The Great Scottish Devil (11 page)

BOOK: The Great Scottish Devil
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She puffed up, her chest pushing out, her cheeks as well. “I can say whatever I wish. We are to marry and you need to listen to me, have a care for my tender feelings.”


Tender feelings
? I have seen no sign of them, Lady Stonewall.” He clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides.

She snorted. “Well, I have them. And you have stomped all over them, with refusing to get married for a fortnight, with flaunting your ward in front of me.”

He felt a twinge of guilt concerning Annabel. “I dinna mean to ‘flaunt’ my ward in front of ye. She is jist a concern I have at the time. When I find her a suitable husband—”

“I would think Sir Angus Gordon would be suitable. He is a Scottish warrior, one that has also been deemed a knight.” She looked across the hall. “He looked rather upset when he walked in here shortly before you and Annabel. Did you have a disagreement with him?”

Brodie felt uneasy at hearing Gordon had come back here just before them. For a second he wondered if… Nay. The man had stormed off before Brodie had decided to discipline Annabel. “Not all knights are honorable, Lady Stonewall. I do no’ trust the man entirely.” In truth, he did not trust the man at all.

“He seemed most interested in your ward. I saw no signs of being untrustworthy.” She narrowed her eyes. “Or is it that you have feelings for her, more than as your ward?”

“Even if I did, they wouldna matter. I have given my word to marry ye.” He didn’t want to talk anymore about the marriage or about Annabel. He simply wanted to go somewhere alone.

Agatha stepped closer, lifting her chin in challenge. “Then do so, on the morrow. Prove yourself.”

She had pushed him too far now. “There will be nay wedding fer a fortnight, as I already told ye. Dinna push me agin on the matter or ye will learn how much I dinna like being pushed.”

“Are you threatening me?” she questioned, blinking in shock.

He decided she might as well know from the beginning how he dealt with disobedience and dogged annoyance. “’Tis no’ a threat, but a promise, Lady Stonewall. Ye disobey me, purposely antagonize me, or do something foolish and yer bottom will suffer for it.”

“My…my bottom?” Her eyes widened. “Surely you do not mean that you would… would touch my bottom in a…” she swallowed hard, “in a harmful manner.”

“Aye, I do. Push me, disobey me, antagonize me, or behave foolishly and ye will get a sound spanking…or worse.” He didn’t particularly enjoy punishing a woman, but he would not be a weak man, a weak husband. Then he noticed her paleness. “Yer father or mother never took ye over their knee? Never burned yer butt?”

She shook her head. “Nay.” She swallowed hard again. “I do not wish to be,” she lowered her voice and her cheeks turned pink, “spanked…or worse.”

“Then do not force me to do so.”

“I…I would like to retire now, my laird. I find I am rather tired from the day’s events.” She backed away from him, looking wary.

He gave her a knowing look. “Yer ass is safe fer the night. Though ye did come close to getting a swat or two.” He glanced toward the stairs without meaning to and added, “I have already warmed one bottom and that is enough fer today.”

Agatha’s eyes widened again. “You… Annabel… You…”

He shouldn’t have said anything but it was too late to take it back. “Aye, I disciplined Annabel for behaving foolishly. She will think twice next time.” But he doubted it.

Agatha gave him a nod and hurried away; clearly worried that he would change his mind and spank her as well. He had a feeling he would be doing so before long.

He waited until she had disappeared at the top of the stairs before he headed for them. His head seemed to throb even more and it was starting to make him nauseous. He would get some much needed sleep and the morrow would no doubt be much better.

 

* * *

 

The first rays of dawn were creeping into Brodie’s chamber when he tossed off the bed linen. He had tossed and turned all night, fighting demons, struggling with memories he couldn’t quite reach. Sweat beaded his body. His head throbbed even worse than it had when he’d gone to bed.

He flung his legs over the edge of the mattress, put his hands to the sides of his head, and squeezed his eyes shut. Something was there right in the corners of his mind. Something important.

Furious that he couldn’t get it, he stood and swore viciously. He was tired of this not knowing himself, his past, his people, his family…anything. His thoughts turned to Annabel and how frustrated she was, too. The cryptic note she had found:
Braden…Ala…vow to kill Anna
.

Braden! Braden MacKay
! He knew the powerful Scottish laird, head of the MacKay clan in the northern Highlands! Now that his mind had freed up that knowledge, he could even picture him. The MacKay was a big man, every bit as large as himself, with a thick head of dark brown hair and amber eyes. At least that’s what the man looked like the last time Brodie had seen him here at Urquhart. Braden MacKay had been one his father’s friends.

Brodie stopped in front of one of his windows to look outside. But it wasn’t the bailey below that he saw, no, he was seeing the sadness that had always been on The MacKay’s face, lurking in the depths of his eyes.

His head ached again as something else stirred from those long ago memories. MacKay had lost a daughter. Nay! His wee baby lass had been stolen and never found. His clansmen had searched frantically for her, even watched for her years after her disappearance. Brodie’s own father had helped in the search.

Why was he remembering this now?

Then it hit him. Annabel. She had The MacKay’s hair, his eyes. And if Brodie remembered her right, his wife was a small woman, delicate, though Brodie had only seen her once.

My God, could Annabel really be The MacKay’s firstborn daughter? The hair, the eyes, her build, even her age fit. Then there were Annabel’s da’s dying words: his being sorry—For what? Stealing a babe? She had told him that her da had started insisting she wear boy’s braies and shirts, that she cut her hair. Henderson had said it was to protect her—From what? From who?

Brodie wanted to go find her, wake her, question her about all of this. But he couldn’t. What if he was wrong? Annabel had loved the people who had raised her, that much was obvious. He couldn’t hurt her by mentioning any of this. Nay. He had to check it out first. Contact The MacKay. True, he could bring much pain to the laird by bringing this matter up. But if Brodie were in the man’s position and faced the possibility of seeing his long-lost daughter again, Brodie would want that chance.

Filled with determination of finally doing something helpful for someone, he dressed and hurried down the stairs to find messengers to send to Braden MacKay. This was the first of his memories to return. It gave him great hope. If he had to lose Annabel, he would much prefer it would be to The MacKay. Not to Angus Gordon.

 

 

 

Chapter Six

 

 

“I believe it is time new tapestries were made to hang in here,” Lady Agatha Stonewall said. “The ones that presently hang over the fireplace and along the side wall are becoming far too dingy, my laird. Do you not agree?”

Brodie sat next to her at the laird’s table in the great hall trying to break his fast in peace. Had it only been a week since Agatha arrived? God’s teeth, it felt like so much longer. He concentrated on eating one of Cook’s date pastries. She had been babbling about this and that non-stop ever since she sat down next to him. His ears hurt. His head hurt. She was making his stomach hurt as well.

She didn’t give up easily. She tapped his forearm. “Have you been listening to me at all, Lord Urquhart?”

When he reluctantly looked in her direction, he found her thin face pinched in annoyance and her stormy blue eyes looking even stormier. It took him a second to recall what she had been talking about. When he actually remembered her mentioning replacing the tapestries in here, he frowned. “Nay, you may make new tapestries to hang with these, but the ones here already will remain.”

“But look at them closely. They are discolored and shabby.” She motioned to the nearly ten foot square tapestry of a battle scene over the enormous fireplace. “A disgrace to your fine home.”

He ground his teeth, calling upon his thinning patience to not lash out in anger.

Annabel, sitting on his other side, said gently, “Mayhap you did not tell Lady Stonewall that your mother and your sister made these tapestries years ago.” She smiled at him—the first smile she’d given him in a week. “As someone who has never had a real home, I agree with Lady Stonewall that Urquhart is indeed a ‘fine home.’ But I must disagree with her opinion of the tapestries. They are magnificent, some of the finest I have seen in my years of traveling from one castle to another.”

Her mentioning that she’d never had a real home reminded him of the secret he kept from her. He had sent word to Braden MacKay nearly a week ago, sent with two of his hardiest, fastest riders. He’d felt a sense of urgency to get a message to the man. And with each passing day, he grew more anxious for a return message. Mayhap MacKay had ignored the note, thought it foolish. Mayhap he’d been angered by Brodie even bringing up such a sad matter. Mayhap…

Agatha’s hand was still on his forearm and she squeezed it as she interrupted his musings. “You should have told me of their importance. I feel like such a fool. And what you must think of me now.”

“Annabel is right in that I should have told ye aboot them.” He lightly patted her hand and casually removed it from his arm. “In truth, I have no memories of the tapestries. It was Cook—who had been very close to my ma—who told me their history one day after I returned from Tunis.” He looked toward the fireplace wall’s tapestry and sadness curled through him. “I hope to someday truly remember them…and to remember my ma as well.” His father, older brother, and Maggie, too.

He heard a quiet sniff and had a feeling tenderhearted Annabel was tearing up at what he’d said. But he couldn’t turn to see for sure. As it was, it became harder each day to sit beside her, to see her flitting here or there around the castle’s grounds, to run into her in the keep. They had hardly spoken, even during the meals. Tension sizzled between them and he prayed no one else noticed it.

“Well, at least the tapestries can be taken down and cleaned.” Agatha wrinkled her nose. “And the servants need to be instructed to change the rushes on the floor more often. Add sprinklings of heather to them. Sometimes the smell in here is quite unpleasant.”

He supposed she might be right about that, though he tended to overlook much of that kind of thing. “There are many matters for the staff to see to, but ye may speak to them about the rushes.”

Agatha gave him a pleased look. “I just want the hall to be as presentable as possible when we have the wedding feast.”

The wedding feast
. Brodie inwardly sighed. Time was passing all too quickly. The fortnight he had insisted upon before saying their vows would be up before he knew it. Had a man ever looked less forward to a wedding? Probably. It wasn’t that Agatha was uncomely, he found her attractive enough. But his body did not react with a fierce need for her in the way it did for Annabel. It wasn’t that she was a simpering woman, which he couldn’t have lived with. But she talked a great deal about the importance of making regular appearances at Edward’s court, of forming stronger bonds with influential lords, of wanting them to entertain their neighbors, their clansmen here with traveling troupes and minstrels. She never understood when he explained that wasn’t the kind of life here in the Highlands. She didn’t listen when he said he would not go to Edward’s court unless summoned.

Before he could respond—though he didn’t know what to say, Annabel pushed back her chair and stood. “If you will excuse me, Lord Urquhart, I have matters to attend to.”

“What matters?” He sensed Agatha’s resentment at being ignored, at his focus on Annabel. It couldn’t be helped. He would be concerned about Annabel and what she did until she left Urquhart…and probably
after
she left. “Why wear ye braies this day?”

She blew out a breath of annoyance. “As I told you yesterday, Tavis and Sir Douglas have agreed to instruct me on using a knife properly. A small sword as well.” When he started to object, she raised her stubborn chin. “I need to know how better to defend myself. You, yourself, mentioned it one day. And you agreed to this instruction already.”

Brodie gave a curt nod. He recalled a brief discussion about the matter yesterday. “I could—”

Sir Douglas walked over from where he’d been breaking his fast nearby. “Nay, my laird, ye have other matters to see to this day. There are several freemen wishing to speak with ye about some disagreements they’re having with neighboring serfs. And ye are meeting with two new knights who wish to pledge allegiance here. Now that Angus has left.”

Annabel gave him a disgruntled glance at the mention of Angus Gordon. While she had admitted the surly knight made her uncomfortable, she had been displeased when Brodie told her that he’d dismissed him. She believed it was because he was jealous of the man. Brodie wouldn’t deny it—not that he’d told her, but it was his first and a number of his men who had come to him with complaints that had made his final decision. Gordon was disliked and distrusted. And he’d been furious at being told to leave. Angry enough that he’d left Urquhart an enemy, and had been escorted from the castle grounds and off Urquhart land.

“Ye’ll be verra careful, Douglas,” Brodie warned, resigned to the training. If she suffered so much as a small cut, he would have both their heads.

With a nod of agreement, Douglas walked away with Annabel, leaving Brodie to endure more time with Agatha. Oh, how he wished he could help with the weapons training, or that the freemen and serfs would show up soon.

 

* * *

 

“Have we an agreement then?” Angus Gordon asked determinedly. He stood next to the tinker’s wagon he’d been lucky enough to come upon while heading back to meet up with Alastair Sutherland’s men. “Ye’ll gain the trust of Annabel Henderson. Convince her to leave with ye, bringing her own wagon along…if ye canna destroy it.”

BOOK: The Great Scottish Devil
4.62Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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