Elizabet

by Tanya Anne Crosby

Her father had once said such things to her mother, as well, but it hadn’t meant it. He’d abandoned them both, returning to his wife and the children she’d borne him—as was his duty.

  And yet… despite her resolve not to feel it, a tiny ember of hope flared up within her.

  He held her close, looking into her eyes, as he said with feeling, “I never had such purpose to my life until I met you, Elizabet.”

  Elizabet’s heart flowered at his words.

  She wanted to believe him.

  When she wasn’t with him, she only wanted to see him. With every stitch she had sewn this afternoon, she’d yearned for his return.

  He brushed her lips with another kiss and her head fell back, wanting more, but he withdrew again. “I know I have no right to ask, but if ye will allow me to... I will care for ye always, Elizabet. No harm will ever come to ye.”

  “As God is my witness, I will never fail you,” he swore. “And ye will live as best I can provide and die an old woman asleep in your bed.”

  A wistful smile crept into his eyes. “Can ye fancy yourself wed to a Scots barbarian?”

  Tears welled in her eyes. She shook her head to deny them. “You are not a barbarian, silly man! You are more a gentle man than any I’ve ever known.”

  He gave her a playful wink. “Aye, but you said so yourself,” he reminded her, and kissed her high upon the cheek, then unexpectedly kissed the teardrop from her skin.

  Elizabet’s breath caught over the intimacy of the gesture.

  “I believe every word that comes from that beautiful mouth,” he swore, as he bent to brush his lips over hers once more.

  Elizabet could do nothing but cling to him.

  She wanted his kisses, needed his embrace more than anything she’d ever needed in her life.

  He combed his fingers through her hair, his expression full of ardor. “I wish you would wear it this way always,” he entreated.

  In that instant, Elizabet would have done anything he asked if only he continued to kiss her.

  Dare she hope?

  Sometimes the most beautiful things came from the most hideous circumstances, her mother had once said.

  Could it be true?

  He gazed at her adoringly, brushing her hair with his fingers, and she melted into his arms. “It shimmers by candlelight,” he told her.

  “Hush,” she demanded, and like a wanton, reached up on tiptoes, letting her head fall back in supplication. She didn’t care. She wanted his kisses. “Kiss me again,” she beseeched him.

  She didn’t have to ask twice.

  Chapter 20

  Morning dawned on black ashes. The stable had burned to the ground. The barracks behind it was half ravaged. It was going to take hard work to restore them and funds that Piers didn’t have on hand.

  “We’ll help however we may,” Leith assured.

  Piers nodded appreciatively. He had begun to make progress toward building a friendship with Meghan’s brothers—more with Colin than with Leith, but Leith was probably the most honorable of the three. Gavin was virtuous but too blinded by his piety, and Colin had been, until Seana, far too concerned with his personal pleasures. But Piers felt closest to Colin. He was the most personable and the most genuine of the Brodie brothers. And there was hope for the man, as Seana seemed to have brought him to his knees. It was clear to everyone who knew them that he was in love with his new bride.

  “Count me in, as well,” Gavin offered.

  “I appreciate the offer,” he told the brothers.

  It was the second time Leith had pledged his men to help Piers rebuild. The first time had been to repair his fence. He was beginning to feel a sense of guilt. Someday he was going to return the favor. He just hoped for both their sakes that it wouldn’t be soon.

  Colin stood beside him, considering the demolished building with narrowed eyes. It was obvious he was lost in thought, because he wasn’t the least aware of their conversation. Seana came up behind him, wrapping her arms about his waist, and he was scarce aware of her until she laid her head upon his shoulder.

  He peered over his shoulder at her, and she smiled wanly.

  “Meghan told me what happened.”

  Colin nodded.

  She turned to Piers then and said, “I’m so sorry.”

  “’Tis hardly your fault, Seana. Where is Meghan?” Seeing the intimacy between Colin and Seana made him yearn for his wife.

  “Tending to David. The lad is a stalwart young fellow.”

  Piers nodded. “That he is.”

  “Have you any notion who set the fire?”

  Piers was glad Tomas wasn’t in his presence at the instant. He would hardly accuse the man without proof, but he trusted his gut, and his gut said the man was foul. “None,” he replied, and had to clench his teeth to keep from sharing his suspicions.

  Colin met his gaze, his blue eyes without a glimmer of recognition, lost in his own thoughts. Without a word, Colin turned again to stare at the ruins, and Piers reproached himself. He was beginning to see conspiracy in every glance. And yet he sensed Colin knew something he wasn’t saying.

  Still, he was hardly prepared to confront him when the peace they had established was so new. Meghan would never forgive him if he hurled accusations at any of her brothers without evidence to support his charges. Colin was a good man. If there was aught he had to reveal, he would come to Piers of his own accord.

  Piers was counting on it.

  In the meantime, he had set two guards to watch Tomas at a distance, as he was near certain Tomas was somehow at the center of all that had transpired. His arrival seemed to have precipitated everything.

  “I’m not feeling verra well,” Seana said suddenly. Her husband turned to her at once. “I think mayhap I should go home.”

  “Dinna be ridiculous!” he barked. “You’re not going anywhere alone.”

  “We don’t need you at the moment,” Piers assured Colin. “Take her home if she wishes to go”

  He shook his head stubbornly. “’tis my duty to remain, and if I’m meant to stay, so will she!”

  She lifted her chin, standing tall. “Dinna be silly, Colin,” she chastised. “It’s not far to walk, and it’s certainly not as though I havena traveled these woods all my life. Do ye think that in the few days since we’ve been wed that I’ve suddenly turned into an invalid?”

  He frowned at her reproach but seemed to consider her words.

  “I will be fine to go alone,” she assured him, her tone leaving no doubt as to the strength of her determination. Piers smiled appreciatively, wholly pleased that he was not the only man to be plagued by willful, troublesome women.

  Colin’s expression remained harried, his fears obviously not alleviated, but it was clear from Seana’s stance that she was not going to back down.

  Her expression continued to challenge him.

  Colin arched a brow at her and smiled slightly, obviously believing he’d found a deterrent. “On one condition…”

  She lifted her own brow. “And what may that be, husband?”

  “That you ride, not walk.” The request took her momentarily aback, and he smirked at her just a little. “Take my mount,” he offered, a little too sure of himself.

  Piers might have warned him against being too cocky. Such tactics never worked with Meghan.

  For an instant, Seana didn’t respond, and then she replied, more determined than ever, “Verra well, husband.” She smiled back at him, returning his smirk. “I’ll ride.”

  “For goodness sake, Seana!” Colin exploded. “You dinna even like horses!”

  She winked at him. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to learn to like them. Dinna ye think?” And with that, she turned to go, and Colin bounded after her, trying in vain to talk her out of leaving.

  Gavin peered at his eldest brother with lifted brows, and Leith cast a glance at Piers. The three of them shared a rare laugh together.

  “That’s what ye get for choosing flesh over spirit,” Gavin re
proached them both.

  Leith ignored his rebuke. “She doesna look verra ill to me,” he commented.

  In truth, she didn’t look ill to Piers, either, but he said nothing, as it wasn’t his place to comment.

  He had enough to worry about with his own wife—not to mention Elizabet’s disappearance, John’s death and a stable that had been sabotaged—and if he didn’t repair the barracks this afternoon, his men were going to be sleeping outside his bedroom door.

  Only one thing made his temper more sour than Tomas’s presence in his house, and that was the prospect of spending his private time with Meghan with thirty-three pairs of ears outside his door.

  “Let’s get to work,” he suggested.

  Colin could handle his own affairs without an audience.

  * * *

  Broc scarce slept.

  He didn’t even close his eyes until the candle extinguished itself. He hadn’t dared move, lest she awaken and leave him. It had all seemed such an exquisite dream, and if he was dreaming, he didn’t want to wake.

  Harpy had other ideas.

  The dog buried its wet nose in his ear. The shock of it startled him. The animal seemed to grin down at him, satisfied with his reaction.

  “Willful hound!”

  Elizabet stretched next to him, turning a beautiful smile on her belligerent dog. “What are you doing to Broc, silly dog?” she asked as though she expected an answer and then yawned prettily.

  “She’s competing for your attention,” Broc said, grinning.

  Elizabet reached up to kiss him sweetly upon the lips and his heart swelled with joy over the gesture.

  Broc caressed her brow, admiring the silky perfection of her face. She closed her eyes and her lashes lay thick upon her cheeks. He bent to kiss her reverently upon the lips, hardly believing the completeness he felt in her arms.

  “Kiss me again,” she demanded sleepily, wrapping her arms about his neck.

  Chapter 21

  “I have something to show you,” Broc said, leading Elizabet along the moorland. It was early yet and he knew Piers and his men would be put off the search until the fire was well under control and they could better determined how it had begun. It bought him a small reprieve, and where he was taking her, there wasn’t much chance they would be discovered anyway.

  He wanted to share something with Elizabet that he had never shared with another human being—not even his cousin Cameron.

  Very near where he had buried his dog Merry, he had erected a cairn for his family—and upon it he had carved their names, marked with the year they had perished. Though their bones rested leagues away, this was his private monument to a life he had abandoned and a people whose line would perish with his own death… unless he brought into the world a son.

  In this craggy country, there were countless cairns dotting the landscape, but most had not been built by the hands of a seven-year old boy.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Harpy barked at their heels.

  “A sacred place,” he said simply.

  They reached the spot long before the noon-day sun rose into the sky and the shadows cast along the hillside were long and thin. They came to stand beside the cairn, with its stones heaped one upon the other with loving care. Broc had taken great care not to rob the cairns of others, for to desecrate the tombs of the dead could never bode well for the living.

  “What it is?” Elizabet asked.

  For a moment, Broc simply stood there, unsure where to begin or why he had even brought her to this place to begin with. In some small way, this was much the same as bringing her home to meet his mother… except that his mother no longer had eyes to see or arms to embrace her.

  “I built it when I was a wee lad,” he said. “I’ve come to think of it as the tomb of my fathers, but it lies empty.” He looked at her meaningfully. “I am the last of my tribe.”

  “But I thought…”

  He shook his head. “The MacKinnons took me in when I was but a boy, though in truth we share a bloodline that hails from the first King of Scotia.”

  Her expression was one of marvel. “You built this? How long did it take you?”

  “Many years, every moment I could steal away from my chores.”

  “And you never told anyone?”

  Broc shook his head. “What’s one more cairn among so many?”

  “But this one you built with the sweat off your back. Tell me … what is written there on the stone?”

  Broc stepped forward to the big stone blocking the entrance, pleased to see that it remained undisturbed. “That is, Elsa, the name of my mother, and Fiona, the name of my sister. And that one,” he said, running his fingers reverently over the old carvings, “is the name of my da. He was called Kenneth after the first son of Alpin.”

  Elizabet stretched her fingers over the deep etchings… marks that had taken Broc years to engrave. With a stone in hand, he had cut these names over long hours, shaping them with thoughts of vengeance until the faces of his family had long faded from his memory.

  “And what of this?” she asked. “What does this say?”

  Broc swallowed, unprepared for the assault of emotion he felt simply by being in this place—the deluge of feeling he had denied from the day he’d first wielded his father’s sword—the sword he still carried in his scabbard.

  “Cnuic `is uillt `is Ailpeinich”

  She peered up at him curiously. “What does it mean?”

  “Hills and streams and MacAlpin—that is to say, not one existed without the other, and it is the MacAlpin blood that runs through the veins of all these hill tribes… someday mayhap through the veins of my sons.”

  She couldn’t know how much this moment meant to him. “I never thought to bring anyone here,” he admitted, giving her a meaningful glance. “Never thought to even have a son. I was too afeared to open my heart lest I die with grief to lose again.”

  “And now?”

  Broc swallowed. “I realize only now do I feel alive… with you…”

  He hadn’t known her long, but it didn’t matter. He’d spent a lifetime without her and knew what he was feeling was unlike anything he’d ever known. He hadn’t met a woman in all his years who’d made him hope.

  He wanted to protect her, love her and keep her.

  “Be my wife, Elizabet,” he said, reaching out to grasp her by the hand. He suddenly wanted this more than life, and he wanted her to look into his eyes and know that he meant every word he spoke. “We needn’t say our vows before a priest to make them true and I will keep you safe and treat you well.”

  She stood before him, looking beautifully bewildered, and he took her face into his hands and kissed her with all the feeling he could muster. He wanted her to feel his soul, wanted to bathe her in adoration.

  “Marry me,” he insisted. “Let us breathe new life into the MacEanraig name—let our sons and daughters bury us here together when the sun sets on our last embrace.

  Her lips parted to speak and he held his breath.

  “Say yes,” he bade her, “and I will protect you and keep you always—and though I have no riches or great manor, you shall want for naught.”

  Elizabet shuddered at the warmth of his breath against her face. She had expected for him to do as other men would—take her kisses and then forget his lovely promises.

  Her dreams had been of freedom... but in his arms, the thought of matrimony no longer felt like a sentence, more like a beautiful promise.

  “I gi’ ye my word to wed you properly later, and will do my best to make you happy.”

  He hadn’t said he loved her, but love only existed in troubadours’ tales…

  He waited for her to answer.

  Clearly this place meant something to him and he had brought her here and laid bare his heart, offering more than she had dreamed any man ever would.

  Her brother would think her mad, she knew.

  And yet... if she was mad, indeed, then so be it. She couldn’
t think of anything that would make her happier than to sleep every night in Broc’s arms.

  She nodded, swallowing.

  He took her hand in his, looking into her face, his blue eyes as sincere as any she’d ever beheld. “In the name of my blood, I pledge you my heart and swear to honor and cherish you till the day I die.”

  Elizabet’s heart filled with his words, and her eyes with tears. The moment was far sweeter in its simplicity than any ceremony could possibly ever have been.

  She swallowed, and said in return, “I pledge you my heart... and swear to honor and cherish you until the day I die.”

  He bent to kiss her lips, whispering softly against them, “I… Broc Ceannfhionn ... the last of the MacEanraig name… take you, Elizabet, as my wife from this day forward.”

  She sighed. “And I, Elizabet, take you as my husband from this day forward.”

  He smiled at her then, and they faced each other, feeling slightly awkward.

  “What now?” Elizabet asked.

  “Now,” he said with a grin, “I get to kiss my lovely bride.”

  * * *

  Seana urged Colin’s horse into a trot.

  She was certain there was something amiss with Broc, and she was bound to discover what it was. If she could help, she surely would. She owed him much for all that he had done for her.

  She’d left her husband rebuilding the barracks with his brothers and Piers. Together with their men, she had no doubt they would restore the building in little time. But the day would be long, and the search for Elizabet would be postponed until the morrow—which meant her brother would be buried without her. There was no way they could wait yet another day. But they might not have to, because she had a suspicion where the girl had gone.

  It struck her as odd that Broc would come calling so late in the evening and then to ask her if she ever visited the hovel she’d shared with her da. Given the description of the girl’s captor, it didn’t take a genius to surmise that Broc had taken her there.

  The question was why.

  She didn’t believe for an instant that Broc would harm the poor girl. Nor did she believe Broc had killed Elizabet’s brother. Something was not right. Broc would never harm a soul, unless in self-defense. But something had happened, and Seana was going to ask him straight to his face before someone else was hurt.