Terri Brisbin (12 page)

Damnation. He possessed better manners than a Kirkpatrick, he just wasn’t always delicate in his speech. He meant to have his children, but he was willing to wait until Brenna was fully healed from her long imprisonment.

But then their true marriage would begin. Gavin would fulfill his promise to Brenna on the morrow and then he would be ready for her to fulfill her promise in return. Sooner or later they would live as man and wife in every sense of the word.

After Brenna departed Gavin, she lay cocooned in blankets on the floor of the small dwelling, listening to wind whistle through the trees. Smoke from the fire in the walled garden curled through the chamber where she reclined, the wisps of gray mist floating over her like the memory of her conversation with Gavin.

She told herself her eyes did not sting simply because he had married her for her ability to bear healthy heirs. After all, she had not cried when the English had captured her three long years ago. Not even when one particularly brutish knave yanked her by the hair halfway to the border did she give up so much as a tear. Pride and anger wouldn’t allow it.

Why then did a few simple words from Gavin have the power to sear her more painfully than any wound? The thought troubled her long into the night. Right up until Gavin finally lay down on the other side of the chamber from her.

She squinted through the darkness, able to see him only because his blankets lay close to the open archway leading into the walled garden where the fire still burned. He had arranged her pallet deep within the room, far from the door and any dangers that might come their way during the night.

He was thoughtful and brave, ready to put himself at risk
to protect her and her sons. She could not ask for a more worthy guardian for her children.

She studied him in the firelight as he readied himself for bed. She told herself she should close her eyes, yet found herself fixed greedily upon the sight of his strong arms bared to the cold night air as he removed his tunic.

Brenna shifted beneath the covers as she watched, fascinated by the play of shadow and light over taut muscle and bronze skin. He slid his sword just beneath the edge of his bedroll, hiding the silver glint of the blade from any night marauders yet keeping the weapon easily within reach should the need for it arise.

Careful and thorough, the laird of Blackburn Keep left nothing to chance. Not even the begetting of heirs. And although Brenna still stung at the reminder he had wed her solely for her proven ability to bear healthy children, she could not help a twinge of curiosity about what it would be like to lie with such a man. Foolish, dangerous imaginings. Yet the fanciful part of herself she’d thought long buried now teased her mind with heated questions.

What would it be like to share her bed with a man who was careful and thorough and left nothing to chance? Ah, yes, she was surely a wanton woman that such foolish wanderings of her thoughts caused her pulse to kick up most inappropriately.

Squeezing her eyes shut tightly, she ignored the blatant longing of her body to concentrate on the intelligent course of action she’d already mapped out in her mind.

Once she’d secured her sons, she would bide her time before consummating her handfast. She needed time to heal, time to think. She’d been rushed into their vows, a victim of her desperate need to hold her children in her arms again. Part of her still longed for freedom from any man’s rule, yearned for a way to leave her handfast after their year together.

As for Gavin, whose mere presence fired her blood like no man she’d ever known, she would simply remind herself that
his goals in their union had been as mercenary as hers. She needed protection. He needed heirs.

Still, he was risking his life to retrieve her children and she would be honor bound to repay him for his aid. If heirs were so important to him, perhaps she could help him find a more suitable wife, a woman more like his first bride who had so thoroughly stolen his heart. Maybe then Gavin’s heart would heal, and he would forgive Brenna for walking away from their handfast promise.

Although the notion of finding Gavin a bride bothered her unexpectedly, Brenna recognized it as the only acceptable recourse with a man so intent on carrying on his clan. Satisfied she had seized upon a solution to her dilemma, now she only needed to be sure her handfast was not consummated. An easy task since Gavin had promised he would not make overtures of intimacy again unless she wished it.

She only needed to believe in his sense of honor to escape her handfast and secure her sons’ futures. Unless, of course, Gavin became aware of her unwanted feminine interest in him. She had the feeling she would not be able to say nay should he ever come to her bed with the intent to seduce.

All the more reason to stay on guard. After everything she’d been through, she would not risk her heart for something so fleeting as passion.

After spending the night a few arms’ lengths away from Brenna, Gavin could not deny the undercurrent of desire that connected him to his new bride. A current that flowed fast and hot even while he raced her through the last mountain pass to Montrose Keep, where they would join his small force of men.

Her eyes followed him today, shadowing his movements as they closed the distance between her and her sons. That quiet awareness had not been there when she’d first come to
his keep two nights ago, but it was very much present now as she slowed her horse to a trot.

He did not want this desire. Not really. He’d hoped that binding himself to Brenna would force his mind out of the past and drag him back into the present. For even if his heart had died along with Aileen and the daughter he’d never been able to hold, he had enough pride in his heritage to want the Blackburn clan to thrive and prosper. That meant he’d need a son to take his place before he grew too old to protect his people.

Of course, the heat he felt for Brenna would naturally lead to children, but he hadn’t expected such anticipation for the marriage bed. Somehow it seemed disloyal to Aileen to experience such keen hunger for another woman.

Over the next rise they met his man to journey the rest of the way together. He kept Brenna apart from the others, sensing her unease around other men. Still, the extra protection would keep her safe.

“There.” Brenna pointed to the Montrose holding half-hewn out of a mountainside, its high walls melding seamlessly into the jagged gray cliffs at its base. “The gates are open today and will probably remain so even when they see us coming since we are naught but two riders. Think you we should just ride straight past the gatekeeper and into the courtyard?”

“And risk an arrow in the back?” He had to smile at her boldness, though her plan was sheer folly. “To what purpose?”

“To catch them off guard.” She held his regard, steady and unblinking. Her green eyes narrowed after a long moment. “I would not have them forewarned so they can hide the boys. Perhaps this way we shall see them at play and your men can simply take them.”

“No.” He was surprised at her cunning, although maybe he shouldn’t be since she’d lived in the Kirkpatrick stronghold for years before she was taken captive by the English. “We willna risk drawing the wrath of the clan lest the king decide
to allow them to keep the children. The boys are Kirkpatricks after all. ’Twould be better to use a bit of charm to obtain the boys without a fight, ye ken?”

From her disgruntled scoff, he guessed that she was more than ready for a fight. “Ye’ve a bloodthirsty streak in ye, lass.”

“Only where my children are concerned.” She tilted her chin up at him, as arrogant a girl as ever he’d met.

She could not have been more different from Aileen, but Gavin found himself grinning in spite of himself.

“’Tis an admirable quality in a mother, especially one who must raise her sons in such an unforgiving land. But for today, ye’ll wait patiently outside with my men while I retrieve yer kin and we’ll be on our way home in no time.”

Thinking the matter settled, Gavin nudged his horse forward toward the Kirkpatrick holding. It wasn’t until much later in the day that he recalled his new wife had never agreed.

S
quinting up into the battlements of Montrose Keep later that afternoon, Brenna decided that waiting for things to happen must be a subtle form of torture. Could there be a more painful fate for a woman who had been locked away, unable to do anything of her own choosing for three long years? Every moment she waited for Gavin to bring her boys out of this den of Kirkpatrick vipers felt like a long, drawn-out eternity, the hours stretching into one endless torment.

They had reached the keep long before noon that day and by now the sun had passed its highest peak. At this rate they would not be back at Blackburn Keep until the next morn.

Lingering just inside the gates, Brenna had made conversation with a few of the villagers who had been her responsibility when she’d been their lady. They were a tight-lipped, suspicious lot thanks to Shamus’s cruel ways, however, and she hadn’t been greeted with anything more than passing curiosity. None of them had said anything to her about her sons, although she’d been tempted to question everyone she met.
Have you seen my boys?

Had
anyone
seen her sons? The questions blared through her mind as she wondered what had happened to Gavin and
why he had not brought them out already. Twice she had tried to urge one of his men to enter the keep and look for their laird, but twice she had been denied. Surely Gavin could not blame her for entering the keep after all this time to see what became of him? For all she knew, he could be engaged in combat with the Kirkpatrick laird, Fergus’s stingy sire who would sooner sacrifice his knights in frivolous battles than give up so much as a farthing of his precious possessions. What if the old miser had decided her sons were valuable possessions, as well?

Gavin’s men would have to cut down every knight in Montrose to free them.

Her mind made up, Brenna vowed she would wait no longer. As soon as she could elude Gavin’s men-at-arms, she would enter the keep herself. Shamus Kirkpatrick was a wicked, dangerous laird surrounded by equally wicked and dangerous minions, after all. She could not allow his treachery to inflict harm on a man so noble as Gavin Blackburn.

Her promised husband.

Shaking off the peculiar clenching inside her chest at the mere thought of her intimate connection with the bold Scot, Brenna strode deeper into the courtyard under the pretense of talking with the local wise-woman, confident no man-at-arms would venture into the crone’s domain. Once out of sight of Gavin’s men, she ventured near one of the lesser-known kitchen entrances to the keep.

If there was treachery afoot, Brenna meant to root it out before any Kirkpatrick lifted a finger against Gavin or her sons. She had learned a thing or two about guile in her time as Fergus’s wife and she would not hesitate to use it now when she needed it most.

Gavin liked to think he possessed more patience than many of his hot-blooded countrymen. But by now, he would gladly wring the neck of the next Kirkpatrick to enter the great hall
and give him yet another excuse for why they could not produce Brenna’s boys.

Curse the clan. The whole lot of false-talking turncoats could rot in hell at this point for all he cared. Brenna would be worried, and for all Gavin knew, the lying churls that lived in Montrose could be trying to spirit the boys away out a back entrance while they smiled in Gavin’s face.

Shoving aside the second cup of wine he’d been given even though he hadn’t so much as sipped the first, Gavin refused to dance attendance on the Kirkpatricks any longer. He’d hunt down the children himself and be done with it. He had found out Brenna’s sister, Alexandra, had been sent home a few months ago, so at least he’d gleaned that much from his conversation with the old laird’s wife. The boys were now on their own at Montrose Keep, with only a keep full of greedy relatives to watch over them.

Ignoring the protests from a couple of clay-brained louts in charge of watching over him, Gavin stalked through the keep with one hand on his sword. His Kirkpatrick guardians could object all they wanted, he refused to wait for Shamus to return to the hall with the boys any longer. With one battle cry, he could bring the wrath of his own men down upon the keep.

He peered from one chamber to the next while one of the knaves followed him and the other ran off—ostensibly to bring help. Gavin pondered that Shamus was an even bigger fool than he’d originally thought for the laird to send his wife in his stead. His son had been a spineless twit, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that his sire would be as craven as they came.

Gavin had entered the kitchens when he heard a strange noise from deep within that cavernous chamber. The sound was like a fierce yelp. A growl of warning.

Or a feminine war cry.

Feet kicking into motion, he sprinted across the smooth stone floor, followed by one of Shamus’s men-at-arms. He
skirted around a row of small cauldrons in front of the hearth, and then he spied the source of the sound half-hidden behind the wall of ovens.

Brenna held the old Kirkpatrick laird at knifepoint, while two dark-haired boys clutching large sacks stood frozen in the corner behind her. The boys looked ready for a journey, their packs bulging with new loaves of bread.

“He meant to sneak the children out a back gate,” Brenna hissed, her words punctuated with a small jab of her knife against the old man’s tunic. Her green eyes narrowed dangerously. “The lying, cheating, treacherous, no-good bastard meant to hide my children from me, but he will not succeed.”

Her words sounded angry. Venomous. Yet Gavin noted the way her arm trembled just a bit, the way her rigid body shook with raw emotions that could not sustain her much longer. She’d been overcome with exhaustion and heartsickness before she ever began this journey and by now she quivered with weakness despite her sure hold on her narrow blade.

Curse her need to do everything herself. Did she think he could not handle one wily old laird? And how in Hades had she eluded his men to stand here unguarded and alone? Lifting his sword to Shamus Kirkpatrick’s breast, Gavin stared down the patriarch of Scotland’s most notorious clan.

“’Tis glad I am to be seeing yer face at the end of my sword, Shamus.” Gavin nodded to Brenna, hoping she knew enough to get the children safely away. “I will join you outside the front gates.” Thankfully, she lowered her knife, replacing it on the kitchen counter from whence it must have come before she hustled the children out a side entrance.

No doubt the same entrance Shamus had been heading for while Gavin cooled his heels in the great hall.

“I have nae quarrel with ye, Gavin of Blackburn.” Shamus straightened his skewed tunic, although he moved slowly be
neath the nearby threat of Gavin’s blade. “The boys are my grandsons and there isna a Scotsman alive will contest it.”

“Aye, but Brenna is their mother and, with our handfast, I am their new sire.” He pushed his blade against Shamus’s chest, halting the older man’s attempts to smooth his garments. “The boys are therefore mine, and no Scotsmen will contest it or he will have the wrath of Blackburn to answer, ye ken?”

Calling on the last strains of patience, Gavin refused to give an inch until Shamus nodded his understanding.

“Good.” Gavin tightened his grip on his sword and moved to follow Brenna from the keep. “Then I bid ye good day and expect never to see yer face again, old man. The enmity that was born here today will die here today so long as I ne’er lay eyes on a Kirkpatrick again.”

Backing away from the laird, Gavin left the kitchens, still seething with anger at the Kirkpatricks and frustration with Brenna. How could she put herself at risk that way?

Prepared to take her to task for interfering, Gavin called to his men as he mounted his horse and tore through the gates. Yet he stopped cold in his tracks when he spotted her in a small clearing with her children. She knelt before her sons in the shade of a tall pine tree, all signs of rigid posture vanished while she hugged each child in turn, her arms wrapped tight about them as her head inclined to each small shoulder.

The boys’ wide eyes suggested they were a bit bewildered by the outpouring of emotion from a woman they might not remember, but the eldest patted her hair awkwardly when she kissed him, as if he knew his mother had come for him at last.

Gavin’s throat closed up tight at the tender scene, his eyes burning for a moment until he blinked away the ghosts of his buried dreams. He signaled to his men to ride ahead, knowing they would shadow him the rest of the way to Blackburn Keep.

For a year he had shut himself off from the world to prevent this ache inside him, but as he watched Brenna run her
fingers over each boy’s face, Gavin realized the old hurts did not have as much power over him anymore.

Instead, seeing Brenna with her sons gave him hope, a warm sense of possibility that maybe he could find a measure of contentment.

Gavin slid from his horse as she stood. “We’d best put Montrose far behind us, lass. Yer sister was turned out by the old laird three moons ago and one of the maids said she thinks Alexandra was headed for yer dower lands to take refuge.”

As she turned to look at him, the gentleness in her eyes lingered, catching him off guard with the hint of vulnerability he had never seen.

“Thank you, Gavin.” She called to her horse before peering around the pine-scented clearing where no one seemed to be following them. “These are my sons.” She laid a protective hand on the shoulder of the taller boy whose light brown hair looked as though it hadn’t seen a comb in a long while. A dirt smudge across one cheek balanced a dimple on the other although he did not smile. Tall and lean at six years of age, he would be a warrior of intimidating height one day. “This is Callum, the elder.”

The dark-eyed imp nodded solemnly as he seemed to size up Gavin, his eyes lingering appreciatively on Gavin’s sword.

“’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, young Callum.” Gavin bent closer to speak quietly to the child. “I hope ye’ll ride with me back to yer mother’s new home because I dinna think yer little brother will manage the bigger horse.”

Callum nodded, standing up straighter as if rising to the occasion of his new task.

Brenna squeezed the shoulder of the other boy whose mischief-filled eyes and round cheeks looked as if he had stolen more than his share of cakes from the kitchens, but his young body was already growing tall and strong, even at four years. “And this is Donovan.”

Gavin shook the child’s hand. “Ye’ll like yer new home,
lad. I’ve got a hound named Rowan who is ready to give birth to a whole new slew of pups. If we hurry, we’ll be there in time to see them.”

Donovan grinned and held up his sackful of belongings that his Kirkpatrick grandsire had given him. “We can go now. I’ve got bread.”

“Well, that settles it then.” Gavin couldn’t help but smile at Brenna, who was already situating herself on her horse. He handed Donovan up to her before lifting Callum on his mount and riding far away from Montrose Keep.

There would be time enough to confront Brenna about the risk she’d taken by facing down old Shamus Kirkpatrick with a knife. Gavin had the feeling that the treacherous laird would not let such an affront pass without retribution, but Gavin would allow Brenna to enjoy her reunion with her sons.

Besides, she needed to recover before he gave her anything else to worry about. She had survived hardships before, but she was not invincible. She needed to rest and regain her appetite to grow strong again, and until then, Gavin would stay out of her way.

Once she recovered her health, they would devise a way to protect themselves and the boys from Kirkpatrick retribution. Only then—when they were all safe and she had regained her strength—would they consummate the handfast promise that was never far from Gavin’s thoughts.

The month of April passed in a blur for Brenna. For the first time in years, she felt safe enough to let her guard down, safe enough to sleep deeply at night without any fear of rogue English knights descending on her prison to make free with her person.

That had never happened in all her years as a captive, but she had been threatened with the scenario during her hellish march from Dornoch Firth to the English border. After that,
she had lain awake in fear many a windy night in her isolated keep, startling at every creak of the old edifice while she mindlessly felt for the blade that always rested under her pillow. Only much later did she learn from a quarrelsome old serving maid that her virtue had been spared because she was a Kirkpatrick. The English king owed many a debt to treacherous Shamus and his kin, and for this reason alone, Brenna was safe from a more humiliating captivity.

Now, she fastened a silver circlet about her head and ran her fingers through her loose hair before turning to the looking glass in her chamber at Blackburn Keep. Blinking at her reflection, she realized that Gavin had been right. She’d scoffed at him the night before over supper when he remarked that her newly recovered health made her look younger. After weeks of being subject to his undeniable charm, she had learned to deflect his lavish compliments wherever she could so she wouldn’t lose any more of her heart to the strong Scot who had saved her boys.

But this time, he had been correct. She did indeed appear younger than she had a mere moon ago, her cheeks filled out with gentle curves instead of strong angles, her hair sailing over her shoulders in smooth, shiny waves. Even her green eyes seemed brighter.

Not that it mattered, she reminded herself, turning away from the reflected image. Beauty was a fickle beast that had drawn the wrong kind of attention from Fergus Kirkpatrick. She’d rather live anonymously and alone than as the chattel of some ignoble man who would only shame her and teach her sons the ways of treachery.

Not that Gavin was such a man. Still, if she followed her plan, she would not wed Gavin after their year of handfast. She had thought of a much more suitable woman for him in the weeks she’d spent healing, although she had not yet told him as much. Nor had she spoken to the woman she had in mind—her sister.

Brenna stepped into her slippers to protect her feet from
the cold stones of her chamber floor on this sunny spring morning. In an effort to introduce the topic to her sibling, she had sent an invitation to her sister, who had taken up residence on Brenna’s dower lands after being turned out of Montrose Keep by Shamus Kirkpatrick. But after four weeks, Brenna had heard no reply from her. If Alexandra would consent to come to Blackburn Keep, she could at least meet Gavin again before deciding anything with regard to Brenna’s plan.