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

by Suzan Tisdale

  Dunking under the water again, she rinsed the soap out. Coming back up, she breathed in a good lungful of air. Wiping water from her eyes, she looked at the man, still standing with his back to her.

  Not once had he mentioned how disheveled or dirty she was. Weeks ago, she had scoffed at his honor. Had teased him, called him a monk, and worse. Still, he remained by her side, refusing to let her continue on the path of drunkenness. Even then, when they were alone in the attic room, when she had cursed him to the devil countless times, he never once yelled or cursed back. And not once did he throw his hands in the air and leave.

  Very close to breaking down again, she took in a deep breath. “I be done,” she told him with a shaky voice.

  He gave a quick nod before turning around. If he saw her distress, he was kind enough not to mention it. “I will get the blanket fer ye,” he said as she climbed out of the loch.

  Standing on the bank, he unfurled the blanket and held it up for her. “I will keep me eyes closed,” he told her.

  Too cold to speak, let alone argue for a better plan — which she did not have— she gave a quick nod. Once his eyes were closed, she made her way out of the loch. Her arms and legs felt as heavy as lead. As quickly as she could, she rushed forward and landed against his chest with a very un-ladylike grunt. Spinning around at the same time, he wrapped her into the warm blanket.

  Brogan helped her into her slippers, picked up the soap and other items, and put one arm around her waist. “We’ll have ye in a nice hot bath verra soon,” he promised her.

  It caught her by surprise when she sighed contentedly against his chest. A prickling sensation began to build behind her eye. Ye just be tired, she told herself. And he be warm. There be naught else to it.

  When they entered her bedchamber, each of them was a bit surprised by the number of people within. Tilda, Gertie, Martha and her daughter, as well as two housemaids took up most of the free space in her room.

  “Och!” Gertie cried as she rushed to greet her. “’Tis God’s truth I am glad to see ye!”

  Tilda was wrapping her own arms around Mairghread before she had a chance to respond. The room burst to life with women all chattering, smiling, and hugging their lady. Brogan did the only thing he could; he stepped off to the side and watched.

  Mairghread’s teeth chattered together, but no one paid it any mind. They — Gertie and Tilda to be most specific — were simply too happy to see her. She offered them the warmest smile she could muster, and listened as they asked what seemed like a hundred questions as once.

  After a short while, she looked at the bath sitting in front of her fire. Then she looked at Brogan.

  He saw the pleading look in her eyes and came to help her at once. “Ladies,” he said, raising his voice so he could be heard over the din. They all turned to look at him. “Mairghread has just come from bathin’ in the loch and is quite cold. Leave us now, so that she can get into the bath ye brought her before the water chills.”

  The room erupted once again, in a chorus of ochs and ayes and I be sorrys. Still, no one made any attempt to leave. Instead, Tilda and Gertie led her toward the bath whilst they tried to divest her of her blanket.

  “Stop!” Mairghread cried out. Immediately, she felt ashamed for raising her voice. “Please,” she said, changing her tone to something warmer and more sincere. “Please, I do appreciate yer wantin’ to help me, but I would like a little bit of time to meself.”

  They repeated their chorus from moments ago as Brogan began to usher them out of the room. Before they would allow him to shut the door, he had to promise Gertie and Tilda he would call them first if Mairghread needed anything.

  When he turned around, Mairghread was already in the tub, leaning back with a sigh. He chuckled softly at the sight. Seeing that soaps and cloths had been set on the chair by the tub, he felt a little unnecessary at the moment.

  “Be ye hungry?” he asked from the spot by the door.

  “Aye,” she replied as she placed her arms on the edge of the tub. “Could I have somethin’ more than bread and broth?”

  Another knot formed in his throat when she pulled herself up and grabbed a washing cloth and jar of soap. Scooping a bit out, she began to smear it over her arms and shoulders. ’Twas one of the most seductive things he had ever witnessed and she hadn’t any idea it was so.

  When he was silent for too long, she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Brogan?”

  He was torn from his wondering thoughts filled with desire. “Aye?” he replied over the growing knot.

  “Are ye well?”

  He nodded once, cleared his throat and mind. “I shall get ye somethin’ to eat.”

  He thought he might have to jump in the loch again.

  Alone for the first time in a long while, Mairghread thought she might covet the silence. After washing her body and hair again, she sank back into the tub. The water did wonders to soothe her aching muscles and tired bones. Twice, she fell asleep, only to be jolted awake when her chin touched the water.

  Worried she was so tired she might drown in her own bath, she begrudgingly brought herself to stand. Grabbing one of the drying clothes, she pulled it around herself and stepped out of the tub.

  A fresh, warm nigh rail had been laid out on the bed for her, along with thick woolens. Hurriedly, she dried off her body and toweled her hair before pulling on the night rail. Chilled again, she grabbed the woolens along with a brightly colored woven blanket and sat on the stool by the fire. Try as she might, she found she could not lift her feet to put the woolens on. Instead, she pulled the blanket around her tightly and let the fire in the hearth warm her face.

  One question piled on top of another, which brought forth a pounding sensation behind her eyes. Everyone was being gracious and kind to her, even after her horrible mistreatment of them. And she knew it had been horrible mistreatment.

  Why? She repeated that same question over and over again in her mind. Why be they all so kind when ye were nothin’ but cruel and mean to them? For the life of her, she could not find the answer.

  And what of Brogan? Nearly complete strangers, they were. Still, he treated her with nothing but kindness and a gentleness she had not felt since James.

  James. When her thoughts turned to him, they also turned to Connell.

  A sickening sensation began to build deep in her stomach. Lord above, how she missed them.

  Nay! She chastised herself. Ye can no’ let yer heart take ye back. When ye do, ye drink. And when ye drink, ye are as cruel and mean-spirited as Hargatha!

  But what was she to do? Not a day went by that she did not think of them at least a few dozen times. They were the most important people in her life.

  Then she had gone mad and killed them.

  Oh, no one had ever said it outright. Only hints here and there. Yer uncle found ye bloody, stabbin’ yerself with the knife. She shuddered and choked back the bile forming in her throat. But did that truly mean they died at her hand? Was that the only explanation that made sense?

  And what of the two guards who had died that night? Certainly, she could not have killed them. She hadn’t left the main keep since giving birth to Connell. Was it merely coincidence that the two young guards had died the same night James and Connell had?

  Whenever she tried to remember, or tried to make sense of it, her head would throb mercilessly, and inevitably, her stomach would churn. Why hadn’t sobriety brought clarity to that night? Was it too soon to expect it?

  Tears pooled in her eyes, slid from her lids and down her cheeks. If Brogan knew, if he knew what I had done, would he continue to show me such kindness? ’Twas highly unlikely.

  Eventually, she would have to confess her sins to him. Nay, no’ eventually. It must be done sooner rather than later. They had not yet consummated their marriage. There was still time for him to ask for an annulment. Could they part ways as friends if he knew the truth? What then? What if he became so enraged he left her?

  Fear
traced along her spine. She should have thought of all these things before she had agreed to marry him. And most definitely before she decided to climb out of the darkness the bottles gave her.

  Confusion begat fear which begat dread. In her heart, she knew she had to tell him the truth. Now, today, as soon as he returned from the kitchen.

  When Brogan returned, she was out of the tub and sitting by the fire. She had donned the fresh night rail someone had laid out for her. Her damp hair clung to the clean blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders.

  Lost in her own thoughts, she did not move when he set the tray on the edge of the bed. He noticed her fingertips were white, for she was clinging tightly to the blanket. ’Twas also then he noticed the tears dripping off her chin.

  “Mairghread?” he said, kneeling down beside her. “Mairghread.”

  When she finally turned to look at him, she gulped back more tears. “Why?”

  “Why what, lass?”

  “Why are ye so kind to me when I have been so cruel to ye?”

  She broke down completely then, as he pulled her into his arms. Sitting on the floor, with his back against the bed, he held her while she wept. With his palms, he smoothed her hair, and whispered, “Lass, please do no’ cry.”

  “But why? I was so verra mean to ye, Brogan. I would no’ have blamed ye if ye had packed yer bags and left after the third day of bein’ married to me! But ye stayed and ye helped me and I do no’ ken why.”

  He let out a short sigh as he tried to find the right words of comfort. “In truth, lass, I do no’ rightly ken meself. I supposed it had to do with when we met at Ian’s. Ye intrigued me. And I could no’ verra well let ye be married off to Courtemanche.”

  “I ken why ye married me,” she said against his tunic. “What I do no’ ken is why ye stayed.”

  “I stayed because ye needed me. If I did no’ help ye, who would?”

  She sniffled, wiped her tears on his shirt, and looked up at him. “So ye stayed out of a sense of honor and duty?”

  “Partly,” he answered. “But during those first few days, when ye started to sober up and open up to me, I found I rather liked ye.”

  She groaned once, dropped her face against his chest and began to cry again. He could not imagine why. “Wheest, now, lass,” he whispered against the top of her head.

  “Nay,” she said as she pulled away. “I must tell ye somethin’, Brogan. Something ugly and horrible. All I ask is that ye listen to me, let me say it all first. Then ye can rail and cry foul and leave.”

  He had a suspicion about what she was going to tell him. “Verra well,” he said as he brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “But I be certain that nothin’ ye tell me could make me rail at ye, or cry foul and leave.”

  His reassurance did not help. Fighting the tears, the bile rising in her throat, she stammered and fought for the words. But they would no’ come. “I be naught but a coward, Brogan. I want to tell ye, but me cowardice be gettin’ in the way. I want to be honest with ye, as ye have been with me.”

  Offering her a warm smile, he said, “I believe I already ken what it is ye want to tell me.”

  Her brow furrowed as she shook her head. “Nay, there be no way ye could ken. Fer if ye did, ye would have left me the moment ye learned of it.”

  Taking in a deep breath through his nostrils, he let it out slowly. “Be ye wantin’ to tell me ye believe ye killed yer husband and son?”

  Eyes wide in horrification, she could not speak for the longest while. “Ye ken?” she stammered.

  “Aye, lass, I ken the truth of it.”

  Closing her eyes, she took in deep, steadying breaths as her stomach roiled with self-loathing. “Yet ye stayed,” she said, unable to understand how he was able to do just that. Why had he not hied off the moment he learned the truth?

  “Aye, I stayed.”

  She tried to crawl away, but he would not allow her to. “Lass, I do no’ believe fer a minute ye did what yer uncle has suggested.”

  Shame and fear would not allow her to look at him. “Then ye must no’ ken all of it.”

  “Do ye?” he asked.

  “I ken enough.”

  With gentle fingertips on her chin, he coaxed her into looking at him. Why did he not look upon her with shame?

  “Ye have told me that ye do no’ remember anything of that day, aye?” he asked.

  “’Tis true, I do no’, no matter how hard I try.”

  With the pads of his thumbs, he wiped her tears away. “Did ye love him? James? And yer son?”

  Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide. “Of course I did!”

  “Yet ye are convinced ye killed them,” he said. “Why would ye think such a thing?”

  “Because Uncle told me—”

  Brogan cut her off. “Aye, yer uncle told ye he found ye covered in blood, stabbin’ yerself, claimin’ ye had killed them.”

  Nodding her head, the words were lodged in her throat.

  “There is a verra good possibility yer uncle,” he paused, wanting to find something other than, yer uncle was a lyin’, thievin’ bastard. “I believe yer uncle might have been mistaken in what he says he saw.”

  His declaration made not a bit of sense to her. How could anyone mistake such a thing?

  “I also ken no one has ever tried to find out what truly happened that night. Two other men were also murdered. Everyone says the keep was under attack, but I have found no evidence to support those statements.”

  The murdered guards had never made any sense to her either.

  “If the keep were truly under attack, more lives would have been lost, aye? Something would have been taken, the coffers raided, the horses stolen. But none of those things happened.”

  She had been too grief-stricken in the beginning to ask any of those questions. When Brogan laid it all out before her, she began to see things a bit more clearly. A horrifying thought sprung up in her mind. ’Twas enough to make her ill. “Be ye thinkin’ the attack came from within?”

  Brogan chose his next words with great care. “I be thinkin’ I have suspicions. I be thinkin’ I know no’ enough to say what truly happened that night, Mairghread. But, with yer permission, I would like to try.”

  “Of course!” she exclaimed. “I need to ken the truth, Brogan, no matter how vile and ugly it might be.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  With Mairghread on the mend, Brogan sent for Gertie and Tilda. Although she was feeling better, he still did not want her to be alone just yet.

  Seeing she was in their good care, he went to the stables to saddle a horse.

  “Good day to ye, m’laird!” Seamus shouted the moment Brogan walked in. He was less than five steps away but shouted as if he were calling to him from across a wide valley. It made his ears ring.

  “I heard our lady is doin’ much better,” Seamus shouted. “All due to yer good care.”

  If he were forced to stay here and shout — for it was far from speaking when you had to raise your voice for the old man — he would not just lose his hearing. There was a strong possibility he would lose his mind.

  “She is, Seamus,” he replied in a loud voice. “I need me horse.”

  “Yer horse?” he asked, turning his ‘good ear’ to him.

  “Aye, me horse.”

  Seamus gave a quick nod, then turned to shout over his shoulder. “Davey! Bring the laird’s mount!”

  Brogan rubbed his ear with his index finger and prayed fervently that whoever Davey was, he would hurry.

  Seamus turned back to him and smiled. ’Twas a big, warm, toothy smile. “’Tis glad I was to hear our lady was better,” he shouted.

  Hear? Brogan choked back a laugh.

  “It also made me glad to learn ye are rebuildin’ the wall. I heard about those murderers and horse thieves from the lowlands,” he shook his head and whistled. “I will fight any man who tries to steal them!”

  Brogan had no earthly idea what the man was referring to. In addi
tion to being deaf, was he also addlepated?

  “Ye have me full support, laird,” he said. “It be about time someone took it up to defend this keep and its people.” He scratched his jaw and went on. “Though I do no’ ken how we can defend ourselves against seven thousand thieves.”

  “Seven thousand thieves?” Brogan asked in stupefied amazement.

  “Aye,” he replied. “Did ye ever imagine ye’d see the day the king would allow seven thousand horse thieves and murderers to roam this land?” He whistled in disbelief. “But Henry assures us that if we get this wall built, we should be able to hold our own fer a time. Says he to me, ‘Seamus, ’twill be a cold day in hell before I or Brogan Mackintosh allow this clan to fall to murderers and horse thieves.’”

  Henry. It all began to make sense now. Henry and his penchant for story telling. While he was not necessarily pleased with his method of lying outright, he could not deny the results.

  Retrieving his horse, he led the animal out of the stables and into the yard, eager to get to the forest to see what progress had been made on the felling of trees.

  He needn’t look far.

  There, less than twenty feet beyond the old stone wall, he could see the makings of a fine wood wall. Fifteen, thick, straight round logs had already been set into the ground. Each were at least twenty-five feet tall and four to five feet in diameter.

  “Jesus,” he whispered with a shake of disbelief.

  He vowed then and there never to doubt or even question Henry’s methods.

  Pulling his horse along by the reins, he soon reached the wall. There were at least one hundred men on either side. Shouting orders in the midst of the chaos was Henry. “Okay lads! Let’s put our backs into it!” he shouted over the din. He spit into his hands, rubbed them together, and began to help the men roll the next log into position.

  Brogan watched, nearly mesmerized by what he saw happening. Once the log was in position, a team of horses was brought around and hitched to heavy thick ropes tied to the middle of the beam. Ten men, some digging with ropes tied to steel picks embedded into the wood, others using smaller logs, all worked in unison to lift the end of the beam. The man leading the team of horses whistled and shouted commands at the animals. They heaved forward, their massive feet digging into the earth, muscles rippling, nostrils flared.