The Outcast Highlander (23 page)

“I do this for Andrew,” Broc said. “Not for you.” As she followed, taking his arm, he rolled his eyes. “Not for all the gold in the treasury.”

***

Kensey woke to the delicious taste of Broc’s lips on hers and lay in her warm bedclothes, reveling in his kiss with her eyes tightly shut. Still a bit unsure of what had been happening and what Broc had been on about, she pushed back the covers and sat straight up in bed, his name on her lips.

Her first clear picture, upon waking to be truly married, was that of another woman embracing her husband. A strangely tall and lithe woman, beautiful beyond description, like something from an unknown world. Dressed in noble finery, the blonde flashed dark eyes in Kensey’s direction as she stood, framed by the torchlight in the hallway, body locked on to the man Kensey now knew she loved.

Not only had another woman come to her very bedroom to steal her husband from her bed, but she had the audacity to embrace him so intimately, still in her sight.

Kensey slipped quietly under the covers and turned to face the other wall, worried that Broccin would return and find her crying.

“So he knows now.” She sniffled after she heard the door close. “He knows you love him.” The tears flowed freely and she could barely contain them as they came, though the sleeve of her nightgown worked along with her pillow to collect them. “He knows you love him and now he’ll move on to his next conquest.”

This was the same way it had been with Albert. One day, he professed his love so fervently, she was almost carried away into his bed. Thank God she had not been, for at least she could come to her husband unspoiled.

But she also bore no false hope for Albert’s next lover. Poor Margaret of Anjou. He may have thrown over Kensey’s heart and his family’s wishes, and professed his love, but Albert was at his core, only a man. He would be no more loyal to her than he had been to Kensey. Once a cheat, always a cheat.

Deep in her heart, Kensey didn’t want to believe Broc capable of purposefully hurting her. He’d always shown such gentle love for his younger siblings, for Robert. Even for her. And his protective nature spoke of underlying virtue.

But why would he allow another woman to embrace him in her bedroom? And then leave her? Perhaps he did bear some affection for her, as he claimed. Not enough.

“And now, you couldn’t stop loving him if you tried, silly girl.” Kensey laughed at herself, wiping her running nose into her pillow. “It’d be easier to stop the rain or the snow.”

Somewhere inside, she worried that, even if Broc was unlike Albert in temperament, his similar behavior was proof of a deeper problem. The common part in both situations perhaps wasn’t the male disposition. It was her.

Chapter Twenty

Kensey awoke again that morning lying across the broad bed with a headache that made movement difficult. Brigid sat near the fire, holding a steaming bowl to her mouth. When Kensey finally moved, her new sister set down the food and came to her side.

“Are you awake, now, lass?”

“I think so.” Kensey moaned, putting her hand to her head. “My head aches a bit, but I think I’ll live.”

“I brought you a bit of breakfast to quickly eat before you left, so you’d have something in your stomach all day.” Brigid gestured to the fireplace, a tight wool smock covering what looked to be a growing belly. Kensey touched her own. She hadn’t bled in weeks. Perhaps even she could be with child.

“Before I left?”

“Aye, I thought you’d be up by now and with your cousin.”

Kensey sat straight up in her bed, almost dropping the teacup. “Fiona? She’s here?”

“Oh, aye. Broccin and Duncan brought her back with them when they returned in the evening.”

“This morning?” She slipped out of the bed and searched for her shoes. “I wonder why Broccin didn’t tell me.”

“Did he wake you last night?” Brigid’s tone rose slowly, no doubt trying to sound inconspicuous as she asked after the state of the bed. As everyone likely would want to know.

“Aye. He did.” Kensey could feel the blush rising in her face as she fastened her robe and walked toward the door.

“I wonder, then, where he is this morning.”

“I don’t know where he is.” Kensey turned to face her glowing sister and tried not to think of babies. Or her husband. “He left early this morning with a strange woman and didn’t tell me where he would be or when to expect his return.”

Brigid looked only slightly caught off-guard by the remark, but soon pretended as if she hadn’t heard at all.

“Surely he told Duncan.” Brigid took Kensey’s arm and walked with her through the door. “He’s in with Fiona right now, and I’m sure he’ll tell you all that he knows.”

“I can’t bother him with my husband’s whereabouts. Surely, he has enough on his mind.”

Brigid slowed and turned Kensey to face her. “You should know, dear girl, Fiona isn’t herself. She’s barely even been awake more than a few moments since she arrived.”

“Why did they not wake me to see her?”

Brigid shifted. “They did not wish you to see her in the state they had to bring her.”

Kensey pulled her through the hall. “I don’t care what state she’s in.”

They came around the corner, toward the other family rooms, and Brigid clucked her tongue. “You would have, had you seen her.”

A lump formed in Kensey’s throat. When she’d read Fiona’s letter, all she could think about was that they would arrive to find her dead. She’d cried herself to sleep that night and stayed abed most of the next day. And when her husband returned, it was so like a dream, she hadn’t even had her wits about her.

But now, reality set in. This was no dream, no stolen moment. She was about to see what greed had done to her friend, and Brigid seemed to think she wouldn’t be the same after.

She couldn’t swallow the lump and when they came to the door, Kensey was silent and dropped Brigid’s arm. Just as she moved to enter the room, Duncan slid open the door.

“Duncan,” Kensey said, surprised.

He raised his head and tried to smile, but it barely counted as an attempt, so sad was his countenance.

“Can I go in and see her?”

“You prepared her?” Duncan looked around Kensey.

“She’ll have to see her, sooner rather than later.” Brigid took the chair outside the door and plopped into it. “I’m going to wait here. Too many nurses in the sick room.”

“She’s still sleeping, but I’m sure she’d want to wake up to see you.” Duncan opened the door and escorted Kensey inside.

The sight that met her eyes almost forced out the tears that had threatened when she first woke. Fiona was lying on the bed, her head bandaged, one eye barely visible and the other swollen in black and blue. Her arm was wrapped and splinted, and her breathing was so labored and raspy, it sounded as if she weren’t getting any air at all. The blood, thankfully, had been wiped from her face and body, and her clothes had been changed. But Kensey could see the bloody mess of clothing she’d been wearing piled on a chair in the corner of the room and it made her stomach churn.

“Oh, Duncan,” Kensey breathed, laying a hand on his arm for stability. “Is she going to be alright?”

Lydia spoke from her seat at the bedside. “She’ll live, lass,” came her quiet voice. “We’re still not certain whether the lass can walk, since she hasn’t been right enough to test it yet.”

“But she’ll heal, won’t she?”

“We think so.” Duncan patted her hand. “Although you probably know a sight more about healing and medicines then I do.”

Kensey walked around the bed, placing a trembling hand on the bed coverings and running her fingers along Fiona’s sleeping form. She tried to remember happier days, but the memories wouldn’t come. Thoughts of Fiona’s letter came back to her and she sank into one of the high bedposts, wishing she could cry and expel this feeling in her heart.

“Has she been awake at all?” Kensey asked.

“Not really.” Duncan walked closer to Kensey, but waited just at arm’s length. “She was barely conscious when we found her, and she hasn’t been much better since we brought her back.” He took a deep breath, as if fighting his own emotion. “But she’s been awake a few times, in and out. Called for you this morning.”

“She did?” Kensey moved closer to the head of the bed, unsure of whether sitting would make it better or worse.

“Aye, lass.” Lydia reached out her hand and offered it to Kensey. “I’ll wager her spirit will turn yet. And if you would excuse me, my lady, I must get some sleep now that you youngsters are here to watch over our little invalid.” Lydia pulled on Kensey’s balance as she stood. “I’ll leave the two of you and retire for the morning.”

As she passed Kensey, Lydia placed her hand on the younger girl’s shoulder. “Do not give up hope, lass, on either life or love. For both will come out alright in the end.” Before Kensey could process her words or thank her for her kindness, Lydia had closed the door and was gone.

“Broccin left last night.” Kensey took over the chair Lydia had vacated. She slumped against the back and sighed. “Or this morning, I should say, actually.”

“Aye, I knew that,” Duncan said. Kensey stared at him.

“And you just let him go?”

“I couldn’t stop him from going.”

“Apparently nothing could.” The cynicism in her voice surprised even her. She remembered the odd breathless silence of her bedroom when Broccin had embraced the other woman. She was almost loathed to ask, but needed to know the truth. “Who was she?”

“The woman he left with?”

“Yes.”

Duncan paused. He traced the long lines on the bedposts absently, staring at the wall. “There’s more happening there than even I know of.”

Kensey found herself chuckling. “I imagine so. When it comes to Broc, he’s been on his own so long, I wonder if even he knows his own mind.”

“Her name is Elizabeth. She’s the wife of Andrew de Moray.”

“I know of him.” Kensey sat forward. “The freedom fighter, some call him. My father used to speak of him.”

“Aye, he’s a nobleman from the south. The younger brother of the Lord of Moray, I believe.”

Kensey smoothed the unmoving bedclothes around Fiona’s still hand. If she didn’t know better, she’d think her friend dead, her movements so infrequent.

“Broc mentioned him once or twice. He’s the one who found the cast-off Sinclairs.”

Duncan nodded. “Aye. Took them into his war band. Marauders, mostly. Not big enough to defeat an army, but they don’t fight in open battle. They favor stealth. Secrecy.”

“Why did Broc leave this time?”

“Andrew has been taken captive. Elizabeth believes Broc to be the only thing standing between them and death.” The sarcasm in his voice was evident, as was the pain these thoughts evoked. “He feels that he wouldn’t have survived without Andrew, so he abandons all to go.”

There was a pause so deep and intense that Kensey almost felt afraid to breathe. These were dangerous waters to tread lightly around Duncan. His feelings of abandonment ran deep.
      

“But Broc wouldn’t have stayed, except for…” Duncan stopped, his voice cracking. “Elizabeth is the daughter of my father’s cousin. She was Broc’s first love.”

Kensey hunched over as though she’d been punched. Broc’s first love, the wife of his best friend. Suddenly, his distance made so much sense. He loved another woman he could never have.

Three months ago, she would have said she bore the same fate—to love Albert forever while he loved another and another. But Broccin had helped her to forget about loves past.

If only she’d had time to help him to the same.

The chance was gone now. If Duncan was right, Broc may never return.

“He feels as if he owes Andrew something. That’s why he stayed even after they’d been beaten. That’s why he felt no pain when Andrew and Elizabeth decided to get married. That’s why he left you this morning. Because he’s trying to repay a debt.”

She had been waiting so long to hear this explanation, yet when it came, it rang hollow. Nothing could replace the fact that this woman had been to her husband’s heart before her. Given all the barriers he already had, she could all but abandon hope now.

Kensey braved a touch of Fiona’s hand, but her friend still didn’t move. “But what about Elizabeth?”

“What about her?” Duncan asked.

“It must have been difficult to let Broccin go. Does she still care for him?”

“Do you wish to know if he loves her still?” Duncan asked, walking around the side of the bed toward Kensey. When she didn’t respond, he continued. “There were times I thought so, when he first returned to us. But now, when I see the way he looks at you, I cannot believe he doesn’t love you.”

“Enough.” Kensey stood from her chair and walked past Duncan, toward the door, but he caught her by the arm.

“Broccin wouldn’t have left you unless it were of utmost importance. Whatever he feels about us, about his family, I know that he values you and Robert above all.”

Without agreeing or disagreeing, Kensey walked out the door and closed it behind her. She was unable to discern just what her feelings were on the matter, but she knew that if she listened to anymore talk of Elizabeth or Broccin, she would begin to cry. But she didn’t want to let Duncan realize how deeply the thought of Elizabeth and Broccin together truly affected her.

***

“She’s awake!” came the shout down the hallway as Kensey and Robert sat at the shatranj board. The door, which had been partially closed, was suddenly flung open, and Brigid came bursting into the room. “Fiona is awake, lass! Hurry!”

Kensey jumped from her chair and ran to Duncan’s room with Robert close behind her.

“Is she alright?” Kensey breathlessly followed Brigid.

“She seems to be. But we’ll not know for awhile yet.”

“But she’s talking?”

“She’s talking a bit now, and asking for you.”

Kensey almost squealed when she entered the room and saw Fiona sitting up in bed, her hand being held and kissed, if gingerly, by Duncan. He had tears in his eyes and was thanking God aloud.

“I wondered if you would ever wake.” Kensey gasped and sank onto her knees next to the bed, taking Fiona’s other hand in her own and looking up into her face. Both hands were covered in surface cuts that looked to be healing.