Claimed by the Highland Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  ‘My father died when he took a sword that was meant for me. Grizel blames me for it.’

  ‘She’s wrong.’ Nairna raised her eyes to her husband’s, and in them, she saw the shadow of the boy he’d been. A boy who had been close to his father and no doubt lived with the cross of Tavin’s death. She couldn’t stop herself from moving into his arms, trying to bring him comfort without words.

  But this time, Bram’s hand only touched her back, as if he were too angry to hold her. Whether it was his frustration towards Grizel or whether he simply didn’t want to embrace her, it was the first time she’d experienced hesitation from him. It bothered her more than she’d thought it would. Awkwardly, she removed her arms from his waist.

  ‘Do you want to leave?’ Bram asked.

  She couldn’t—not until she’d spoken with the others. ‘I haven’t finished what I came here to do.’ She held back a moment, thinking to herself. ‘And I want to have words with your mother.’

  ‘Don’t be bothered by what she said. It’s simply her way.’ Bram continued inside the stables, where Dougal had led the animals. The boy spoke quietly to his stallion, absorbed by the horse.

  ‘I’ll see to your horses,’ Dougal offered, nodding to both of them.

  Bram handed over the reins and went to stand by one of the stalls. His gaze settled off into the distance, and as the minutes passed, Nairna felt him slipping further away.

  ‘What happened at Cairnross?’ she murmured, coming to stand beside him. There was more that he hadn’t told her, something that bothered him still. His fists tightened as if squeezing an invisible enemy.

  ‘As I told you, Callum wasn’t there.’ His clipped response clearly said he didn’t want to talk about it.

  She hadn’t meant to bother him, but something else must have happened. The frustration on his face went deeper and she sensed him pushing her further away.

  ‘Bram—?’ She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he moved back.

  ‘I’m in no mood to discuss it, Nairna.’

  Beneath his irritated demeanour she sensed that something had unnerved him. Had he fallen into another spell, losing himself in the battle? Or had someone been hurt?

  He wasn’t going to talk about it; that was clear. No amount of gentle questioning would break through the wall of guarded pride.

  It hurt to see him like this, knowing there was nothing she could do. But she wanted to make the offer, none the less. ‘If there’s anything I can help you with, I’ll do my best.’

  He turned to stare at her and the emptiness in his brown eyes made her take a step back. ‘I’m not something you can fix, Nairna. Leave it be.’

  Brittle hurt bloomed inside and she didn’t know what to do. One moment, her husband was holding her as though he’d never let her go. The next, he’d cut her off, refusing to talk to her.

  Confusion gathered around her like a cold gust of air. Risking another glance, she saw her husband watching her. Though Bram didn’t speak, nor reveal any of his thoughts, he hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

  Her troubled thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a middle-aged man, short of stature, wearing a dark-green silk tunic, hose and a matching mantle. A heavy gold chain rested around his neck, denoting the Baron’s rank.

  ‘I heard that we had visitors,’ the man said, his smile broad. ‘I am Kameron MacKinnon, Baron of Locharr.’

  Though his fair hair was thinning and his midsection had grown plump, the man emanated warmth and friendliness. Nairna curtsied, introducing herself and Bram, who came closer.

  Standing just behind Lord Locharr was an older woman and an adolescent girl. Bram leaned in close, his warm breath against her ear as he whispered, ‘That’s Ross’s wife Vanora and their eldest daughter Nessa.’

  The sensation of her husband’s breath sent a shiver through her skin. When he stepped back, she couldn’t suppress the feeling of disappointment.

  ‘Forgive Lady Grizel for what she said earlier,’ Lord Locharr said quietly. ‘She’s been through some difficult times and her grief has hardened her.’

  It was the man’s attempt to smooth over the uncomfortable atmosphere and Nairna managed a nod. ‘I hope it was all right that we came to pay a visit. The MacKinloch men are missing their wives and children and I came on their behalf.’

  Lord Locharr glanced to the women beside him, as if gauging their responses. Vanora stiffened, reaching out to take her daughter’s hand. She looked uncomfortable about the question, as though she were undecided on the matter.

  ‘Come inside,’ Lord Locharr offered, sending her a kindly smile. ‘You should stay the night with us and we’ll talk it over.’

  Though the invitation was not unexpected, Nairna saw the tension in Bram’s face. Her husband’s hands came to rest upon her shoulders, as if he wanted the Baron to know of his prior claim.

  Bram’s fingers pressed into her shoulders, his thumbs stroking the tension from her skin. The possessive motion took her unawares and the sensation was so soothing that she wanted to lean her head back, closing her eyes.

  ‘I’ll see to it that you have a chamber to yourselves,’ the Baron said. He nodded the request to Vanora, who disappeared with her daughter. ‘If you would both like to sit and enjoy a cup of mead or wine, we can talk while your chamber is readied.’

  The older man gestured for them to join him upon the dais at the long wooden table. Nairna did, out of politeness, but she didn’t miss Bram’s reluctance. ‘You have a lovely home,’ she began. ‘I’m certain the women and children are grateful for your hospitality.’

  Lord Locharr poured them each a cup of mead. ‘It was my pleasure. I enjoy having the little ones around.’ He filled his own cup and added, ‘But what you really want to know is when they’re returning.’

  Nairna nodded. ‘It’s not right for families to be split apart.’

  ‘And neither is it right for women and children to be attacked by the English every few weeks.’ His eyes turned to Bram. ‘They came to me for sanctuary, for an end to the violence. I was only too happy to grant it.’

  ‘How many were killed?’ Bram asked.

  ‘Not so many. The MacKinlochs were always good fighters,’ the Baron admitted, ‘but one of the younger girls was killed in the last incident. After they buried her, Lady Grizel gathered up everyone and brought them here.’

  Not the actions of an embittered old woman, Nairna realised, but one who wanted the safety of those who could not defend themselves. Were she in Grizel’s place, she might have done the same.

  ‘I would like to speak with her again,’ she told Lord Locharr. ‘Where might I find her?’

  ‘You’re wasting your breath,’ Bram responded. ‘Nothing you say will make any difference.’

  She supposed that could be true. ‘I still want to try. I’ve nothing to lose.’ From what she’d seen of Grizel, the woman appeared to have little sympathy or kindness in her. But she’d managed to bring half the clan to safety, keeping them protected from danger. Not an easy task at all.

  ‘I’ll wait for you in our chamber, then.’ Bram stood and nodded a cursory thanks to the Baron. ‘If you’re determined to speak with her again, I won’t stand in your way.’ Without another word, he returned outside. Nairna tried not to let her husband’s cynicism weaken her resolve.

  ‘Grizel isn’t an easy woman to speak to,’ the Baron admitted, when Bram was gone. ‘But there is more to her than most people realise.’

  Nairna believed so, too, but she wouldn’t know for certain until she spoke to Grizel alone. ‘Where can I find her?’

  ‘Why are you here?’ Lady Grizel knelt beside a wooden tub, her fingers covered in soap bubbles as she scrubbed the hair of a red-haired boy. Nairna guessed the child was two years of age and he sat within a large wooden bucket, whining as the matron rubbed his scalp.

  ‘I thought without Bram present, we could talk about what happened with the women and children.’

  She wanted to understand whether Grize
l was truly filled with such hatred, or whether it was nothing but empty words.

  The older woman used her hands to scoop handfuls of water to rinse the boy’s head. When he started to cry, she sent the boy a grim look. ‘Quiet, now. You’re fine.’

  ‘I know that you left Glen Arrin after the last attack,’ Nairna ventured.

  Grizel lifted the boy out and wrapped him in a drying cloth. She hardly looked at the boy as she tended him. It was efficiency, nothing more. And it was starting to chafe at Nairna’s patience. Without asking permission, she reached out and took the child from Grizel. She sat down, pulling him onto her lap.

  After Nairna dressed him in a clean garment, the boy snuggled against her. At the feeling of his warm body nestled close, Nairna fought back the ache of longing.

  Grizel hardly appeared to care. ‘We were attacked nearly every sennight,’ she said, ‘because our men refused to pay bribes to the English.’

  Nairna rubbed the child’s back, shushing him as he fussed. She tucked his head beneath her chin, holding him close.

  ‘The men didn’t care what happened—all they wanted to do was fight.’ Grizel nodded towards the boy. ‘His parents were killed in the battle.’

  An uneasy sense of understanding crossed over Nairna as she pressed a kiss against the child’s hair.

  The lives of men are worth more than coins, her father had said. And now she was beginning to understand that.

  Nairna took a breath and rocked the boy in her arms, watching as his eyelids grew heavy in sleep. ‘And what if the fighting were to stop? Would you return, then?’

  ‘They won’t stop. They’re stubborn and hotheaded, every one of them.’

  ‘Not all of them,’ Nairna said, thinking of Bram. He kept to himself, isolated from his brothers. ‘Bram and Alex are doing everything they can to get Callum back.’

  A flash of pain slipped over Grizel’s face before she looked away. ‘Leave me now. I’ve no wish to speak of them again.’

  ‘And what about Dougal? He needs you, too.’

  Grizel let out a sigh. ‘Ever since he returned from fostering and found Tavin gone, he does nothing but fight all the time.’

  ‘You’re his mother,’ Nairna insisted. ‘And he’s not a grown man yet.’

  ‘Dougal hasn’t spoken to me in months.’ Angry hurt bloomed within Grizel’s voice as she wiped her hands upon her gown. ‘He doesn’t need me.’

  ‘So you’ll turn your back on your sons, after all they’ve suffered?’

  ‘Every time I see Bram’s face, I remember that Tavin died because of him.’ Grizel’s eyes grew wild, her temper spilling over. ‘Bram was foolish and believed he was strong enough to fight the English. Callum followed him when we tried to keep the boys away.’

  She rose to her feet. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to have your heart ripped away, losing your husband and two sons.’

  ‘I know what it’s like to lose a husband.’ The soul-wrenching grief had hurt so badly when she’d lost Bram, Nairna knew exactly how Grizel had felt. But a sixteen-year-old boy could not be blamed for it.

  ‘Bram suffered for seven years,’ Nairna continued. ‘He blames himself for the losses.’

  ‘And well he should.’

  ‘He was nothing but a boy.’ Nairna felt her own anger rising. ‘A boy who loved his father and wanted to fight at his side. To prove himself worthy.’

  ‘But he wasn’t,’ Grizel said softly. ‘He let his temper rule his head. I watched him run to face the enemy and Tavin stepped in to take the sword. He bled to death in my arms while the English took my sons.’

  Grizel stared hard at her. ‘He might be your husband now. But I’ve no wish to speak to him or see his face again.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The chamber door opened and Bram saw his wife standing there, looking utterly defeated. It didn’t surprise him that Grizel had cut her down. His mother had no sympathy in her at all, nor kindness.

  He wanted to draw Nairna into his arms, telling her it didn’t matter. But he didn’t move, uncertain of his wife’s mood right now.

  ‘You were right,’ Nairna said, her voice heavy. She sat down upon the edge of the bed, staring at the stone wall. ‘You needn’t say it.’

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Bram heard himself saying. ‘She’s angry with me and you bore the brunt of it.’

  ‘No.’ Nairna’s hands dug into her skirts, and he heard the anger in her voice. ‘It wasn’t your fault she chose to shut everyone else out.’

  Bram came to sit beside her, not knowing what to say, but his wife looked angrier that he’d ever seen her.

  ‘You’re her son,’ Nairna said. ‘She has no right to blame you for an accident. It was the English who killed your father, not you.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have been caught in the fight, if I hadn’t run towards them.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’ Nairna drew her feet up, tucking them beneath the frayed skirt. ‘She should be grateful you’re alive, not angry.’

  Bram rested his arm across her shoulders and Nairna came to him, burying her face in his chest. The warmth of her body permeated his, and against his better judgement, he pressed her back on the bed until she lay on her side facing him.

  Only a hand’s distance separated them as they lay together. A lock of brown hair curled over her shoulder and he tucked it back, staring at her face. Nairna stilled, watching him with wariness. But he made no move to touch her; he simply absorbed her features.

  ‘I’m glad you’re alive,’ she whispered, reaching out to touch the scar upon his throat. At the softness of her fingers upon his skin, he closed his eyes.

  She traced the mark of the shackle that had chained him. ‘Does this hurt you?’

  He shook his head. It was only the sensation of her touch that was starting to have a different impact. Heat rushed through his veins and he rolled onto his stomach to hide the physical response to her.

  ‘Bram,’ Nairna whispered. ‘I’m sorry I forced you to come here.’

  ‘You didn’t know.’

  Her hand moved against his hair, fingering the edges. ‘We’ll leave in the morning. If any of the other women want to come back with us, I’ll ask—’

  He caught her hand, bringing her palm to his mouth. With his lips, he reverenced her skin, bringing it over his roughened cheeks. He heard her slight gasp of air; immediately he released her hand and sat up.

  He didn’t want to push her too quickly or frighten her. To distract both of them, he pointed out a gown draped over one of the chairs.

  ‘Lord Locharr left that for you,’ he remarked. ‘He bought it for my mother, but she refused to wear it.’

  Made of silk in the Norman style, the kirtle was deep purple, with narrow sleeves and a sleeveless surcoat to be worn over it.

  ‘I don’t need a gown—’ Nairna started to protest, but Bram cut her off.

  ‘I haven’t seen you wear any colours since we came from your father’s house. I’d like to see you in it.’

  Nairna didn’t speak for a long time. When she did, she asked, ‘Do my clothes bother you?’

  Jesu, he wasn’t intending to criticise her. ‘It doesn’t matter to me what you wear. But you used to wear colours and I thought you might like it. That’s all.’

  She sat up, as if considering it. When she looked back at him, her face was crimson. ‘I have no ladies’ maid to help me dress. But if you’ll help me, I’ll…try it on.’

  Nairna turned her back, reaching for the silk gown. The fabric felt smooth, and the weave was so fine she knew instantly how costly it was.

  She loosened the laces of her gown, only to feel Bram’s hands upon her. He stood behind her, and when she lifted her outer woollen gown away there was nothing but a thin shift to cover her bare skin. His fingers stroked over her shoulders, down her bared arms.

  The length of his manhood pressed against her backside, as he kissed her neck. His arm slid around her, then he brought it higher to rest over the mounds of her breasts
. Her nipples tightened against his forearm and the needs rose up inside, clouding her mind.

  Bram turned her to face him. The hunger on his face was undeniable, as if he were holding back by a mere thread. Upon his face she saw the strained control and it bothered her, knowing she was the cause of it.

  Hotheaded, Grizel had called Bram. Undisciplined and rebellious, ruled by his temper.

  But that wasn’t Bram at all, she realised. Not anymore. If anything, he’d reined in his emotions, locking them away. He wouldn’t release anything and the tension was taking its pound of flesh from him.

  He’d imprisoned his spirit, as surely as the chains had imprisoned his body. A dark loneliness seemed to dwell inside him, after his own family had abandoned him.

  Grizel’s accusations infuriated Nairna, that she would blame her son for the unfortunate turn of fate. Bram wasn’t responsible for Tavin’s death, or Callum’s imprisonment. And until he could accept the truth of it, he would be caught in shackles of his own making.

  His hands moved back up to her shoulders, while his mouth explored the skin of her neck. Nairna held herself motionless, unsure of what her husband had started.

  He turned her to face him and his eyes were heated with need. She stood on her tiptoes, wondering if she dared to kiss him. When she did, his reaction was immediate, his mouth claiming hers in a frenzy, as though he wanted to absorb her into his skin.

  The more she tried to satiate the desire, the worse it grew. He caressed her bottom, and as his tongue delved inside her mouth, she felt the heat building inside her.

  He seized the hem of her shift, pulling it up until he bared her womanhood. Embarrassment pooled inside her, but it dissipated a moment later when his hands moved to part her legs. He cupped her intimately, as if learning the shape of her body.

  With his fingers, he traced the seam that led to her entrance, and she moaned as his finger passed over a sensitive spot.

  She tried to move his hand away, but he explored further, dipping his fingers against her opening. With his thumb, he pressed inside, and she felt the gentle invasion.