Brogan's Promise: Book Three of The Mackintoshes and McLarens

by Suzan Tisdale

  With a skip in his step as he left his room, Brogan was looking forward to seeing his wife. That realization brought forth a chuckle. Much had changed between them these past days. Aye, it had been a living nightmare those first days. But she was getting better with each hour.

  Mayhap on the morrow, we can move her out of that filthy room, he told himself. Give her a nice long bath and a good rest in her own bed.

  He was feeling thankful for many things this morning. Not only was his wife giving up the drink, but the progress in the quarry was going better than even he had hoped for. With Reginald and Henry taking over his duties, he was able to spend the much-needed time with Mairghread. And now, less than a fortnight after beginning the project, they were actually able to begin putting stones into place. His only worry on that front was that it would take at least a year to complete the wall.

  He had just reached the stairs that led to the third floor when he was met by Liam, one of his distant cousins who had volunteered to come here with Brogan weeks ago. There was no physical resemblance between them, for Liam had dark brown hair, and dark brown eyes.

  Liam looked terrified as well as stunned. Brogan knew at once that something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

  “Brogan!” Liam shouted as soon as he saw him. “’Tis Mairghread!”

  The commotion was loud enough to be heard before Brogan reached the attics on the fourth floor. It sounded as though a rabid cat-o’mountain had been let lose in Mairghread’s room.

  Tilda was sitting outside the door, blood running down her face from a gash on her forehead. Gertie was on the floor beside her, pressing a cloth against it.

  Charles was holding onto the door with both hands, as if he were trying to keep a horde of angry murderers from getting out. His face was bloody as well, from a wound Brogan could not see.

  A growl so loud, so animalistic in its intensity, came from Mairghread’s room.

  “I do no’ ken what happened,” Charles shouted over his shoulder as Brogan raced down the short corridor. ’Twas clear the man was panic stricken.

  Brogan did not wait for further explanation. He told Charles to step away, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

  What he saw sent a shiver tracing up and down his spine. Mairghread, in nothing but a blood-covered chemise, was in the corner of the room, tearing her mattress to shreds. The strong stench of vomit, urine and feces hung in the air.

  All the while, she was growling. A guttural, unnatural growl, that made his heart seize.

  “Mairghread,” he whispered her name.

  She did not even look at him. She continued to growl and snarl and tear at the mattress, pulling the ticking and straw out with bloodied fingers.

  He spoke her name again, this time louder, hoping to bring her out of whatever nightmare she was in.

  Dark, blank eyes caught his. She stared for a brief moment before throwing the mattress to the floor and lunging at him. Clawing at his face, she scratched his neck before he had the wherewithal to contain her. It happened so fast. Before he knew it they were crashing to the floor.

  She was on top of him, flailing away at him, trying to kill him with her bare hands.

  Charles and Liam came rushing into the room. It took the two of them to pull her away before she had a chance to scratch his eyes out. Brogan was on his feet in no time.

  Charles had her about the waist, while Liam was doing his best to grab her kicking feet.

  “Mairghread!” Brogan yelled, but in her current deranged state, she could not hear him.

  Rushing toward Charles, Brogan grabbed her waist and pulled her away. With fisted hands, she pounded at his face, his neck; anywhere she could land a blow, she did.

  He knew they must restrain her. “Find rope!” He called out to his men. “Enough to restrain her hands and feet.”

  Liam raced from the room while Charles came from behind Brogan and tried grabbing her hands. It took several attempts before he was able to grab them, but she fought like a madwoman to free herself from their tight holds.

  Brogan’s heart was pounding against his chest, so stunned by her current state he knew not what to say or do. So he and Charles struggled to keep her under control.

  “I killed them! I killed them!” she began to chant, over and over again. In a sing-song maniacal voice. “I killed them!”

  Liam soon returned with rope. “I have it!” he declared as he rushed into the room, out of breath, covered in sweat.

  While Mairghread continued her deranged ranting, Brogan fought hard to think on how they would restrain her. The only option was the bed, but the mattress had been destroyed. Only the ropes that held the mattress in place remained.

  “Right the bed,” he told Liam as he turned around.

  He’d fought easier battles against trained warriors than the one he fought with Mairghread. Holding his breath, he held onto her so tightly he worried he would break her ribs. Still, she fought and struggled and growled and chanted.

  Once the bed was righted, he pressed forward. Afraid to let her go for even a brief moment, he fell onto the bed, with her on the bottom. Working quickly, Charles bound her feet while Liam bound her wrists to the posts of the bed.

  Mairghread writhed in agony, fighting against the ropes, screaming and cursing in frenzied panic.

  Brogan climbed off, out of breath, soaked with sweat, and overwrought with worry. “What the bloody hell happened?” he demanded.

  “I killed them! I killed them!” Mairghread continued to chant, lifting her torso off the mattress, fighting against her restraints.

  “I do no’ ken what happened,” Liam said. “She was fine one moment and then like this the next!” He raked a hand through his hair. “We heard a crash, then Tilda screamed. When we came in … she was banging the chamber pot over Tilda’s head!”

  Overcome with worry, he crouched beside the bed. “Mairghread,” he said her name in a loud voice, hoping by some act of God’s grace, she would begin to calm herself. ’Twas as if she could not hear him. Gently, he took her face in his hands, forcing it still, begging her to look into his eyes. “Mairghread!” He called to her again. “What is wrong?”

  “I killed them! I killed them!”

  He let lose a frustrated breath. “Who did ye kill?”

  “Them!”

  “Them who, lass?” he asked, lowering his tone significantly.

  “Me husband and son,” she cried out. “I killed them!”

  Dumbstruck, he was not certain he should believe what she was saying. She was far too out of touch with reality, panting, wailing, fighting against the ropes.

  Nay, he thought. It can no’ be.

  Gertie stepped into the room, twisting her hands together. “Good, Lord,” she gasped when she saw Mairghread.

  The raving continued.

  “What happened?” Brogan asked her as he sank to the floor.

  “I do no’ ken,” Gertie told him over Mairghread’s loud rambling.

  “I killed them! Everyone kens it! I killed them!”

  Gertie rushed to her side. “Nay, lass, nay,” she said through her tears.

  Brogan studied Gertie closely for a moment. “Does she speak the truth?” he asked Gertie as he struggled to his feet.

  Gertie refused to answer. Instead, she brushed hair away from Mairghread’s face. “Wheest now, lass, wheest.”

  His heart sank with dread. He knew Gertie would take her own life before she ever said a word against Mairghread. Even if it was the truth.

  His anger rose to terrifying heights. Lies. So many lies. They’d lied to him about her drinking in order to get him to marry her. What else had they lied about? Could she truly have done what she was now confessing to?

  He looked about the room as he tamed his ragged breaths. Bile began to rise in the back of his throat.

  The chamber pot lay in pieces, scattered around the room. The linens were torn, thrown haphazardly here and there. Feces and vomit were smeared on the wall. Straw and ticking, her dres
s, had been tossed as well. Even the little stool had been shattered.

  And in the middle of it, lay his wife. Tossing her head from side to side, seeing but not seeing, hearing but not hearing. Stuck in some dark, ugly place where he was uncertain she would ever leave.

  He could take no more.

  “Charles,” his voice caught on the knot that had formed in his throat. “Find someone to stitch ye and Tilda. Liam, do no’ leave this room until I return. And allow no one entry.”

  “Do ye want the healer?” he asked as Brogan made his way around the mess toward the door.

  “Nay” he replied with a slow, disgusted shake of his head. “No one is to enter.”

  Quickly, he quit the room and went in search of the one person who could give him answers.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brogan was off his mount before the animal had stopped. He thundered across the ground, his lips pursed together, and murderous rage in his eyes. Solely focused on one man in particular, he found him standing not far from a group of stones, talking to two men.

  Reginald looked up to see Brogan stomping toward him. Without warning, he grabbed Reginald by the collar of his tunic and began dragging him away.

  “M’laird!” he shouted. “What the bloody hell is the matter?”

  Brogan did not stop until they were a good distance from the quarry. He pulled him into a small copse of trees before he let him loose, tossing him against a thick tree.

  “What be wrong?” Reginald asked, dumbstruck and confused.

  Brogan was seething with fury. A fury he only felt on the battlefield. “I want answers,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I swear to ye, Reginald, if ye once tell me ye will no’ speak ill about yer lady or her uncle, I will kill ye.”

  “I do no’ understand,” he said as he righted himself. “What the bloody hell has happened?”

  Brogan began to pace before him. “Mairghread,” he began, stopped, and started again. “Mairghread. Somethin’ has happened to her and I do no’ ken what. I left for a few moments, and upon my return, she was …” he searched for the right words to describe what had happen. “She was in such a frenzy!” he exclaimed. “She attacked Tilda, and Liam. They both require stitches. We had to restrain her, Reginald. We had to tie her to the bloody bed!”

  The blood drained from Reginald’s face. “I must go to her—”

  He did not get two steps away before Brogan threw him back against the tree. “Nay, ye will no’ leave here until I get some bloody answers!”

  Reginald’s mouth fell open. “I do no’ ken what happened! I have been here since I broke my fast.”

  Brogan shook his head. “Nay, that is not the answer I seek.”

  “Then what? What is it ye want from me? And why are ye so bloody furious?”

  “I be bloody furious because me wife is locked away in a room, tied to a bed, having lost her bloody mind! I be furious because she is screamin’ at the top of her lungs that she killed her husband and son!”

  “And ye believed her?” he asked incredulously.

  “I do no’ ken what to believe anymore,” Brogan told him.

  Reginald closed his eyes and took in a lungful of air. He expelled it slowly as he shook his head. “Nay, Brogan, she did no’ kill her husband and son.”

  “Then why in the name of God is she saying she did?”

  “Because her uncle told her so.”

  Brogan knew he should have been more surprised by Reginald’s answer. “Why in the hell would he tell her such a thing?”

  “For the life of me, Brogan, I do no’ ken,” Reginald replied.

  Brogan ran a hand through his hair as he tried to make some sense out of the afternoon’s events. First Mairghread all but loses her mind for unknown reasons, now this.

  “Tell me what ye ken of that night,” he told him. “And do no’ leave out a thing.”

  Reginald shook his head. “I was no’ here. I was in Edinburgh.”

  “But ye have heard of what happened,” Brogan said, eying him closely.

  He was met with silence and a disheartened look.

  “Tell me what ye do ken,” Brogan told him. “Leave nothin’ out.”

  ’Twas painful for Reginald to speak of that night, but he did it anyway. “From what I be told, Gertie heard Mairghread screamin’. No one knew at that time that we were under attack. Gertie went racing’ into Mairghread’s room.” A distant, forlorn expression came to his face. “All I ken is what Gertie told me, fer Aymer refused to speak of it.”

  “And what did Gertie tell ye?”

  Reginald’s jaw tightened, anger flashing in his eyes. “When she came into the room, Mairghread was still screamin’. Aymer was on the floor next to her. Blood was everywhere.”

  “And?” Brogan asked, encouraging him to continue.

  “Aymer told Gertie that when he came into the room, he found James and Connell already dead.” He had to clear his throat before he could go on. “He told her he found Mairghread standin’ over the bairn with the knife in her hand. When she saw Aymer, she began to stab herself, all the while screamin’ she had done it. She had killed them.”

  Brogan felt his legs grow week. Nay, he told himself. He was unable to stretch his imagination that far, to believe her capable of such a thing. Yet, this afternoon? She had lost her mind, had gone mad, had attacked Tilda, Charles, and even himself.

  Could her problems be more severe than an addiction to drink? His mind took him back to that attic room, the destruction, the anger blended with insanity.

  “I,” he could not find the words.

  “Brogan, on my dead wife’s grave, I swear to ye, that I do no’ believe she did it.”

  He raised a dubious brow as he stared at Reginald. Was his love for Mairghread so strong that he could not believe for a moment she was capable?

  “Then what do ye think happened?” He finally asked.

  “I think Aymer killed them.”

  Brogan wouldn’t know Aymer Mactavish if he came up and kicked him in his arse. He’d never met the man.

  But if what he had learned thus far about the man was any indication as to his character, then aye, he could believe him capable of murder. Still, there did linger a twinge of doubt, only because of what Mairghread had done less than an hour before. His fury erupted.

  “For the sake of Christ, why did ye no’ tell Mairghread that?” Brogan ground out as he pushed him against the tree again. “Why did ye let her think she was responsible? For all these years, it ate at her soul, turnin’ her into a drunk!”

  “What would ye have done?” he asked, his face turning purple with rage. “Were ye in me position? With no one to turn to? With the girl ye love like yer verra own, so overwrought with grief that she could barely remember who ye were at first?”

  “Ye could have told her later!” Brogan seethed.

  “I tried, but she would no’ listen,” Reginald barked back. “All I could do was watch over her. Try to keep her safe. Try to keep Aymer away from her, from hurtin’ her any further.”

  “Why did ye no’ tell me?” he asked, shoving him harder against the tree.

  “Because I did no’ ken ye! I had to wait, until I knew ye better. And then ye started to help her, and she was doin’ so well. I did what I thought was best fer her!”

  Disgusted, he let loose his tight hold on Reginald’s tunic and set him free.

  “When ye started buildin’ the wall, when ye increased the patrols, I thought mayhap, just mayhap I could confide in ye. But then Mairghread gave up the drink. All I could think about this past sennight, was gettin’ her better and buildin’ that bloody wall.”

  Brogan’s anger began to wane when he saw Reginald’s sincere distress. What would he have done were their roles reversed?

  “Ye say that what we speak of is betwixt only us,” Reginald said after a long length of silence. “I ask that what I am about to say remain betwixt us as well. If Mairghread knew my suspicions, I do no’ ken how she would take it.”r />
  “Ye have me word,” Brogan said firmly.

  “Aymer Mactavish is no’ a man to be trusted,” he began.

  Brogan grunted.

  “He has always called the night James and Connell were killed ‘an attack on the keep’. Two guards were killed that night, along with James and Connell. But no one saw a bloody thing!” He raked a hand through his hair, disgusted for a wide variety of reasons. “No one saw any attackers. Naught was taken that night. The coffers were no’ raided, no horses’ stolen. Nothing but four dead people, and almost a fifth if ye count what happened to Mairghread. She nearly died that night as well, ye ken.” He took in a deep breath before going on. “No’ only do I believe Aymer killed James and Connell, I think he also had a hand in some of the deaths of her family.”

  “What do ye mean some of the deaths?”

  Reginald sighed angrily. “Wee Walter, drowned in the ocean, his body never found. ’Twas Aymer who came to Donald, Mairghread’s father, and told him he saw the boy floatin’ out to sea, but could not get to him.”

  Brogan’s brow furrowed as he listened intently. Mairghread had told him about that death, but these were things she had not mentioned. Was it still too difficult for her to speak about, even after all these years?

  “And Charles. Aymer found him dead, his skull crushed upon a large rock, his body broken and twisted. Presumably from his mount spookin’ and throwin’ him.”

  Brogan’s curiosity was more than just piqued.

  “And Callam? Fell off the cliff’s edge when he was only two and ten. Apparently, he took a walk after dark and fell. And Gavin? He died the exact same way, and in almost the exact same spot as Charles.” He let his words sink in for a time. “I think that be far too many coincidences, do no’ ye?”

  Aye, Brogan had to agree there were too many instances to be coincidence. He thought then of the will that Gertie and Tilda had only eluded to. “Tell me about Donald’s will.”

  Reginald grunted derisively. “Only Aymer has seen it. And according to him, Mairghread be chief of the clan. But the only way she holds that title is if she be married and has a livin’ heir before her fifth and twentieth birthday.”