The Outcast Highlander (26 page)

“Because four months is a long time to be without communication from your love, and when there is no impediment to their communication, you have to ask many questions.”

“What questions?”

Duncan laughed and kissed Fiona’s forehead. Her face had healed from much of the injury she’d received at the hands of Colin Ross, but some of the scarring remained. Mainly, the long scars on her face and cheeks where her skin had been so broken open and infected, it was all they could do to get the sickness out of her body.

“Questions about why he hasn’t written and whether it might be a sign that he’s just not coming back.” Duncan’s throat constricted and he was afraid he might give away too much of his own emotion if he continued on this road. “Just things to consider.”

Fiona nodded and slumped her shoulders, making her belly protrude even more, and making Duncan want her even more. “What should we do, then?” she asked.

“Pray,” Duncan said gravely. “Pray that Broc returns quickly or that Kensey can be more forgiving than a saint.”

***

“You haven’t yet told me why,” Robert insisted as Kensey paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.

“Do I need a reason?” she asked, turning on her heel.

“Of course you do.” Robert rose from his chair, trying to provide a more formidable sight. “You cannot just say we’re leaving for France and leave it at that, Kensey.”

“I am now your guardian, and I’ve decided it’s time you went to court. Besides, don’t you want to see our relatives?”

“I do not want to go to France, or England, or anywhere else, for that matter.” Robert slumped back into his seat and crossed his arms.

“If you stick that lip out any farther, I’ll cut it right off,” Kensey teased, walking toward her little brother.

Robert clenched his lips and stared at her. Laughing, Kensey walked over to him and knelt in front of the chair. She placed a hand on his arm and he flinched.

“What’s wrong?”

“You can’t make me go. I’m ten years old.”

Kensey sat back on her heels. During the winter, she’d managed to convince herself that letters were going astray, or that Broc had been held up somewhere important and would write on the morrow. But too many morrows passed with no letter, and she wasn’t going to wait forever for a man who obviously didn’t want to return and didn’t want to explain why.

This wasn’t the first time he’d left and disappeared. Perhaps married life was too much for him. Or perhaps he just didn’t want to be married to her. The frustrating part was, he wasn’t here to speak for himself, so it was likely she would never know.

Once the snow began to melt and Duncan’s riders went out looking for Broc, she slowly began looking toward France. Their first forays had been just around the area, checking the bothans, asking at inns. Then, they’d gone to Inverness, and around. Then Edinburgh, and they’d at least found Elizabeth.

At Avoch with Andrew and couldn’t even be bothered to write his wife a letter. A wife who may have been carrying his baby for all he knew.

The tears came more quickly this time than previous times and Kensey didn’t stop them. She’d only had one chance to know her husband intimately. How many of her friends had gotten pregnant from only one encounter! But even though she’d been late in her menses after Broc had come to her, there was no baby. And perhaps it was better there wasn’t.

As she saw Fiona and Duncan preparing for the birth of their baby, Kensey was mostly glad not to be going through that by herself. Mostly.

“Look, my love. Without either of our parents to guide you, and without my husband to return, I am at a loss for how best to raise you. I’ve written to our grandmother and she’s offered us both a place in her household for as long as we need it. I will be a lady in waiting to Queen Joan, and you will number among the play friends of the young prince until you come of age.”

She tried to keep enthusiasm in her voice, although she knew that she would not only see Albert and Margaret again, but that they had married, and Margaret was at court attending to Queen Joan, as well. Bleak prospects for the MacLeod children.

“Just think, darling. They’ll teach you to shoot a bow and use a sword and you’ll ride horse and wrestle and dance and eat all you like. And since we’re cousins of the prince, you’ll have a place at court and be treated with deference.”

“But I don’t want that.” Robert’s whine was getting on her nerves. “I want to stay here with Duncan and Broc.”

Kensey bit her lip and stood, quickly, before Robert could see the look on her face. As she paced toward the fireplace, there were footsteps in the hall. Robert’s face glowed immediately as the door opened and Duncan stepped inside the room, followed by Fiona. Robert shouted his name and ran toward his brother-in-law, his arms outstretched. Duncan picked the boy up in his arms and flung him around as they both laughed.

“Ah, it’s good to see you, lad,” breathed Duncan as he put Robert back down on his own two feet. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, as well, Duncan!” Robert exclaimed. He peered behind Duncan and into the open door, expectantly. Duncan glanced worriedly at Kensey.

“What are you searching’ for, Rob?” asked Duncan.

“Broccin,” Robert answered, continuing to peer around him. “Where is he?”

All three adults were silent for a few moments. Kensey was so tired of talking about Broccin, she could have thrown something breakable if there had been anything handy. Finally, she turned her back on the whole situation and went back to laying out the dresses she planned to take to France.

“Well, lad, Broccin hasn’t come back yet,” began Duncan, cautiously. “You see, his best friend was badly wounded in the fighting and Broccin felt it was his duty to return to the castle with him because he felt responsible for the wound.”

Kensey’s throat clenched. They should have been honest with the boy, but Kensey couldn’t bear the thought of Robert thinking they’d been abandoned as well. Not after Mama and Papa.

Robert, his dejection apparent on his face, turned to Kensey and embraced her. His small whimpers tore at Kensey’s heart. “I want Broccin to come back to,” he cried. When Kensey knelt down to hold him, he looked into her eyes and asked, “Do you think, if I were hurt, Broccin would come to help me heal?”

Kensey wiped the tears from her brother’s face as her own stung her eyes. “Do not say such things,” she scolded. “Broccin loves you just as much as he loves Andrew and he’ll come back to you regardless.”

“But he hasn't come back,” Robert sniffed.

“He will, love,” promised Kensey, enfolding her brother in another hug. “He will, I promise you. Don’t cry anymore.”

“Are we still going to France?” Robert wiped his nose with his hand and stared at her with huge blue eyes.

Kensey could see the reactions on Duncan and Fiona’s faces as Robert asked that question and had to look away.

“We’ll speak of it another time.” Kensey took Robert by the shoulders and sat him down on the bed. “For now, you need to see Broccin and we’ll keep waiting for him to come back to you.”

“But won’t he come back for you, too?” asked Robert as Kensey stood.

“I hope so,” she whispered. “Now, go find Morainn and see if Lydia needs any help with dinner.” She patted his back as he walked away from her.

“Don’t worry, Kensey,” Fiona consoled, taking her hand. “Broccin will return to you. He loves you.”

“You don’t know that,” Kensey said. “And I don’t know that.”

“But she’s right, Kensey.” Duncan stepped between them and Kensey backed off. “He does love you.”

Kensey turned her head away from Duncan. How she wanted to believe what he said! How she wanted to believe that Broccin really did love her, for it would put an end to the grief that she held in her heart that he did not. It would stop her sleepless nights and her constant need for him.

“For now, it’s enough that I believe you,” Kensey said. “And I hope that he will return. So you have my word that I’ll stay here, and I’ll wait for him. But if I hear that Andrew is well and he remains there, or that anything has happened between him and Elizabeth, Robert and I will be leaving for France on the next boat.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kensey could hear the baby crying still, even from down the hall. Fiona had just produced the most beautiful little girl she could imagine being born. She had her father’s dark red hair and pert chin, coupled with her mother’s dazzling blue eyes. They’d named her Nualla in honor of Duncan’s Scottish mother, and Emilie in honor of Fiona’s French mother.

She would be a Continental baby, Fiona said. Traveling, breaking hearts, causing her father to lose his hair and his mother to turn white-headed like a banshee.

Kensey found that part particularly entertaining. Little Nualla, her niece. If her marriage to Broc would hold up. Her grandmother had suggested, in no uncertain terms, that she lie about the coupling and appeal to the Pope to have it annulled when she came to France.

But part of Kensey’s heart would always be Broc’s, and she may spend her days with Queen Joan, dressed from neck to toe in black, pretending that her husband had passed and her heart was too broken to take another lover. One of those, at least, was true.

Kensey lay curled up on her bed, listening to the baby cry and thinking of Broccin. She was surprised that, for the first time in months, her feelings of abandonment didn’t lead to sadness. Instead, a quiet resignation filled her heart.

“Kensey!” Robert shouted as he entered the room. “Morainn and I have something to show you.” He jumped onto the enormous bed and shook Kensey until she showed signs of life. “Hurry!”

Kensey finally got to her feet and followed as Robert pulled her downstairs. When they got to the drawing room, he stopped pulling her and ordered her to close her eyes. Obstinately, Kensey obliged.

“Now, open them!” Robert exclaimed as they were in the room. When Kensey opened her eyes, she saw two lovely embroidered pillows propped up on the mantle of the fireplace. Stitched into them in fine needlepoint were the names “Kensey” and “Broccin.”

Kensey brought a hand to her mouth and tried to stop the tears stinging her eyes and threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. So much for being buoyed by indifference.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispered, finally finding her voice. Robert and Morainn grinned at one another.

“We have been working on them since before the wedding,” Morainn ventured. She walked to Kensey’s side and grasped her hand. “We wanted to make something beautiful for your bedroom, and Lydia helped us with these.”

“Thank you so much, both of you.” Kensey knelt and hugged Morainn close to her. Of all the things she would miss from Castle St. Claire, it would be Morainn, whom she almost thought of as her own daughter, and who followed Robert around like a puppy.

Robert joined in the embrace and Kensey couldn’t stop the tears from coming anymore. She allowed a few to slip down her cheeks, hoping Robert and Morainn would believe them to be tears of joy.

“We’ll take them upstairs for you,” Morainn offered, grasping one of the pillows and heading for the door as Robert followed her. The two giggled as they ran upstairs and left Kensey to walk behind them, trying not to cry.

As she ascended the stairs, she could hear the baby wailing again. Before she knew it, Robert and Morainn ran past her toward Fiona and Duncan’s room to look at the new baby.

Finally back in her own room, Kensey’s gaze fixed upon the pillows. Broccin’s name glared at her from across the room. Broccin’s name next to hers. On their bed. It was almost too much for her. But instead of running away from her feelings, this time she embraced them. Quite literally. She lay down on the bed and placed her head directly in the center of Broccin’s name. She could almost feel the warmth of him next to her as she lay there. She almost expected, should she turn over, he would be lying behind her, smiling gently at her.

She wished nothing more than for him to be there. To hold her. Just to be with her. She’d missed him so much the last four months and had fallen even more in love with him while he was gone than she’d thought possible. Everything in this house reminded her of him.

Nowhere more so than in this room they were supposed to share as husband and wife. There were times she could almost feel his visceral presence, and hardly a night passed when she didn’t dream of him. He felt present. Like now. Lying surrounded by his bed, his name, his life, she could almost feel him there.

“Broc.” She wept into the fabric of the pillow. “Why did you leave me?” She caressed the name as she would have caressed his face, had he been lying beside her. “Where are you?”

“Good afternoon, lass.” Lydia entered the room with a tray of steaming soup and a trencher of bread. Embarrassed, Kensey sat up.

“Trying to sleep,” she offered. Lydia set the tea down and stared at her.

“You miss him, do you not?” Lydia was not one to be fooled by anyone. Kensey knew that. And she was right, of course.

“Is it that obvious?” asked Kensey, nervously. She sipped the hot soup and felt it warm her body from tip to toe.

“It wouldn’t be right if you didn’t miss him, lass.”

The steaming herbs felt so good as they permeated Kensey’s senses. “I wish more than anything else that I didn’t miss him.”

“Why, lass? He’s your husband. ‘Tis right you should want to be with him.”

“But isn’t it also right for him to want to be with me?” she asked, a note of cynicism dripping into her voice.

“How do you know he doesn’t wish to be with you?”

“He’s not here, is he?” she answered, snidely. When Lydia looked into her eyes for the truth, Kensey looked away. “Then he doesn’t wish to be with me.”

“Is he in your heart?”

Kensey stared at Lydia, a strange feeling inside. She’d never considered that thought before. She knew she carried him with her and that she was in love with him, but she’d never thought that might be enough.

“He’s in mine,” she stammered, after taking a deep drink of tea. “But am I in his? That is what I want to know.”