. With him around, he would spoil it. A few footsteps
later, she jumped. Someone followed behind her.

"Should I add talking to yerself as one of
yer virtues or is it another of the crazed things ye do?"

Bleh! When in Hades did Graemme get there?
She turned and raised her brows at him.

He snorted like a horse with a fly bedeviling
his nostrils.

"Ye don't even have to mumble for me to know
yer thoughts. I've been in back of ye since ye left the kitchens.
Did ye not notice Squat looking behind ye and sweeping his crooked
tail on the stones?"

"Ye should have made a noise!"

"Why? Are ye hard of hearing, too?"

"Listening in on someone's thoughts is nay an
admirable trait in a man."

She really didn't care if he'd heard her or
not. Mayhap her opinions of his brother and him would cause him to
think twice about wedding her.

"And watching a nekid man is nay an admirable
trait in a maiden."

She stopped walking and turned to stand near
toe to toe with him. With hands on her hips, she scowled up at him.
The man was so thickheaded! Why would he keep insisting he'd marry
her when they both knew they hated the sight of each other?

"Aye. Mayhap ye should tell my father the
betrothal is nay to yer liking? If ye tell him I am not the right
wife for ye, he will listen. Ye can even tell him I'm knotty-pated,
if ye like. Even he would understand a man not wanting to marry a
daft woman."

"Yer right. And the next breath he took would
be to order Domnall to sharpen his sword!" He shook his head and
looked at her in amazement. "Can ye be so bug-brained ye believe
yer father wouldn't do what he's threatened?"

"He would not. He just said it knowing ye
were a coward and wouldna dare to thwart him."

By Lucifer's saggy man-breasts! She truly
believed it. After what the man had done to his son, she should
know Broccin wouldn't think twice at gelding him!

"Nay. Ye are wrong. He'd do so and laugh
whilst he did. Believe me, if I even had the slightest thought he
didna mean it, I would have gladly stayed in the Highlands, honor
or not."

He shook his head and glared down at her.
'Twas not a good idea. Blood again began to trickle from his left
nostril. He grabbed the bottom of his kilt and, without thinking,
held it to his nose.

If her eyes had not strayed immediately
downward, he wouldn't have thought anything of it. But her face
turned pink. It didn't stop her from staring, though, when his cock
became interested in her scrutiny.

"Take yer eyes away, woman, else the good
Mother will find ye indulging in yer favorite sport!"

Her gaze snapped up to his. When he dropped
his kilt, a look of disappointment came over her face. Did her
father even suspect she went around giving men a cockstand whenever
she wanted?

He grabbed her arm. She tried to pull
away.

"Walk. The good Mother suggested we get to
know each other better afore we leave."

"Humph!"

She turned her nose in the air and called to
Squat, who had decided to dig in the middle of a flower bed. What
did Graemme want to talk about? She had one thing she wanted to
find out. His women in the Highlands.

"Do ye keep a leman at Clibrick Castle?"

She worried her lower lip with her teeth. Oh,
pish! She shouldn't have asked. He might think she cared. Perchance
he'd even think she wanted his attention or some such rot. Now why
did he stop so abruptly his boots kicked up a dust storm?

"What did ye say?"

Why, he looked dumbfounded. Did he think
women didn't know what men did all the time? She really didn't care
if he had one or not.

"Ye are the one hard of hearing! Do ye have
someone ye beckon to when ye feel like tupping?"

"Are ye witless? I canna believe ye would ask
a man such a thing. It has naught to do with ye whether I have a
leman or not."

"Naught to do with me? And ye think I'm
witless? It has everything to do with me. If ye have a leman, then
I will feel free to have one myself."