by K. E. Saxon
Maggie patted her mother’s knee. “Worry not. We’ve raised a fine man—an honorable man. If aught unseemly takes place between them, ‘twill not be long before he’ll be wanting to wed the lass.” She smiled slyly. “And, is that not just what we desire for them?”
Lady Maclean sighed. “Aye, it is. Tho’ I cannot help worrying that she’s not seen the last of that fiendish Norman she was betrothed to wed.”
Maggie looked at her in surprise. “That seems unlikely. For, how ever is he to learn she is here with us? Surely, they will only think to look for her at the Maclean holding. And possibly the MacLaurin holding, since her other foster brother is living back there now.”
Lady Maclean nodded. “Aye, and if they do go to Daniel’s land, his fortress is so strong, the Normans are sure to not gain entrance should they attack.”
With a wave of her hand, Maggie said, “Besides, surely her brother-germane will not let leak the fact that Branwenn survived the shipwreck.”
“Nay, my impression of the young man when I met him last Hogmanay was that he cared for Branwenn even before he ever met her. Nay,” she said again, “Reys will do all he must to keep those tidings from ever reaching the man’s ears.”
“Aye, and in the meantime, just in case, if the lass is well-wed by the time the Norman arrives...”
Lady Maclean met her daughter’s eye and nodded. “Precisely.”
* * *
Bao arrived with little ceremony the next morn. But he did have some surprising tidings to share: Daniel would be meeting them here as well.
“When is he to arrive?” Lady Maclean asked. She, her daughter, Laird MacGregor, and Callum were all gathered in the great hall and seated on benches around the hearth.
Bao shrugged. “I expect he shall be here on the morrow, or the next day at the latest.”
“Pardon, but I ken you not,” Callum said, glancing around at all gathered. “Why must Daniel meet you here? Surely, ‘twould be better for him to meet you at your own fortress once you and the lass arrive back there.”
Bao looked at Laird MacGregor in confusion, saying, “Am I misinformed? I thought the missive said that you would keep Branwenn here with you, as a safety, until we know for sure what Gaiallard de Montford’s plan may be.”
“What! Nay, nay, this is not a good idea,” Callum protested, rising to his feet and walking over to the buttery. A very hard lump formed in the pit of his stomach, for he now knew his doom was drawing near, and he needed a drink of something with a bit of spirit to numb the horror.
“Now, Callum, of course ‘tis a good idea. Gaiallard de Montford has no knowledge of this clan’s close ties to the Macleans and would not think to look for the lass here,” Lady Maclean reminded him.
He took a long swallow of uisge beatha before replying, “Aye, you are right. I hadn’t thought the thing through. Pray pardon me.” He would only make himself look further the fool by giving argument to such a sound scheme. And there was also the dreaded possibility that he might let slip exactly why he was so loath for the lass to remain here—he wanted her desperately. But, mayhap, that might be the better plan—for, if he allowed Bao to see the danger to his sister’s virtue that he presented, then Bao would kill him, and the problem would be solved. Except, he had a bairn to raise. God’s teeth! What the hell was he going to do?!
The conversation had gone on without him for the past seconds as he pondered his predicament, and he was brought up short when Laird MacGregor asked, “Do you not agree, Callum?”
“Pardon? Pray pardon me, I was thinking of something else,” he said. He felt his cheeks flush. Damn it to hell! He no doubt looked like some callow youth to all of them.
Lady Maclean and Maggie glanced at each other and shared a silent, delighted, communion before hastily sobering their countenances and turning their sights back on Callum. “Your stepfather thinks it best that you train with Bao and Daniel, in case another siege is in the offing,” Maggie said. “We will be the last line of defense, should this happen, for we shall send our army to come in from behind to attack the aggressors. And your stepfather—and Bao—want you to lead that assault. But Bao and Daniel have had more years’ warring experience than you, and they have much in the way of cunning to teach you.”
Callum turned to Bao. “So, you and Daniel will be staying on here awhile?”
“Aye. But we cannot be away from our clans—or our wives and babes—for too long a time. I will no doubt stay a bit longer than Daniel, for I’ve a need to spend time with my sister. I’ve missed her.” He craned his neck toward the door. “Where is the lass, anyway. I thought sure she’d have flown in on winged feet the moment I arrived.” There was a bit of hurt in his voice, Callum noticed.
Lady Maclean patted her grandson on his knee. “She knows not that you’ve arrived. In fact, she knows not that we even sent word to you that she is here. The lass was so set on keeping all her brothers safe from that loathsome Norman, that she wanted us not to reveal her whereabouts—even to Reys. But we thought that more cruel than kind to allow the poor lad to grieve, in case he believes she perished in the sea, so we sent word to him as well.”
“What did this Norman do to her?” Bao ground out. “If he touched one hair on her head in anger, he will die by my sword.”
“Nay, ‘tis naught like that. But ‘tis a tale that you should hear from Branwenn’s lips, not ours,” Laird MacGregor intoned.
* * *
An hour later, Bao at last found his wayward sister. He jogged across the bailey toward the well where she now stood, looking down its dark, black hole, with the most familiarly sweet look of bewilderment on her countenance. What had the lass gotten herself into now? he thought with a grin. “Branwenn!”
Branwenn looked up and over her shoulder. Joy and wonder spread across her elfin face, immediately followed by dark thunder clouds of vexation. “Bao!” she said, storming toward him “What do you here?” ‘Twas an accusation, not a question.
“I missed you, too, mite!” Bao said jovially, ignoring her angry outburst, as was his usual way. “Have you no other gowns? Surely, two of you could fit in this thing!”
“‘Tis Aunt Maggie’s. And I like it!”
He lifted her in his arms and swung her around. “Well, we shall have to get some made for you, then.”
“Eeek! Put me down! Else this morn’s meal will be this noon’s tunic dye!”
Bao dropped her to her feet so quickly, she nearly toppled onto her behind. He bent his knees and looked her straight in the eye. “Are you with child?!”
“Nay!” Branwenn’s cheeks flamed. “Why ever would you think such?”
“You wear overlarge clothes and just said you were going to lose the contents of your stomach! Pray, what else should I think?” Bao stood straight once more.
Branwenn rolled her eyes. “Lord, but you can be so witless sometimes. How ever does Jesslyn stand it?”
Bao crossed his massive arms over his even more massive chest and gave her his most charming grin. “That, mite, is something for me to know and for you to never find out.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Ha! Ha! I already know. Do you not remember? I saw the two of you at the waterfall!” Branwenn bit her lip. Hard. Now why had she reminded him of that? Mayhap, ‘twas she who was the witless one.
Bao’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we agreed to never speak of that again. God knows, the horror of the thought of it still has the ability to make me cringe.” A calculating look came into his eye. “Unless, you are simply looking for a good pounding on your behind—which I never gave you, though ‘twas richly deserved. And as vexed as I am now, ‘twould no doubt be pleasant for me.”
Branwenn backed away a step, her hands covering the extremity in question. “Nay,” she said, shaking her head, “no need.”
Bao laughed. Hard. So hard, he actually slapped his knee a few times. “You are so easy to tease!” He came up to her and wrapped his arms around her. “Lord, how I’ve missed you.”
Branwenn melted, both physically and emotionally. Her eyes welled with tears and she threw her arms around her brother and held tight, with all her might, relaxing all her weight into him. “I...mmm...missed...you toooo! So much!”
They stood thus for several long, silent moments, until Bao at last spoke. “Tell me what happened in Cambria,” he said softly. “Why are you here, and not wed to the Norman, as your princely cousin was so set for you to do?”
Branwenn sniffled. “Gaiallard de Montford is...”
“Aye?”
“Base, vile.”
“Aye, as all Normans are,” Bao said, still waiting to hear what had caused her to flee the man.
Branwenn looked into her brother’s eyes, shaking her head. “Nay, I truly mean base and vile. He beat his sister—regularly, evidently—and...Bao”—The words rushed out of her—“I think he was bedding her against her will.”
Bao released her suddenly and stumbled back. He turned and raised his fists in the air and bellowed, “The man will die!”
Branwenn hurried over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Bao, there’s no need. I am safe, as you see.”
He was silent for long seconds. His voice was low, so low that Branwenn strained to hear the words when he spoke. “Aye, but his sister is not.”
Branwenn stepped around him to face him once more. “Oh, but she is! Reys has wed her by now and gotten her far from that fiend of a brother of hers.”
Bao gave her a quizzical look. “How is that?”
“Why, do you not recall that the contract, as writ, said that either the nephew or the niece of the Earl of Pembroke could fulfill the terms.” She frowned and dipped her head. “Sadly, we learned upon our arrival that Reys’s wife and bairns had been killed in a fire at the convent they’d been visiting while he was prisoned in our tower during the seige.”
“That is gloomful news indeed, little one.” He brought her chin up with the tips of his calloused fingers. “Tell me the rest of it, then.”
She shrugged. “Well, as Reys is also cousin to Prince Llywelyn, and Alyson is the Earl’s niece...Reys agreed to wed her and aid me in my escape of the Norman’s clutches.”
* * *
“It looks as tho’ she’s managed to soothe his wrath, at least,” Lady Maclean said to Callum as they looked out the solar window down into the bailey.
“Aye. I wonder what she said to him to get him so roused. I’ve never seen Bao lose his temper to that degree. He is always so methodical, so in control. Or, at least, that is how it has always seemed to me. Even when we’ve trained together, he never shows anger, never allows his feelings to hinder his fighting tactics. I’ve admired him for that.” His eye traveled to Branwenn. “Although, ‘tis truth, that lass could try the patience of the saints.”
Lady Maclean smiled, but didn’t look at her grandson. How long, she wondered, until they could begin planning the wedding? ‘Twould be nice to have one by Michaelmas, but she was no doubt rushing things a bit. “Well, they must have finished their talk, for here Bao comes. I hope he remembers that he is to meet me here in the solar.”
“What the hell does that vexing creature think she’s doing now?” Callum ground out.
She did look at him then. Well, mayhap Michaelmas was not too soon, after all.
Callum turned and strode out the door.
Lady Maclean chuckled. He hadn’t even said farewell. ‘Twas not like her smoothly charming grandson, in the least. Aye, Michaelmas was a good time for a wedding.
* * *
Branwenn leaned over the edge of the well. If only she could reach just a wee bit more, she’d be able to grasp the edge of the bucket and get her filet untangled from the rope. ‘Twas the task she’d been set to do before her brother had come upon her a bit ago. She had no idea why she cared to get the thing out, as, ‘twas a fact that she felt awkward wearing it. For the ornament only helped stress the horrid state of her hair. But, retrieve the thing, she would.
She stretched her arm down as far as it would go, the tip of her toes barely touching the ground beneath them, and was able to wrap her fingers around the circular metal ring. “At last!”
“What, by all that is holy, do you think you are doing?” Callum thundered.
Branwenn nearly leapt out of her skin. “Aieee!” The filet dropped from her hand. In seconds, it landed with a dim splash in the water way down below. Scrambling up straight, and with her heart still pounding in her ears, she turned to the man behind her and growled, “Now, see what you’ve done? That was my only filet, you dim witted, offal-swilling—that, as a reminder of his recent misadventure—arse!”
Callum just stared at her with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Well? How am I ever to get my filet back now?”
His tone level, he asked her, “Do you have no sense?”
“I? I have no sense?” She sputtered. “‘Tis you who has no sense. Why would you think it a good plan to startle a person who was so clearly near to being off balance already?”
“And why would a person think it a good plan to allow herself to get in that position in the first place, over a very deep WELL!”
Branwenn crossed her arms over her chest, unconsciously mirroring his stance. “You, you, jackanapes!”
Callum just glared at her. He felt the heat of anger wash over his cheeks. Provoked now, his smile mocking, he retorted, “I can think of a much better use for—” that sharp tongue of yours.
“For what?” she asked angrily.
“For...umm...the well.” He said the first thing that came to mind, and instantly regretted it. The well? What an idiot.
Branwenn gave him the same look he would have given himself, had he been able to, and whirled around, turning her back on him. Her arms crossed, she said haughtily, “This is truly no concern of yours. Why don’t you go back to whatever it was you were doing before you came upon me here.”
“Pardon, but you are my concern.”
Branwenn’s heart skipped a beat as the brightest joy she’d ever felt burst from the center of her soul and rushed through her veins.
“You are the concern of every one of us here, at least until we know the danger of a siege has passed.”
And evaporated into the blackest pit of despair. “Oh,” she replied in a small voice. Her vision grew liquid as her eyes misted with tears. She quickly blinked them away. She’d be consigned to the hottest, fieriest, depths of hell before she’d let him see how his words had affected her.
“Oh? That’s all you have to say? No bitter censure, no foul epithets to throw at my head?”
Branwenn bowed her head. “Nay. Just go away, Callum,” she said softly. “Or, have you forgot that I’m to stay as far away from you as is possible?”
Callum’s short sense of victory, plunked like a lead ball into the pit of his stomach as it suddenly dawned on him that he’d hurt her feelings. He stared at her for another moment and then, striding to the well, he said gently, “Let me see if I can get the thing out of the water using the bucket.”
“‘Tis surely sunk by now.” Branwenn took in a deep breath and released it on a sigh. “‘Tis no use, the filet is gone for good now.”
“How did it get in there in the first place?”
Branwenn shrugged, her cheeks heating as his eyes settled on her face. “It slipped from my head when I was hauling water up.”
“Then, ‘twas not a well-fitted one, anyway.”
Branwenn shook her head. “Nay, ‘twas the one Grandmother Maclean gave me upon my arrival at the Maclean holding last summer. But—‘twas the only one I’ve ever owned.” Except, she thought, the one she’d made of seashells, which resided now at the bottom of her clothing chest in her bedchamber.
This took Callum by surprise. Filets were standard hair ornaments for lasses nearly from the time they were first out of their swaddling clothes. “Bao didn’t have any made for you, when you lived in Perth?”
“Nay. He was busy in his obligation to the King. He
cared little for ladies’ fashions, but made certain I was never without a warm hearth, good food, and all the other essentials in life.
“I’m sorry I startled you and made you lose your piece of jewelry.”
Branwenn shrugged self-consciously. “I’m sorry I called you a dull-witted, offal-swilling arse.‘Twasn’t true. Well, except for the offal-swilling part—”
“Hey!”
“Well, I know you didn’t do it on purpose, for heaven’s sake!” she said, getting a bit of her spirit back.
“Come on, let us return to the keep, for I’m sure your brother will want to spend a bit more time with you before I head with him to the training field.”
Branwenn settled into step beside him and they walked in a surprisingly companionable silence to the keep.
* * *
An hour later, Callum knocked on the door of his mother’s bedchamber.
“Enter!” Came a muffled female voice from the other side of the dark wooden portal.
Callum took in one last deep breath and let it out slowly before turning the handle and walking inside the chamber. “Good morn, Mother. How fare you? I worried when I learned that you’d come up to your room to rest that you’ve grown ill again—have you?”
Maggie gave her son a gentle smile and shook her head. “Nay, fear not. I’m well—only just a bit weary from not getting enough rest this night past.” With a quick look to see where her maid was standing, she sat a bit forward and, giving him a conspiratorial look, whispered, “Your stepfather snores like a bear!”
Callum chuckled. “Ah, I see. Well, that gives my mind ease, then.” He walked up to where she sat by the hearth and took a seat beside her. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Those are fine tapestries,” he said casually, tipping his head in the direction of the wall on which they hung. “Did you sew them?”
Maggie’s eyes narrowed, her gaze shrewd as she studied him. “What did you truly come here to see me about, my son?”
There was a long pause and then: “Do you recall, when Grandmother MacGregor passed, that in her trousseau—the one she bequeathed to me—there was a...um...ahem...a...um—”