“Release me at once,” he repeated, his snarl growing.
“Papa, I think Branwen likes him,” Roy said, a smirk on his face. Her own brother loved to see her punished, chastised, anything at all, though he never received anything but praise.
A tall man with dark hair pushed through the crowd to Alick’s side. “Laird Connor Grant. What seems to be the trouble, Denton?”
“This man will not leave me be.” He nodded toward Alick, the look in his gaze one of sheer fury. “I do not know him, but I’ll suggest you have him removed from the premises. It’s not his place to mishandle me.”
“I’ll tell him to release your hand, but if it swings upward again, you’ll have to deal with me. You’ll not strike a lass in my presence or in my keep. Is that clear?” The laird set his feet apart and put his hands on his hips as he looked down at her father.
Next to two strapping Highlanders, her father appeared infinitely smaller, but he clearly felt he was in the right, that he should be allowed to discipline his daughter the way he saw fit. Still, Connor Grant was the tallest man she’d ever seen, and her father was too canny to attempt battling him in his own hall surrounded by his own warriors.
She’d only wished to have a wee bit of enjoyment in her life, but now every set of eyes in the hall was focused on her. Branwen fought tears as she watched her father nod to Connor Grant, acceding to his wishes. For now.
That would all change as soon as they departed for home in a day or two. She’d guess he’d stop the moment they were off Grant land to punish her. There’d likely be more blows because the first had been prevented.
Well, it had been worth it to dance with Alick, to see him stay her sire’s hand, however briefly.
Before she knew it, she was being brutally yanked back into the corner of the hall. Her sire stood guard over her, his whole body radiating anger. “I should like to drag you home and wallop you along the way, but I’ll not travel in the dark in these uncertain times, and I won’t have my lad suffer because of your poor judgment. You’ll stay where I tell you.”
There was another reason that he chose to stay, if she were to wager. She wondered what pull this place had on her sire.
Could he be searching for a new wife?
But the thought didn’t hold her interest. She didn’t care what he was doing or why.
She’d just met the man of her dreams, the knight who’d saved her from another of her sire’s cruel blows.
At least she’d gotten a small taste of what it was to be in love.
Chapter Two
Branwen stood next to her sire, keeping her eyes downcast as he preferred, but she let her mind stray to the dance steps Alick had taught her. Swaying around the floor with him, she’d felt so free. As if she were flying.
“Do not move from this spot,” her father said, intruding on her dreamy thoughts. She watched with relief as he peeled away to join a small group of men. They only stood there for a moment before an older man ushered them off to a private place.
Alick appeared out of nowhere, holding out his hand. “Come, he’s not here. Allow yourself more fun.”
She smiled, loving the thought but dreading the repercussions of her actions. Holding fast, she considered her options, staring at his kind face.
He rolled his eyes and said, “I forgot, you’d rather be with your sire than me, is that not right?”
“Nay,” she whispered. Her mind returned to the joy she’d felt while dancing with this man—and how it had helped her forget, for a moment, the pain and shame of these last years. She quickly decided that any punishment would be worth a few more minutes with Alick MacNicol.
She took his hand.
“Then come with me,” he said, his eyes lighting up as he tugged her to and through the door. “I’ll prop it open so we can hear the music. We can dance under the stars.” He found a big rock and set it against the bottom of the door, holding it open. Then he took her hand again and led her down a path into a garden, where they couldn’t be seen by anyone else.
“There. See, no one is here. We can do a different dance this time.”
She nodded, not knowing any other dance than the one he had shown her. “You’ll have to help me.”
He demonstrated a few new steps, and before she knew it, they were both dancing so fast she feared she’d trip over her own feet. “’Tis not verra nice of you,” he remarked, very serious looking.
“What?” she asked in confusion, worried she’d caused him offense.
“You’re dancing better than I am.” Then he laughed. “I was only jesting. Don’t be so serious all the time.”
She laughed with him, picking up the steps again. They carried on until they were both breathless, but then her father’s voice rang out over the courtyard.
“Branwen? Come back here immediately.”
Her eyes widened, the command in his voice freezing her in her tracks. She stared at Alick, wishing their time together hadn’t been so short. She’d have to return and accept her punishment. Her shoulders fell and she turned around slowly, but then something her mother had said long ago popped into her mind. “Some opportunities will never come your way again, lass. You must make the most of what the Lord gives you. When He gives you a gift, do not deny Him.”
Her father was already angry. What would it matter if she stayed out a little longer, spent another quarter hour with Alick Grant? She might never see him again.
A swoosh of the wind came out of nowhere, making her giggle, something she’d done very little since losing her mother.
They’d both loved the wind, and although her father had called them mad, they would sometimes stand outside when the air was whipping around, arms outstretched as if to embrace it. Her mother had always said her favorite part was the way the wind whipped her skirts in the breeze. Just like this wind was moving hers. It felt as if her mother were giving her a wee nudge to take the gift that had been given to her. Her mind made up, she looked at Alick and gave him a confident nod. “Aye, I’ll follow you.”
Alick’s face lit up, even in the dark. “We’re going on our own adventure, starting with a steep climb over the curtain wall.”
He looked at her, his face full of excitement, then begged her. “Come, you’ll do it, will you not? I’ll help you get up to the top. Jumping down is easy.”
Off they went toward the curtain wall. She neared the wall and he said, “You’ll have to tie your gown up or it may rip.” He showed her how without touching her, so she did her best and said, “How will I get to the top?”
He said, “That tree over there. Climb up on that branch.” He pointed. “I’ll go on this tree and get ahead of you.”
It had been so long since she’d climbed a tree, but the one he’d indicated look fairly easy to scale, and she did as he suggested. He moved up his tree, leaping from it to the wall so quickly she was in shock.
He chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. My cousins and I used to do this all the time when we were younger. We practiced escaping from the English. Dyna always won.”
“Who’s Dyna?”
“The only lass in our group. Her hair is nearly white, and she’s the best archer I’ve ever seen.” He held his hand out to her and she took it, accepting his help onto the wall.
Alick dropped down first and then motioned for her to jump. He caught her, his arms encircling her for one delicious moment, and then he lifted his finger to her lips because her sire was on the other side searching for them. Yelling her name.
Once he left, they took off in the dark, giggling and hushing each other in turn, until they reached an expansive meadow.
“Race?” Alick suggested, cocking an eyebrow.
“You’ll win,” she said, “even with my gown tied up. I don’t run often because I’m not allowed.”
A dark look crossed his face, there and then gone. “Your sire is foolish. Dyna’s the fastest runner, too. Lasses can do anything.” He took her hand and they ran together until they came to a burn.
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The moonlight was beautiful, reflecting off the water bubbling across the rocks. She reached down and let her hand catch the cool water, refreshing her. She threw some on her face and washed her hands. “Ouch,” she said, peering at her hand.
“What hurts?” Alick said, coming to her side.
“I have a thorn in my hand. Must be from climbing.”
He held her hand close and looked at it, tilting it toward the moonlight. “I see it. I’ll dry it to make it easier to pull out.” He studied it carefully, then said, “You smell nice, like wildflowers in the meadow.”
“You smell nice, too.”
He laughed, saying, “I doubt that given all the running that I do. Smell more like a group of warriors just back from a skirmish.” Then he gave her a mischievous look and said, “Or do I smell like wildflowers, too?”
She shook her head and smiled, enjoying his fast talk, his jests. Her life had such little humor. He used his fingernails to pull out the thorn, then kissed the palm of her hand afterward.
“There. All better.”
Just like her mother used to do. And he’d used the same exact words. She had this odd feeling that her mother was watching over her from above.
Her heart lodged in her throat, and she looked at him. And he reached up to touch her cheek. “You are a beautiful lass. I regret you have such a cruel sire. In fact, if I don’t bring you back soon, my sire will be yelling at me, too.”
Her entire body tingled from standing so close to him. He was so strong, so muscular. Then he surprised her completely by bending down and placing a chaste kiss on her lips. His lips were warm and sweet, and she had no idea how to react.
“Your first kiss?”
She nodded, embarrassed. But he ignored it and said, “Come, we’ll go back in through the gate.
How she wished this moment would never end. That they could run straight into a different life. One that didn’t include her father or either of her brothers.
Just Alick.
Her father was waiting for her at the gates, but he said nothing.
Alick raised a hand, palm up. “Whatever you do, you’ll not strike her. ’Twas my idea to take a wee walk. I wished to show her more of Grant land.”
Her father had brought another man along. A stranger to her.
“Leave us,” he said to Alick officiously. “I wish to speak with my daughter alone.”
Alick could hardly refuse, so she watched him go, the muscles in his back stretching the material of his tunic. He glanced over his shoulder once and winked at her.
That sent her heart aflutter. Her father guided his companion a slight distance away, speaking to him in an undertone, before leading him back to her. The stranger was quite a bit older than her, his wavy brown wavy hair in desperate need of a wash, and he stared at her in a hungry way that made her skin crawl.
“Daughter, this is Osbert Ware. He is of need of a wife because his died but half a year ago. He has offered for you and I have accepted. You are to marry in a fortnight.”
Branwen’s heart stopped beating, she was sure of it. She looked into the man’s gaze and her skin crawled with a thousand midges, all bent on digging into her skin and burrowing until she screamed for mercy.
She couldn’t come up with any appropriate greeting at all, she was too stunned to hear the word marriage. Her father had never mentioned marriage for her. She was only ten and nine and spent most of her time caring for her brothers.
“Greetings to you, Branwen,” Osbert said with a grin. “I’m sure you’ll suit me fine.”
“My lord,” was all she could manage to summon.
Osbert said, “I have four young daughters and two sons who need someone to care for them while I go about my business with my tenants. Do you cook much?”
She had no idea how to answer his question. Although she’d spent the last years looking after her brothers, the youngest only five, she couldn’t imagine watching six children. And cooking? She’d never done it. They lived in a castle with a full staff, including the maid who’d stayed behind with her wee brother so they could make this trip to Grant land.
“Branwen will make you a fine wife,” her sire answered. “What she doesn’t know, she’ll learn. Cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, caring for your bairns. She’ll do a fine job of it and be a good wife to you.” He cast an odd smug look her way, as if to say this would be her punishment for her time with Alick.
Her own father was about to punish her for acting like a young lass, like all the other lasses inside the keep. When had his feelings for her turned to hatred?
But she already knew the answer: it had started the day her mother died. He’d treated her as if she were the one who’d killed his wife.
The older man reached for her, but at the last minute his hand stalled. Shifting his gaze back to her father he asked, “May we dance?”
Perhaps Osbert Ware feared her father as she did.
Her father shook his head, his lips flattening into a fine line. “She will stay be my side as punishment for spending time with a young man without my permission.”
Osbert leaned forward and said, “You’ll be in my arms soon enough, lass. I’ll help you forget that strapping Grant lad.” His eyes gleamed at her above his grin, full of sickening promise, and then he walked into the keep ahead of them.
Horror filled Branwen. She’d have to convince her father they didn’t suit. Or that it was too soon for her to marry. Or that he still needed her to watch over her brothers. Anything to keep her from marrying that old man.
“Marriage, Papa?” she asked. “So soon?”
Her father turned away from her and started back toward the keep. Without looking at her, he said, “He has offered a tidy sum of coin for you. He is in desperate need of help. I’m sure he’ll have you with child in no time at all.”
Then he said the harshest words he’d ever said.
“You are of no use to me any longer.”
Nary a word was said between them the rest of the way to the hall. Her sire entered first, and she followed him in, doing all she could to keep the tears from coming.
She’d known all along that her sire cared little for her. But to arrange such an awful marriage for her? To throw her away as if she were nothing? Oh, it was too cruel for her to bear.
Her glance found the handsome man with dark-red hair. He stood across the hall, but his gaze quickly met hers. How she wished he would whisk her away from this harsh existence and into the wonderful life her mother had told her she’d have someday.
Perhaps it was time to do something desperate, something no one would expect of her.
She’d have to run away.
Chapter Three
Alick couldn’t take his eyes off Branwen—or forget the sweet touch of her lips. Her soft curves had melded against him when he’d caught her landing from the jump off the curtain wall. It had surprised him to realize he wanted to hold her like that, in his arms, close to his heart.
“What has caught your attention so?” his brother asked, sidling up next to him. Broc, at ten and eight, was still entertained by nearly everything his brother did.
Alick narrowed his gaze at the far corner, waiting to see if her bastard father dared to strike her in front of everyone.
Following the direction of his gaze, Broc asked, “Who is he? I’ve not seen him here before. Or her. Surely I’d recall a face that sweet.”
This last comment was said in a teasing tone. Alick lifted his chin a bit as he shifted his attention to his brother. “I know you jest with me, but you need to let this one go. That man has a mind to hurt her, and I’ll not let it happen on my watch.” He gave his brother his fiercest glare as a warning.
“Why would he hurt her?”
“Some men don’t need a reason. He tried to slap her in front of me earlier, just for dancing,” he said, back to staring at the far corner. “We talked outside, and I fear he’ll punish her for it. I’m going to have to watch him.”
“For t
alking? ’Tis a transgression to him?” Broc laughed. “How did I miss everything? I only left for a short time to relieve myself. I wish he’d try again.”
Alick spun his head around and said, “You would, but I do not. Even if it would give me great satisfaction to hit the man.”
His brother angled his head, studying him. “You are so caught on her from one encounter? ’Tis not possible.”
“The hell it is not. And before you keep asking your foolish questions, I’ll do my best to explain. I don’t know why I’m drawn to her, but I feel like a Heilan coo on one side of a fence while she’s on the opposite side, unreachable. I want to be on her side.”
Broc rolled his eyes. “Why not pick a lass whose sire doesn’t hate you? One lass is the same as the next.”
“Since you’re only eight and ten, I wouldn’t expect any different answer from you. Your day will come. Look at Papa, he’s still got eyes for no one but Mama.”
Broc chortled. “I have noticed. Papa follows her about as if she carries a pheasant leg and rips pieces of meat off to toss behind her.”
They both shared a laugh over that image, but then Alick said, “I want Mama to feel better. I don’t know why she’s abed, but I don’t like it.”
“Neither does Papa,” Broc said. “All he does is pace whenever she’s sick. Remember when she carried Chrissa? ’Twas nearly three and ten years ago. He was so upset I hoped she’d never carry again.”
Alick turned wide-eyed to his brother. “You don’t think…”
“Nay, Mama is too old.” They both paused to consider the possibility. “Is she not?”
Alick shook his head, then rushed over to Uncle Connor, leaning in to whisper, “Uncle, is Mama carrying again?”
Uncle Connor nearly spat out his drink, and Aunt Sela broke into a giggle. “Kyla carrying?”
Uncle Connor said, “Nay, she’s just got a pain in her head. She’ll be fine in a couple of days.” But then his uncle glanced at Aunt Sela, who shrugged as if to admit it might be possible.
The Scot's Pursuit (Highland Swords Book 3) Page 2