His wife. Aye, Mairghread was his wife and she needed him, even if she had no earthly idea if he was in the room or in Edinburgh. Up until this afternoon, he had no issue with simply sitting with her, getting her through those difficult times. ’Twas something he rather enjoyed, save for when she suffered with hallucinations. Being there for her had given him a purpose. But now, he had the need to move, to be out of those cramped quarters.
“’Tis all right, Brogan,” Liam said. “We shall take care of it fer ye. Now, go. Be with Mairghread.”
Three hours passed before Brogan received word they had found Hargatha. During that time, Martha had given Mairghread a simple tisane. One that would help settle her stomach and ease the sweating. One of the Mactavish men had come to the fourth floor with word that his men were approaching. Brogan told the young man to have them wait with her in the gathering room.
“Evelyn and Liam can stay with her,” Martha said told him. “I want to speak to Hargatha myself.”
Brogan believed that might be best, for he certainly had no knowledge of herbs or healing. “I think that be a verra good idea.”
Together, he and Martha left the room. On the way below stairs, Martha said, “I could kill Hargatha with me bare hands.”
Brogan quirked a brow. “Because of what she did to Mairghread?”
“Because of how many people she has hurt over the years,” she replied. “But I promise, I’ll no’ strangle her until after we learn what was in that tisane.”
“I thank ye, and I be certain Mairghread will as well,” he said.
His men were practically dragging Hargatha into the gathering room by the time they entered. There was no doubt the woman was angry, for she was letting anyone within earshot know of her displeasure. “Do ye no’ ken who I be?” she shouted at the two men who were holding her by her arms. “Ye will hang fer this as soon as Aymer returns.”
“If anyone hangs, ’twill be ye,” Brogan shouted from across the room. “And ’twill be much sooner than Aymer’s expected return!”
“And who will order it done?” she shouted back. “Ye?” she harrumphed indignantly. “The Mactavish people will no’ hang me.”
Brogan stood just inches away from her and leaned down so that he could look into her eyes. “The Mactavish people might no’, but me men would be more than happy to do it.”
He was met with stone cold silence.
“What did ye give Mairghread?” His words were clipped, firm.
She shrugged her shoulders and feigned ignorance.
Brogan was not a violent man, but this woman was pushing him to his limits. He grabbed her arms and began to shake her. “Ye listen to me, auld woman! If Mairghread dies, I will hold ye personally responsible. Ye tell me now what ye gave her, or I swear to ye, we will take ye from this room now, and hang ye from the tallest tower of this keep!”
“You would no’ dare,” she spat back at him.
Brogan began pulling her toward the stairs. “Henry!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Bring me a rope!”
Hargatha Mactavish chose the wrong day and the wrong man to test.
By the time they reached the third floor, with Brogan pulling her along behind him, she began to see the error of her ways. His men were all right behind him, along with Martha, quietly offering their unwavering support. When he pulled open the door that led to the fourth floor, she began to wail. “Ye would kill a helpless auld woman?” she asked.
“Ye might be auld, but ye are far from helpless,” he seethed. A dull ache had begun to form at the base of his skull. So incensed was he that aye, he was ready to hang this woman. Not because she refused to cooperate, but because of what she had done to Mairghread.
As he pulled her through the door, she began to stammer. “Wait! ’Twas no’ but a tisane!”
Brogan halted abruptly. “I ken it was a bloody tisane!” His voice boomed and echoed through the narrow stairway.
“If ye kill me, Martha can no’ make an antidote!” She was trying to bargain her neck out of the hangman’s noose.
“The bloody hell I can no’!” Martha shouted from behind her.
Hargatha growled as Brogan began to pull her up the stairs once again. “Verra well!” she cried. “’Twas naught but Devil’s herb!”
Martha heard her and pushed her way through the crowd of men. “And what else?” she demanded to know.
Hargatha turned her head enough to glower at her. “And Monkshood ye interferin’ whore!”
If Martha was bothered by the insult, she did not show it. “And what else?”
The auld woman grew silent until Brogan yanked on her arm. “And a bit of lobelia!”
“And naught else?” Martha asked, her glower hot enough to set a grown man’s skin afire.
“And naught else!” Hargatha replied with a snort of derision.
Martha studied her closely for a moment. Apparently satisfied she had told the truth, she said, “I ken what to do now. Ye can go ahead and hang her.”
Hargatha let loose with a slew of curses Brogan had never heard from a woman’s mouth before. Martha ignored the woman’s tirade and pushed her way past her to return to Mairghread.
“I told ye what ye wanted!” Hargatha cried. “Ye can no’ hang me now!”
Brogan pretended to give her argument some thought. “Aye, I can no’ hang ye now,” he said before handing her off to Henry. “Henry, find a room to lock her in. Keep her under guard at all times. James, Peter, ye start constructing the gallows. She hangs on the morrow.”
Chapter Fourteen
After Martha gave Mairghread the antidote, she began to calm almost immediately. “She will likely sleep for a few days,” she told Brogan. “I will no’ say she is out of the woods yet, but I think we can move her to the room next door.”
Brogan was thankful for the news on many levels. He could not wait to get out of the filthy, malodorous room. But more than anything, he was thankful that Mairghread had finally stopped thrashing and moaning.
Before they moved her into the new room, Evelyn brought a basin and clothes in. Together, she and Martha cleaned Mairghread up as best they could. They bandaged her wrists and ankles, from which she had torn the flesh fighting against the restraints.
They also put her into a clean night rail and warm woolens. “What she needs is a bath, but we will have to wait fer that,” Martha told him.
Once she was clean and freshly dressed, Brogan scooped her up into his arms. God’s teeth! He exclaimed silently. She has lost so much weight. As light as a feather she felt in his arms.
With much care and gentleness, he took her across the hall to her new quarters. Liam and Evelyn had done a good job and making the space as inviting as possible. A new bed, larger than the old one, sat against one wall. Fresh linens, pillows, and sheets covered the mattress, along with blankets and a fur. A chair and table were placed next to the bed, and a brazier crackled softly in the corner.
As tenderly as a mum puts her babe in a cradle, Brogan placed Mairghread in the center of the bed. He pulled the covers up around her shoulders, making sure she would be warm and comfortable.
“Why do ye no’ get some rest,” Martha suggested. “I will stay with her. We will send word if there be any change.”
“Nay,” he replied. “I will stay with her.”
“But laird, ye look like ye have no’ slept in days,” she argued.
“’Tis true, I have no’,” he replied. “But I bade Mairghread a promise that I would no’ leave her side. Look what happened to her when I left to change me bloody tunic.”
Unable to argue any sense into him, Martha sighed. “Verra well. I will return soon to check on her. But I suggest ye at least try to rest, m’laird. Ye’ll be no use to her if ye succumb to exhaustion or lack of food.”
A grunt was his only reply.
After she left, he took the seat next to Mairghread’s bed. “Lass, I be so verra sorry,” he whispered. “Please fergive me.”
By his order, Henry
took up the post as Brogan’s second in command. With Reginald’s absence, ’twas up to Henry to see to the felling of trees. There were many rumblings and much grumbling when he told the Mactavish men of the change in plans.
“Trees?” And older man named Stuart asked as he scratched the back of his neck. Though he was a short man, he was broad in the shoulders and had arms that looked like they could fell a tree without the need of axe.
“Aye, trees,” Henry said as he stood before the group of men. “We have just been made aware of the possibility of an attack in the verra near future.”
A gasp, as well as a few curses, broke out over the crowd. These men, of varying ages and sizes, stood dumbfounded in the afternoon sunlight.
“An attack?” came a loud voice from the crowd.
“Aye, an attack,” Henry answered solemnly.
“But we have no enemies,” someone else spoke up.
Henry thought it a most naive statement, but kept that thought to himself. Earlier that day, when he had visited Brogan in Mairghread’s new chamber, Brogan had given him a quick summary of what he knew. ’Twas decided that they would not mention Aymer or what he may or may not have done. If anyone was loyal to him, they might forge an alliance against Brogan and his men. So ’twas decided not to mention any names.
“Who wishes to attack and for what purpose?” someone else asked.
More murmurs fell over the crowd.
Where Brogan was honest to a fault, Henry was not thusly inclined. Where Brogan was usually blunt and to the point, Henry had a more creative streak. A way with words that made him a very good storyteller. Now, he knew he had few choices. He could not tell the entire truth of the matter, for there were likely many in this crowd who were loyal to the bastard Aymer. So he decided he would stretch the truth just a bit.
“Right now, in the lowlands, there be a band of murderin’, lyin’, cheatin’ thieves, who have banded together. Their numbers grow by fifty each day.”
The murmurs were silenced almost immediately.
Since he had their attention, he decided to continue. “These men do no’ band together under any clan name. Nay, they all be sons of whores if ever I saw or heard of one. Their forces stand at nearly five hundred.”
Wide, horrified eyes stared back at him. The words ‘five hundred’ were whispered repeatedly amongst them.
“What do they want from us?” someone asked in a low voice. “Our women?”
Someone chuckled, and replied, “They can have mine! She grouses like a fish-wife!”
Nervous laughter could be heard among them.
“Worse than wantin’ yer women and yer lands,” Henry said as he stood a bit taller. “The bloody bastards want yer horses!”
One communal appalled gasp was let out, quickly followed by loud curses. “’Twill be over me dead body they take me horses!” one man cried out. His friends cheered him.
“Well, if we do no’ get this wall built before they make their way here, ye will be dead and yer horses will be theirs!” Henry told them.
Never had he seen a group of men come together so quickly before. Axes and tools that had been set down earlier, were picked up with the same enthusiasm as a warrior picking up his broadsword.
“They can have me woman,” the man who had jested before said. “But they’ll no’ get me horses!”
So Henry had stretched the truth more than was probably necessary. But even Brogan would have to admit ’twas better to have these men motivated by common ground and working for him instead of against him.
For two solid days and nights, Mairghread slept. Betimes, ’twas a fitful, restless sleep. Brogan did not know if ’twas a good or bad thing. Martha had assured him ’twas all perfectly normal, considering all she had gone through the past days.
Brogan had lost all track of time as he kept his bedside vigil. One day had turned to another, and he had yet to leave her side. Meals were eaten in the same chair in which he slept, holding on to her hand.
For the most part, ’twas a silent vigil, save for when she would be jarred by some dream or memory, he was never certain. When those restless moments came, he would hold her hand tightly and whisper words of encouragement in her ear. Although he was quite certain she could not hear him, he spoke them anyway.
’Twas much like the last few days of Anna’s life. She’d fallen into a deep sleep from which she would never awake. He never left her side either. But instead of whispering words of encouragement, he spoke from his heart to Anna.
He did not know Mairghread well enough yet, to know what was in his heart. Theirs had been a strained and unusual relationship in the beginning.
The beginning, he mused. We were married three days before I realized she was a drunkard. As he sat next to her bed, in the predawn hours, he shook his head in bemusement. Three days of her biting, harsh insults. Three days of not knowing how she had changed so dramatically from their first meeting.
But now he knew the truth, or at least a goodly portion of it. She drank to remember, she drank to forget. Knowing what he knew now, he could not blame her for grabbing the nearest bottle and never looking back. She believed she killed her husband and son.
And ’twas her uncle who put that idea into her head. The bastard begat his lie with one tiny seed, then cultivated it, watching it grow and grow into what now lay on the bed before him. Disgust roiled in his gut.
An attack by outside forces? Nay, he did not believe it. An attack where naught was stolen? An attack where no one saw a thing, save for one man -- Aymer Mactavish. And the bloody bastard placed the blame on an innocent lass who was so distraught, she could not have seen the truth if it had been bludgeoning her with a club.
Looking upon her now, she slept peacefully, on her side, with the covers drawn tightly around her. Those dark auburn tresses had been one of the first things he had noticed about her. Long and thick. Now, they were dirty, stringy and matted against her head and face.
He believed she would not want anyone to see her in such disarray. Or so he imagined she would be like most women in that regard.
Though they had spent several days alone together, locked away in a tiny room, he still knew very little about her. Aye, he knew the dark ugly secrets. Knew about her losses, her heartaches and now the dark truth about her uncle. A truth she was not even aware of.
But he wanted to know more. More and different things. What was her favorite food? Her favorite color? Did she have a favorite flower? What were her thoughts on Scotland’s current king?
Time, he supposed, was what they needed. Time out of this blasted room. Time where she was not fighting an addiction or now, the tisane that had made her lose her mind, albeit temporarily.
Mayhap, when she was better, they might take a trip somewhere. Mayhap they could go back to his father’s keep. Certainly they would learn much about each other on such a long and arduous trip.
But nay, that was not possible, at least not right now. There were too many things that needed to be done before he would feel safe leaving the keep for more than an hour. Thankfully, he had his men working for him day and night now to erect a wooden wall. He imagined he’d not rest well until it was complete. Nay, he’d not rest well until Aymer Mactavish was brought to justice.
Daybreak had come with a fire-red sky against a bright blue backdrop. The sun warmed the earth and air. Filtering in on the gentle breeze were the sounds of sheep bleating, cattle lowing, along with the occasional whinny and snicker of horses.
Birds twittering and flapping at the small window woke Brogan from a not-too-deep sleep. Mairghread was still sleeping peacefully. He stood, stretched his arms out wide, and went to look outside.
The sea was calm this morn, the air crisp and clean smelling. As he had done for many days now, Brogan looked out to the ocean and sky and prayed. He prayed for Mairghread’s swift and full recovery. He prayed they would be able to build the wall before Aymer’s return. And he prayed for some semblance of peace to fall over his heart, as well
as this place he now called home.
The sound of his name being spoken broke through his quiet reverie. He spun to see Mairghread, sitting up on one elbow. She looked confused, worn, and tired, but he cared not. He was overjoyed at seeing her awake and hearing her speak his name.
He rushed to her side, shoved the chair aside, and knelt beside her. “Och! Lass, ’tis good to see ye awake!”
“I be awfully thirsty,” she told him, her voice sounding tired and scratchy.
With trembling hands, he poured her a cup of water and helped her to drink. “No’ too much at once,” he warned with a thoughtful smile.
She tried to listen, tried taking small sips, but her thirst was too large to deny. Brogan had to pry the cup from her hands before she made herself sick. “I promise, this be no’ the last cup of water in the keep,” he told her playfully.
She let out a slight moan, and fell back against the bed. “Ye look as bad as I feel,” she said. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep, cleansing breath.
Brogan chuckled softly, glad for the moment she could not see her own self.
“What happened?” she asked. “Why do I feel like I have been trampled by a horse?”
Brogan set the cup down and took her hand in his. “Do ye remember naught of the past sennight?” He held his breath, worried that her memory had somehow been affected by Hargatha’s concoction.
She was quiet and still for a long while. “I remember comin’ to ye, askin’ fer yer help,” she said in a low voice. “I remember bein’ quite afraid for what seems like a long while.”
Mayhap ’twas a blessing she could not remember what Hargatha had done to her. “Do ye remember anythin’ else?” he asked.
Deep crimson flushed her neck and face. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I remember makin’ a fool out of myself,” she replied, with a slight tremor to her voice. “Snakes and worms that were no’ really there.”
Brogan's Promise: Book Three of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 21