Highland Velvet

by Jude Deveraux

  What meant more to her than Stephen’s love? She could see now that there was nothing nearly as important. She’d had that love in the palm of her hand, and she’d thrown it right back in his face. In Scotland he’d worked hard to be fair and to learn how to live in her country. Yet what had she done to conform to his way of life? Her biggest concession was to dress in the luscious English fashions, and she’d even complained about that.

  She clenched her hand. Stephen was right! She was selfish. She demanded he become a Scot, change every fiber of his being, yet she’d never done a thing for him. From the moment they’d met, she’d made him pay for the privilege of marrying her.

  “Privilege!” she gasped aloud. She’d made him fight for her on their wedding day. She’d taken a knife to him on their wedding night. What was it Stephen had said? “Someday you’ll know that one drop of my blood is more precious than any angry feelings you carry.”

  How could she have hurt that beautiful body she knew so well? How could she have drawn blood from him?

  Tears began to run down her face. He loved her no longer. He’d said that. She’d had his love and discarded it like so much rubbish.

  She blinked at the tears and looked around her. Stephen was good and his family was good. She’d hated him for being an Englishman just as she’d hated all the MacGregors. But Stephen had shown her there were good MacGregors and warm, generous Englishmen.

  Stephen had shown her! He’d taught her so much, yet she’d never so much as softened to him. When had she ever been kind to him? She drugged him, cursed him, defied him—anything to be spiteful.

  Anything to keep from loving him, she realized. She hadn’t wanted to love an Englishman. She was afraid her clan would think she was weak, unworthy of being laird. Yet Tam had loved him, and most of her men had even come to love him.

  She turned toward the door and went quietly through the Great Hall and outside into the courtyard. She looked about for Stephen. Perhaps she could find him. Somehow she knew he hadn’t gone upstairs.

  “Stephen rode away a few minutes ago,” Miles said softly from behind her.

  She turned slowly. This man was also kind to her. He’d held her after she’d been attacked.

  Suddenly a cold wind brushed past her, and she had a vision of Scotland. More than anything else in the world she wanted to go home. Perhaps at home she could think what to do to win Stephen’s love again. Maybe she could imagine how to make him understand that she loved him too and that she was willing to bend as he had.

  She looked at Miles as if she didn’t really see him, then turned and walked toward the stables.

  “Bronwyn,” he said as he grabbed her arm. “What’s happened?”

  “I’m going home,” she said quietly.

  “To Scotland?” he asked, astonished.

  “Aye,” she whispered, rolling her words. “Home to Scotland.” She smiled. “Would you give my regrets to Judith?”

  Miles searched her face for a moment. “Judith understands things without being told. Come on, let’s get started.”

  Bronwyn started to protest but then closed her mouth. She knew she couldn’t prevent Miles from accompanying her any more than she could stop her urge to go home.

  They rode through that long, awful night without saying a word to each other. Bronwyn felt only her pain at having lost Stephen. Perhaps he’d be happier in England where his family was, where he didn’t have to struggle just to survive. She often held her hand to her stomach and wondered when it was going to begin to swell. She wanted an outward sign that she would soon have his child.

  They crossed into Scotland in the early morning, and it suddenly occurred to her how selfish she’d been in allowing Miles to accompany her. There were too many Scotsmen who were like old Harben, who’d love to kill any Englishman on sight. She suggested to Miles that since they had no guard, they might be safer if he were to dress as a Highlander. Miles looked at her in an odd way that she didn’t understand.

  Later, as they traveled north, she began to understand. Miles would always be safe wherever there were women. Pretty girls stopped and offered them dippers of milk, and their eyes offered Miles much more. One woman, walking with her four-year-old daughter, stopped and spoke to them. The little girl ran and leaped into Miles’s arms. Miles seemed to see nothing unusual about this action. He merely swung the child onto his shoulders and they walked quite some distance together.

  Near sundown they came to an old crofter’s cottage, and an ugly, old, toothless crone greeted them. She smiled delightedly at Miles and took his hand. She rubbed it warmly between her own, then held his palm up to the dying light.

  “What do you see?” Miles asked gently.

  “Angels,” she cackled. “Two angels. A beautiful angel and a cherub.”

  Miles smiled sweetly, and the woman laughed harder. “They’re angels to others but they’re the devil’s own to ye.” A bright streak of lightning flashed in the sky. “Oh, aye, that’s what they are. They’re angels of rain and lightning to ye.” She laughed again and turned to Bronwyn. “Now let me see yer palm.”

  Bronwyn backed away from her. “I’d rather not,” she said flatly.

  The old woman shrugged and invited them to spend the night with her.

  In the morning she grabbed Bronwyn’s palm and her face clouded. “Beware of a blond-haired man,” she warned.

  Bronwyn snatched her hand away. “I’m afraid your warnings are too late,” she said, thinking of Stephen’s sun-kissed hair, and left the little house.

  They rode all day and stopped that evening in the roofless shelter of a destroyed castle.

  Miles was the one who realized it was Christmas Eve. They made a celebration of sorts, but Miles recognized Bronwyn’s sadness and left her to her own thoughts. It occurred to Bronwyn that part of Miles’s fascination lay in the way he seemed to understand what a woman was feeling. He didn’t demand anything of her as Stephen did or try to talk to her as Raine did. Miles quietly understood and left her alone. She had no doubt that if she wished to speak, Miles would make an excellent listener.

  She smiled at him and took the oatcake he offered. “I’m afraid I’ve caused you to miss Christmas with your family.”

  “You’re my family,” he said pointedly. He looked at the black sky over the ruined walls around them. “I just hope that for once it doesn’t rain.”

  Bronwyn laughed. “You’re too used to your dry country.” She smiled in memory. “Stephen never seemed to mind the rain. He—” She broke off and looked away.

  “I think Stephen would live underwater to be with you.”

  She looked up, startled, and remembered the kitchen maid sprawled across her husband’s lap. She blinked several times to clear her vision. “I think I’ll go to sleep.”

  Miles watched in amazement as she curled up in her thin plaid and immediately relaxed. He sighed and wrapped his fur-lined mantle closer about his body. He didn’t think he’d make a good Scot.

  It was still morning when they reached the hill overlooking Larenston. Miles sat still in astonishment as he gaped at the fortress on the peninsula. Bronwyn spurred her horse forward, then leaped into a big man’s arms.

  “Tam!” she cried, burying her face in the familiar neck.

  Tam held her away. “Ye put new gray hair on my head,” he whispered. “How can someone so little get into so much trouble?” he asked, ignoring the fact that she was a bit taller than he. Indeed, she was small next to his great mass.

  “Did ye know the MacGregor has asked to meet with ye? He sent a message about some drink and a saucy wench who’d laughed at him. Bronwyn, what have ye done?”

  Bronwyn stared at him in astonishment for a moment. The MacGregor asked to meet with her! Perhaps now there would be a way to prove to Stephen she wasn’t so selfish.

  She hugged Tam again. “There’s time to tell you all of it. I want to go home now. I’m afraid this trip has made me tired.”

  “Tired?” Tam asked, alarmed. He’d
never heard her use the word before.

  “Don’t look at me like I was daft,” she smiled. “It’s not easy carrying another person all the time.”

  Tam understood instantly, and his face nearly split with his grin. “I knew that Englishman could do something right without any training. Where is he, anyway? And who is he?”

  Bronwyn answered questions all the way across the narrow strip of land and up the trail to Larenston. Her men joined her and fired hundreds of questions at her. Miles stood back, staring in awe at the sight. Bronwyn’s servants and retainers acted more like an enormous family than the classes of society that they were. The men greeted Miles affectionately, talking constantly of Stephen this and Stephen that.

  Bronwyn left the men and went upstairs to her room. Morag greeted her.

  “Did ye trade one brother for another?” she accused.

  “No greeting?” Bronwyn said tiredly as she headed for the bed. “I bring you a new child and you can give me no fond greeting?”

  Morag’s wrinkled face grinned. “That’s my sweet Stephen. I knew he was a man.”

  Bronwyn lay down on the bed and didn’t bother to argue with Morag. “Go and meet the other Englishman I brought you. You’ll like him.” She pulled a quilt over her. All she wanted to do was sleep.

  The weeks came and went and all Bronwyn did was sleep. Her body was exhausted from the turmoil and the changes that the baby was making. Miles came one morning to tell her he was returning to England. He thanked her for her hospitality and promised to make her apologies to Judith and Gavin. Neither mentioned Stephen.

  Bronwyn tried not to think of her husband, but it wasn’t easy. Everyone asked questions about him. Tam demanded to know why the hell she left England so suddenly. Why didn’t she stay and fight for him? His mouth dropped open when Bronwyn suddenly burst into tears and ran from the room. After that fewer people asked questions that she couldn’t answer.

  Three weeks after she returned home, one of her men told her a guard of Englishmen was approaching Larenston.

  “Gavin!” she cried and ran upstairs to change her clothes. She donned the cloth-of-silver dress Stephen had given her and stood ready to greet her brother-in-law. She was sure it was Gavin approaching. He’d been to Scotland before, and he would be the one to give her news of Stephen. Perhaps Stephen had forgiven her and was coming to her. No, it was too much to ask.

  Her smile faded when Roger Chatworth walked into the Great Hall. She was appalled at what she’d done. She’d ordered the visitor to be allowed entrance to Larenston without actually knowing who he was. And her men had obeyed her with no questions. She looked at the faces of her men and saw their concern for her. They would do anything to make her return to herself again.

  She tried to cover her disappointment and held out her hand. “Lord Roger, how nice to see you again.”

  Roger dropped to one knee and took her hand, held it to his lips. His blond hair was darker than she remembered, the scar by his eye even more prominent. He brought back memories of the time at Sir Thomas Crichton’s house. She’d been so lonely then, and Roger had been so kind, so understanding. He’d even been willing to risk his life to do what she wanted.

  “You are more beautiful than I remembered,” he said quietly.

  “Come now, Lord Roger, I don’t remember you as a flatterer.”

  He stood, his eyes on hers. “And what do you remember about me?”

  “Only that you were willing to help me at a time when I needed help. Douglas,” she called, “make Lord Roger and his men welcome.”

  Roger watched as the man obeyed her instantly. He looked around at the bare, unadorned walls of Larenston. The road into the peninsula had been lined with very poor little houses. Was this all the wealth there was to the MacArrans?

  “Lord Roger, come to my solar and talk with me. What brings you to Scotland? Oh, but I forgot that you have relatives here, don’t you?”

  Roger lifted one eyebrow. “Yes, I do.” He followed her upstairs to another bare room, where a small fire blazed cheerfully in the fireplace.

  “Won’t you sit down?” Bronwyn gave a curt look at Morag, then asked the disapproving little woman to bring them wine and refreshments.

  When they were seated and alone, Roger leaned toward her. “I will be honest with you. I came to see if you needed any assistance. When I saw Stephen at King Henry’s court and—”

  “You saw Stephen at court!” she gasped.

  He watched her face. “I thought perhaps you didn’t know. There were too many women near him and—”

  Bronwyn rose and went toward the fire. “I’d prefer not to hear the rest of what you have to say,” she said coldly. She was beginning to remember all about Roger Chatworth. He’d stabbed at Stephen’s back once before.

  “Lady Bronwyn,” he said desperately. “I meant no harm. I thought you knew.”

  She whirled on him. “I’ve matured a great deal since I last saw you. Once I was easy prey for your handsome ways, and I was childishly angry because my husband was late for our wedding. But now I am older and much, much wiser. As you have guessed, I’m sure, my husband and I have quarreled. Whether we will settle our differences or not I don’t know, but the quarrel will remain between us.”

  Roger’s dark eyes narrowed. He had a way of tilting his head back so he seemed to be looking down his narrow, aquiline nose. “Do you think I’ve come here to carry gossip like some fisherman’s wife?”

  “It would sound so. You’ve already mentioned the women around Stephen.”

  Roger began to smile slowly. “Perhaps I did. Forgive me. I was only surprised to see him away from your side.”

  “So you hurried to tell me of his…escapades?”

  He stared at her, his handsome face warm and alive. “Come and sit down, please. You weren’t always so hostile to me. Once you even asked that we be married.”

  She took the chair beside him. “That was a long time ago. At least it was long enough for lives and feelings to change drastically.” She watched the fire and was silent.

  “Aren’t you curious as to the real purpose of my journey here?” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “I have a message from a woman named Kirsty.”

  Bronwyn’s head shot up sharply, but before she could speak, Morag came in with a tray of food. It seemed hours before she left. The old woman insisted on adding wood to the fire and asking Roger questions.

  Bronwyn wanted to ask questions too. How did he know Kirsty? What message could he have? Did it have something to do with the message the MacGregor had sent Tam saying he wanted to meet Bronwyn?

  “If that’s all, Morag!” Bronwyn said impatiently, then ignored the old woman’s look as she left the room. “Now! What have you heard from Kirsty?”

  Roger leaned back in his chair. This Bronwyn wasn’t what he’d expected. Perhaps it was being in her own country or maybe it was Montgomery’s influence, but she wasn’t the easily manipulated young woman he’d first met. He’d heard part of the story of Bronwyn and Stephen in the MacGregor’s land by chance. A man, poor and hungry, had asked to join his garrison. One night Roger’d overheard the man telling of his adventures in Scotland with the ravishing MacArran laird. Roger’d taken the man upstairs with him and gotten the whole story. Of course, it was only a part of the story, and Roger had spent considerable money finding out the rest of it.

  When all the pieces were together, he knew he could somehow use it. He laughed at Stephen for foolishly parading himself before these crude Scots in a manner and dress as crude as their own. He sipped his wine and thought again with hatred of the time Stephen had dishonored him on a battlefield. Too many people had heard of that fight, and often he heard whispers of “the back attacker.” He’d repay Stephen for that new nickname he now had.

  His plan had been to seduce Stephen’s wife, take what he’d fought for. But Bronwyn had fouled his plans. She was obviously not a woman who followed a man easily. Perhaps if he had time…. But no, he had no idea how
long Stephen would be away.

  Then a new plan began to come to him. Oh, yes, he thought, he’d repay Montgomery in full.

  “Well!” Bronwyn said. “What was the message? Does she need me?”

  “Yes, she does,” Roger smiled. And I need you even more, he thought.

  Chapter Seventeen

  BRONWYN LAY IN BED, STARING AT THE UNDERSIDE OF THE canopy. Her entire body was tense with excitement. For the first time in weeks she felt like she was alive. Her sleepiness was gone, her nausea had passed, and now she was pleased that something was about to happen.

  When she’d come home and Tam had told her of the MacGregor’s message, she’d ignored it. She’d been too wrapped up in her own problems, her own misery, to even consider anyone but herself. Stephen said she was selfish, that she never listened to him or learned from him. Now she had a chance to do something that would please him. He’d always wanted her to settle her differences with the MacGregor, and now Kirsty had opened the way.

  When Tam had first told her of the MacGregor’s message, she’d half-heartedly talked of meeting him. The protest from her men shook the walls. Bronwyn had easily dismissed the matter and settled back into her mood of feeling sorry for herself.

  Now that was all over. She saw a way to win Stephen back. She must prove to him that she had learned something from him, that she wasn’t a selfish person.

  Roger Chatworth had told her an incredible story about meeting Kirsty and Kirsty asking him to tell Bronwyn that a meeting had been arranged. The MacGregor and the MacArran were to meet alone, just the two of them, tomorrow night. Kirsty said the MacGregors were very much against the meeting, just as she was sure the MacArrans were. Therefore she’d made every effort to arrange a private meeting. She sent Bronwyn and Stephen her love and begged her to do this for the sake of peace for them all.

  Bronwyn threw back the covers and went to the window. The moon hadn’t set yet so there was still plenty of time. She was to meet Roger Chatworth outside Larenston Hall, by the mews, and she would lead him off the peninsula. There were horses waiting for them, and together they’d ride to meet Kirsty and Donald.