by Starla Kaye
Rose gaped at her, appearing to disbelieve that Annabel didn't find her at fault for all of what happened. Then she wiped away her tears and nodded. “Ye are right. I had gone off other times to the lake with but a couple of guards and nothing had ever happened. I had no reason to suspect this time would be any different. But Braden blamed me—”
“He was wrong to do so!” Annabel would speak to her father when he returned. “Mayhap it was guilt of his own that he felt. The guilt for having not gone with you on that day, as you had asked him to do.”
Again Rose looked surprised. “Such a wise daughter, ye are. I think mayhap ye are right aboot that.”
Annabel drew in a steadying breath, knowing later she would play all that she'd learned over in her mind. “What does Alastair Sutherland have to do with this? And the Hendersons?”
Now Rose stiffened, her lovely face darkened with fury. “Alastair and yer father have known each other fer years, once even were nearly friends. Until Alastair tried to cause trouble within the clan. Braden was furious and cut Alastair out of all dealings with the MacKays.” She pursed her lips for a second. “Alastair began making even more trouble, tried to cause a rift between Braden and King Edward. But the king kens Braden is a good and honorable man, and powerful among the clans, too.”
“Brodie respects him, I've seen as much.”
Rose smiled again. “And Braden respects yer Brodie.”
Annabel shook her head and protested, “He is naught my Brodie. We are … we are friends, of a sort. He saved me. Twice now. But that is all.”
Rose gave her a look that said she thought Annabel protested too much. Thankfully, she didn't press the subject. Instead she grew serious once more and continued with the explanations. “Time went along and the tension between Alastair and Braden grew worse. Then Alastair attempted, again, to make yer father look bad to the king. He failed. And Edward took away one of his largest holdings in punishment and awarded it to yer father. At that point Alastair had lost the respect of many Highlanders, many lowlanders, too. He swore vengeance against the MacKays, promised to make Braden suffer greatly.”
“So he stole me?”
“We believed he hired men to take ye, but we never could prove it.” Rose slumped. “Even Edward tried to get proof, but could find none. In anger and distrust, Edward took the rest of Alastair's holdings.” She looked pointedly at Annabel. “But ken this, my daughter, we searched long and hard fer ye. All of the MacKays did.”
Annabel saw the pain in her mother's face, felt it in her own heart. “I am sure you did.” Then she thought of the people who had raised her, who she had believed until recently were her blood parents. “What about the Hendersons? How did I end up with them?”
Rose shrugged. “I dinna ken.”
Annabel thought of the note she'd found that Katherine had written and stood to retrieve it from the trunk. “I found a note my mother…Katherine…had written long ago.”
Rose sat stiffly, warily on the bed's edge as Annabel handed her the faded piece of parchment. She read the words aloud in a shaky voice, “…always her beloved daughter…couldn't have children…special gift from an evil man…had no choice but to take her…wanted her from the moment she looked at her sweet, innocent face…”
While her real mother sobbed quietly, Annabel took back the note. Her voice was rough as she said, “I was always loved. Whatever the story behind how they ended up with me, the Hendersons always loved me.”
“For that I am truly grateful,” Rose said on an emotional whisper. “But they gave ye no home.”
“They gave me the world. Our home travelled with us, our home was in being together. It was enough.” And yet Annabel had always wanted one special place to stay. She'd wanted to feel as if she belonged somewhere. She'd found such a place after all those years: Urquhart. The people here had taken her into their hearts and she hated the thought of leaving them again. But she had to. For Brodie's sake.
Brodie. Her heart pinched with terrible pain. She walked back to the window, stood there and tears streamed down her face. She couldn't look at Rose. She desperately wanted to be alone and grieve for all that couldn't be in private.
Gentle hands smoothed the hair that was starting to grow out and now nearly reached Annabel's shoulders. “They do naught love one another.”
“It doesna matter,” Annabel said in a trembling whisper. She sniffled and squeezed her eyes shut against the pain tearing through her. “Both are duty bound.”
* * *
It had taken them over three long weeks of hard riding through the mountains, stopping in towns, talking to anyone they came across, but, finally, they had caught up with Sutherland. Now on this cold and windy day that threatened to turn bitter and drizzly their prey stood bound to a towering pine at the edge of a clearing. Death hung in the air, as did the smell of blood. But this would all soon be over and Brodie was grateful for that. He longed to return to Urquhart, longed to see Annabel. Before he had to let her go one final time.
For months now Brodie had wanted this man hunted down and wanted to kill him for what he'd done to Annabel. He still wanted the man dead, but it was Braden MacKay that deserved the right to take Sutherland's last breath. After the two men had their final argument.
Brodie and twenty of his men stood a dozen feet away from where a wounded, bloodied, and furious Alastair Sutherland was bound to a tree. Nearby lie the dead bodies of two rough-cut mercenaries who had tried in vain to protect Sutherland. He had done little to defend himself, nothing to defend them. In the end, the men had been shown no mercy. Sutherland would be shown none either.
“Murder me and be done with it!” Sutherland snarled and spit blood from his cut lip in Braden's direction.
“When I take yer life—and I will, it willna be murder. It will be justice.” Braden stood tall and powerful in front of a man nearly as tall as he was but a good fifty pounds lighter. “Ye have much to pay fer, ye bastard.”
Sutherland snorted. “Because of yer lies I lost my lands, my holdings…respect.”
“Even now, facing yer last minutes of life, ye canna own up to what ye did? What happened to ye, Alastair? What made ye hate me?” Braden remained stiff and determined, yet there was sadness in his tone.
Brodie watched Sutherland's brown eyes grow darker, flash with true hatred. “Ye took Rose from me.”
“Rose?” Braden appeared shocked.
“I wanted her from the first time I saw her. If ye hadna convinced Edward that she should be yer wife, I would have won her.” His eyes narrowed. “She lusted after me. Always has, ye fool.”
Braden just shook his head at the idiocy of the statement. As all around him waited in silence, he finally said, “Because ye loved her so much, ye stole her babe?”
Sutherland struggled within his bindings. Brodie could see how the man battled with insanity and was losing.
“The fools I sent were to take Rose,” Sutherland bit out. “They brought me yer bairn instead. I should have slit the babe's throat right then. But I decided to force the Henderson's—who owed me—to take yer get and raise it as their own. They were to keep her hidden, make sure ye never got so much as a look at her.”
Brodie stepped next to Braden, troubled by the way the older man had growled low in his throat, how he'd looked ready to tear the bound man apart with his bare hands. Not that he blamed Braden. He was tempted to do so himself.
Braden spared Brodie a look and seemed to gain control of his temper. He faced Sutherland again. “Now that the Hendersons are dead, ye decided to come after my daughter. Ye feared we would cross each other's paths someday.”
“Aye. I wanted her dead. I wanted her raped and mercilessly killed.” He fisted his bloodied hands and curled his lip. “I wasted a lot of money on worthless men who couldna get the job done. I was going to find her myself this time.”
The men behind them grew tense and Brodie felt their wave of fury wash over him. With her sweet nature and gentle ways, Annabel had won ove
r his people. Not that any of his men would have stood for someone raping and slaughtering a woman. He might not have all of his memories back yet, but this much he knew. Sutherland had admitted his vengeful deeds, caused the deaths of too many people, nearly had Annabel killed. It was time to end this matter.
“I canna even ask the Good Lord to have mercy on yer soul, Alastair. Ye deserve none. Have given none.” Braden raised the sword held at his side and pointed it at the bound man.
“I will see ye one day in Hell,” Sutherland hissed and glared in challenge at his long-time foe.
Braden gave a curt nod and ended it.
A second later, he turned and said sadly, “Cut him down. We willna bury him, but I wish him cut down.”
* * *
Agatha stood on the parapet of the tower house, overlooking Loch Ness. Her thoughts were in as much turmoil as the weather. Thick gray clouds roiled overhead; confusion roiled within her. All of her life she'd done as expected of her. She'd been the perfect—well, nearly perfect—daughter of a baron. She'd learned all the courtly ways and attended ball after ball at King Edward's court. She had ignored the dreams and longings held deep inside her. But everything had changed in this month that Brodie and his men had been gone.
Lord Jonathan Leeward was now a widow. She had received this sad-but-wonderful news by messenger two days ago from her cousin. A trusted cousin who knew Agatha's deepest secret, that she'd loved Jonathan since the day they had met at court nearly three years ago. Oh, how she'd loved him. How many times had she cried herself to sleep knowing she could never hope to have him? How many times had she replayed their last stolen moments together in the royal garden? Even after all this time, she could still recall how his lips had felt against hers. She could still remember how he had spoken of having fallen in love with her, too.
Tears fell down her cheeks. Her heart pinched at the unfairness of it all. Her beloved was finally free of the woman he hadn't loved, the woman who had been bed-bound for five long years and he couldn't abandon. He had sent word to her cousin in the hope of finding her. He had told her that one day he would seek her out and hope they could have a future together. He was keeping that long ago promise.
She curled her hands on the stone wall, for but a second considering flinging herself over the side and ending her life. What kind of life did she have anyway? Betrothed at King Edward's decision to wed a famed, powerful warrior who many feared and others worried about because of his memory loss. A handsome man, but not a man who drew her as only Jonathan did. A man who was in love with another woman. She had been battling this other woman from the day she had arrived at Urquhart. In truth, she admired many things about Annabel and envied her the freedom to do as she wished, go where she wanted without having to answer to anyone else. She argued with Annabel mainly because she was so very unhappy with the way her life was going. But when she thought about it, in truth, Annabel, too, was suffering. Her “wishes” and “wants” were no longer as free to come by as Agatha had once believed. Because Annabel was in love with Brodie, a man she could not have either.
The sound of horses pounding over the ground leading to the drawbridge drew her attention. She hurried over to the side of the parapet overlooking the main gate. Her heart pounded at the sight of Brodie Durward riding beside The MacKay, their couple dozen men trailing behind them. Her stomach knotted. She had to put aside her thoughts of Jonathan, had to focus on the wedding ceremony that was expected. She could never let Brodie know about the man she truly loved. She had to accept that she would soon be the bride of a Scottish lord, the bride of The Great Scottish Devil.
Forcing back the tears and the wishes that were never to become reality, she headed for the staircase.
* * *
“They are back!” one of the knights yelled from the doorway of the keep.
Annabel watched in stunned silence as immediately the men and women who had been sitting at various trestle tables visiting and drinking mead scrambled to their feet. They rushed outside to greet their returning laird.
Seated in one of the chairs beside the fireplace working on some needlework, she sucked in a breath. Nerves tangled in her stomach. Back. Finally back. And now her life would change yet again. She wasn't ready for it, but what choice did she have.
“Come along, dear,” Rose said and tossed her own needlework into her chair when she stood. “Hurry!”
Annabel saw the pure happiness spreading over her mother's face. She had grown more at peace with everything since they had talked the other day. Rose's guilt had been shed and she was determined to talk it out with her husband. Her parents would be all right, especially now that they had their daughter back. But, as the daughter, Annabel still wondered if she would be all right. They wanted to take her to their home and she had told Rose she would go. Still, it tore her apart knowing she would leave Urquhart, leave the people she'd come to love…leave Brodie.
“Roseanna?” Rose was nearly to the door when she realized her daughter wasn't with her. She looked back in concern. “Everything will be fine, ye'll see.”
For the first time, Annabel shook her head and said sadly, “Nay. Life will go on, but it will never be fine.” But she couldn't sit here and pout about what she couldn't change. She forced a semblance of a smile and went to join her mother in greeting the men as they returned.
Brodie had been impatient to get back here, as had Braden. Both were anxious to see Annabel again. Although Braden was also anxious to see his beloved Rose. The man, not normally much of a talker, had seemed to talk non-stop over the last day. He worried over what exactly to tell Rose about Alastair, about his admission of having been in love—more likely in obsession—with her. He believed she might feel even more responsible for their daughter's kidnapping than she already did. And he'd admitted that what had happened was not her fault, even though he'd known she still carried much guilt over it. He'd never told her that he didn't blame her, that he blamed himself for not having been there to protect them both. Now he was ready to beg her forgiveness for being such a fool. He was also ready to leave for their home further north in the Highlands as soon as possible.
He and Braden rode directly in front of the keep's steps before they dismounted and handed over the reins of their horses. Brodie nodded in acknowledgment to the many men and servants standing nearby to greet them. He didn't have to say that they had found their prey and taken care of the problem. All seemed to understand and looked relieved. His people knew that he had gone off with a task in mind and that he would see it done.
While he stretched his sore and tired body after the long ride back, he glanced at the three women waiting on the steps of the keep. Each seemed to be worrying in some manner. Rose looked her husband over from head to toe, clearly searching for injuries and praying she wouldn't see any. Brodie could read Rose's mind easily and her facial expressions told her emotions. They were deeply in love and he envied them.
As Braden walked to his wife and she moved into his embrace, Brodie looked toward Agatha. He'd left telling her they would wed as soon as he returned and he'd expected to see determination to get it done in her eyes. The ceremony and her many plans had been all she could talk about before he'd gone off after Sutherland. Now she stood there, quietly, uncertainly. There was something different about her. And when she met his gaze, he found sadness lurking in her eyes.
But it was Annabel who drew his focus. It was Annabel he'd ached to see…ached to hold…ached to…
He forced the wrongful thoughts aside. Yet he couldn't help frowning as he noted how she looked thinner, paler, sadder. Staying here was as hard on her as it was on him. Although he hated the idea of her leaving with the MacKays, he knew it was time.
Finally he broke his silence and said grimly, “Sutherland will naught trouble ye agin.” He sucked in a breath to steel his emotions before he added, “Yer travels to MacKay land will not be worrisome. Ye'll be safe now.”
Braden picked up on his comment and addressed his men stan
ding nearby, his wife, and his daughter. “Aye, Lord Urquhart is right. 'Twill be safe to travel home now. We will leave on the morrow. We must get back north before the weather turns bad.”
Brodie watched Annabel's eyes widen for just a second and then she looked resigned. Not happy, but resigned. He started to say something to her, but she shook her head. What was there to say anyway? She must leave, and he had to stay.
Unable to withstand another moment of not being able to touch her, even speak to her, he turned abruptly away and headed for the tower house. He needed time alone.
Rose found him in the laird's bedchamber of the tower house where he'd ended up coming to mope instead of joining everyone for the evening's sup. He lay stretched out on the bed, staring at the high ceiling. He had somehow sensed she would come to him. The tenderhearted mother in her couldn't stand to see him suffer. She was the kind of mother Annabel should have had all her life.
“Ye could stop her from leaving, ye ken. She hurts as much as ye do.” Rose walked right next to the bed. Her eyes mirrored the pain she felt, knowing her newly found daughter suffered, knowing he suffered.
“I canna do it. I have given my word and must stand behind it.” He shifted his gaze away, swallowed a pain-filled lump in his throat. “Braden will find a guid husband fer her. She has a strong will at times, but Annabel is easy to love. Many men will fight fer her.”
“But naught ye.”
“Nay, naught me.”
Then she surprised him by slapping his foot and drawing his attention. The gentleness he'd seen before in her expression was replaced with anger. “Ye're naught worthy of my daughter, Brodie Durward. My daughter deserves a mon who would want her more than his own life.”