by K. E. Saxon
Branwenn looked over at her brothers. Bao and Daniel stood a bit away, both silent, both in the same wide stance with their hands behind their backs, both keeping their eyes from meeting anyone’s as they listened to the conversation going on around them. The half-brothers had each lost a mother they loved dearly when they were young. Bao, when he was a bit younger than David, and Daniel when he was a bit older. She could only imagine how hard it must be on them right now, as they were reminded once more of the tragedy of their youths.
And, even though she’d never known her own mother, she’d certainly felt the loss of that gentle lady her whole life. But how much deeper the pain must go when you actually know your mother and lose her!
She thought of Reys then. He’d been a lad of only five summers when their mother, hers and his, had been yanked from her life in Cambria and forced into servitude to Bao and Daniel’s evil father. How sad Reys must have been—how lost. ‘Twas strange but, in all these moons since learning of her history and meeting him, she’d never once thought of how those long-ago events must have affected his life as well. She’d, rather selfishly, she now admitted, only thought of how it had affected her—and how it might affect her foster family. Never Reys. Never once. Until now. An urge to see him overcame her. Where was he? Oh, yes, he was with Alyson bow hunting again. But later. Later, she would speak with him and learn a bit about his life, as she’d grown to care for him, almost as much as she did her other brothers.
* * *
A sennight later, the wives arrived. First Maryn, Daniel’s wife, and then a bit later in the morn, Jesslyn, Bao’s wife. Neither one of them had brought their babes, as the weather was becoming harsh, and they worried they’d catch a chill. Since Jesslyn’s young son, Alleck, had begun his page training a couple of moons past at Maryn’s father’s holding, he was not in attendance either. Jesslyn and Bao had decided to keep the lad close while he paged and then allow him to do his squire’s training, as Alleck’s father had desired, with Daniel at the MacLaurin keep.
There was a time, not many sennights prior, when Branwenn would have wondered why ‘twas taking the two couples so long to come down to the great hall for the nooning meal. Now, it only made her envious.
Only two days more!
And this eve would be the bonfire and feast, for ‘twas the eve of Samhainn.
Callum came into the hall, with David at his heels. “Will you allow me to lead your warhorse onto the lists?” The joust was set for a fortnight after his wedding day, and Callum had yet to officially appoint the young lad to that position.
“Aye, I said I would, did I not?” Callum replied. The lad had been sullen since his mother’s body had been taken away, and this was the first show of spirit he’d had. They’d just come from the training field, and it had clearly reminded David of his avid desire to participate in some way at the joust.
David sighed in frustration. “Aye, but you haven’t told Daniel or Bao, so they will not let me practice.” He cocked his head to the side, a question in his look. “Who will be your Kipper?
“Why not ask Bao to do it?” Branwenn chimed in, thrilled to see David’s spirited interest. “For, ‘tis truth, he is the biggest warrior I’ve ever seen—he should have little trouble at all getting your prize from the other man’s frame.” She said the last, a bit tongue in cheek, for ‘twas truth—she found the whole process frightening and not just a bit, well, barbaric. Lads! Warriors!
Callum chuckled. “Aye, I believe I will ask your brother that very favor.” He turned his head slightly, looking down at his page. “What say you, David? Should Bao be my Kipper?
David threw both hands over his mouth and laughed.
Branwenn and Callum looked at each other and shared a smile of relief before turning their eyes back to their young ward.
Lifting one fist in the air, David jumped and shouted, “Aye!” He looked at Branwenn. “Will that not be ever so merry to watch? Surely, every warrior will give him his armor freely, else their brains will be rung out from the clamor of Bao’s club against their helms!”
Evil glee. Those were the exact words that flitted through Branwenn’s mind as she watched, amused, the lad’s evident thrill at the prospect. She only prayed he could continue to find a bit of joy each day in the next moons as he daily grieved the loss of his young mother.
Callum ruffled the lad’s hair. Then, sidling up to Branwenn, he said, “David, will you go to the solar and ask my mother what she has planned to feed us for the feast this eve?”
There was a definite glint of...something...in Callum’s eyes as he watched her, and Branwenn had an idea what that ‘something’ just might be. She turned to David and said, a bit too loudly, “Nay! No need. For I can give Callum the list, as I’ve been working on it these past minutes.”
David, who’d already turned toward the door, began turning back toward the two adults and then sighed heavily when Callum said, “Nay, David, I’d like you to go in any case, as my mother has told me she has a special errand she needs done, and she will only trust you to see it through.” Callum’s smile was smug when he turned it on his, now clearly flustered, betrothed.
Branwenn bit her lip to keep from grinning like a loon. He’d won the mental joust, but, truth be told, she wasn’t the best opponent in these moments. For, ever since their horrid fight and that wonderful time in the garden when they’d shared their thoughts, their feelings, to a degree they’d never done before, she had been craving another bit of time with him—alone.
But, there was also that stubborn, romantic part of her that craved for their wedding night—only one more day and one more night and one more day away!—to be special. And that night, she would, she had determined, no matter how embarrassed she was, allow him to see her without a stitch of clothing on.
Her heart did a little flip in her chest and her palms began to sweat. What if he thought her ugly? That disgusting patch of red on her inner thigh…. Her heart tripped, then hammered inside her chest. What if he was angry with her for not allowing him to see it before they wed? What if he.... Nay, she would not think such thoughts. He loved her. He daily told her how lovely he found her. Surely, that one, vile and disgusting spot wouldn’t turn him against her for evermore, as the old drunken nurse always told her—would it? Nay, it wouldn’t. After all—he’d not turned from her after seeing the mar on her breast, had he?
David rushed out and the two were left alone in the hall. The meal would be served in only a quarter-hour’s time, so Branwenn hoped they’d not be long alone in the chamber. She glanced nervously at the entrance. Where on earth were her grandmother and Aunt Maggie?
“I’ve a present for you, love,” Callum said seductively, much too close to her ear for her to keep her resolve for very long.
She turned and looked at him. “Y...You have?” she asked breathlessly.
“Aaaye,” he drawled into it and then lightly ran his tongue over the outer edge. “‘Tis in the pouch attached to my belt.” He took her earlobe between his teeth and nibbled it a bit before softly sucking it into his mouth.
Branwenn’s knees turned to jelly as a rush of hot and cold shivers ran up the side of her neck to her ear. She felt her nipples harden and abrade the material over her breast, and tingles of pure ecstasy traveled from the center of her womb out over her skin to the tips of her fingers and toes. “Mmm?”
Callum grinned against her lobe. “Why do you not check inside? I’m sure you’ll like what you find.” He took her hand and placed it on the pouch.
Branwenn’s fingers trembled as she opened the drawstring and slid them inside the opening. As her fingers traveled downward she felt the hard ridge of his manhood hidden behind the material of his tunic and shirt. Oh, God! How she wanted that. Deep inside her. Now. Not two nights hence, but now. Here. On the table behind them. Her heart pounded in her breast and her breathing grew harsh.
Callum placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed his cheek against hers. “Branwenn,” he rasped, his voice h
ad a bit of a tremble to it now. “Godamercy, how long ‘til we are wed? I swear, I cannot wait much longer to be inside you again.” With a jerk, dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back. “Pray, pardon me, my love. I played a bit too close to the fire, it seems. I thought I had more discipline than that.” He quickly brought out the thing he’d meant to give her from his pouch and thrust it toward her.
‘Twas a ring. A lovely amethyst and emerald ring. Two pea-sized oval stones mounted next to each other in a gold filigree setting. “Here. Take it.”
Branwenn’s eyes grew wide with pleasure as she gazed upon the gift. “Callum! ‘Tis lovely.” She glanced up at him and then quickly down at the ring once more as she reached out and took it. She brought it close to her face and looked at it from every angle. “My thanks.”
Callum stepped forward. “Here, let me put it on you,” he said. Taking the piece of jewelry, he slid it over the middle finger of her left hand. Afterward, because he could resist it no longer, he settled his lips against her forehead and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “‘Twas my grandmother’s—my father’s mother’s. I’m glad you like it.”
* * *
Branwenn found Reys on the lists and waived at him. He dipped his head at her before cantering over to her on his steed. After lifting the helm off, he smiled and gave her another brief nod of greeting, saying, “Good day to you. Do you search for Callum?” Pointing with his thumb, he twisted slightly on his saddle in the direction of the southern end of the lists. “I think he’s further down, practicing with Daniel.”
“Nay, I came to speak with you, actually. Have you a few moments to spend with me in the garden, mayhap?”
His brows lifted. “Yes. Just give me a moment to wash up a bit. Shall I meet you there, in say, a half hour’s time?”
Branwenn smiled and nodded. “All right.” She turned and walked toward her destination. She was a bit nervous at the prospect of speaking with Reys about his youth, as she had no idea whether it had been pleasing or horrid. And if it had been horrid, he’d no doubt not want to tell her about it in any case. But, ever since this sennight past when she’d realized how little she knew about the brother that shared her blood, she’d been anxious to speak with him, to let him know that she cared about him a great deal and hoped he’d not suffered too greatly when his mother—their mother—had been taken from him. Unfortunately, she’d been thwarted in her previous attempts to gain a privy word with him, either by one or both of her brothers demanding his presence on the lists or by Grandmother Maclean and Aunt Maggie insisting on her presence in the solar to go over last minute details for her coming nuptials. It finally became clear to her this morn that she must force the meeting, so had determinedly set out to insist upon, if need be, a meeting forthwith.
She’d barely gotten settled on the bench, when Reys came through the arched entry to the garden. “You look awfully clean for one who only took—what?—five minutes to bathe?” she jested.
Reys gave her a sheepish grin. “I decided it best to only pour a bit of well water over my head and wash my face, as you seemed troubled and avid to speak to me. And, as you see, I’m still in all my mail.”
“Come,” she said, patting the space next to her on the stone bench, “sit with me awhile.”
When Reys was settled next to her, she placed her hand atop the one he had lightly gripped around the edge of the bench between them and turned slightly toward him. “I want to give you my confession of sorrow that I have never once asked you about your life in Cambria after our mother was taken away from you and your father.”
“Our father,” he corrected gently. “And you were taken from us as well.”
Branwenn looked away. “Aye, but I was not yet born, so ‘twas not as great a loss, I trow.”
Reys turned his hand up and twined his fingers through hers. “Yes, Branwenn, it was. For both my father and for me. And my search was not the first one—‘twas only the first one that was successful.”
She tucked that admission away, to be studied later, when she was by herself once more. “But, how hard it must have been for you to retrace Jamison Maclean’s steps, to find the kirk where our mother was buried!”
Reys stared down at their intertwined hands. With a sigh, he nodded slowly. “Yes, ‘twas a very painful mission our cousin sent me on; one which took me away from my wife, who was still carrying my twin girls in her belly.” He looked at her then, his eyes full of purpose, “But, I tell you truly, ‘twas a mission I wanted. Wanted more than I wanted my next breath.”
Branwenn’s eyes widened a bit and she sat forward, “Why, Reys? Why would you have wanted such so badly?”
“Because I owed it to my mother—our mother—and you.”
He got up abruptly and took a few paces away and then stopped cold, running his hand through his hair, before rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. She’d asked, so he would now tell her. As he’d sworn to himself he would do in any case...someday soon. ‘Twould be the final act of contrition for the horrible sin he’d committed. “You see, I held a shame in my very soul all those years after her abduction. There was a debt to her and you I had to pay.”
Branwenn watched him, fascinated. He was like some black wolf, in the sights of a band of hunters’ bows, tensely awaiting the killing volleys.
His hand fisted at his side, then opened, the long, masculinely tapered fingers flaring out like a cockscomb. “You see, I told her I hated her the day I last saw her,”—Branwenn sucked in her breath—“told her that I wished she was dead,” his voice, as hollow as a fallen oak, cracked on the last word.
“Reys!” she whispered harshly.
He turned back to face her, a look of tortured despair on his darkly handsome face. “Yes, I know, ‘tis the most horrid, awful, vile thing to say to anyone. And I said it to my own mother.”
“But you were so young—only five summers, is that not right?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
Branwenn stood up and walked over to him. She placed her hand on his arm, a show of comfort and understanding. “She knew you meant it not, I’m sure.”
He shrugged, taking in a deep breath and releasing it with a huff. He cleared his throat and said, “I was so angry with her, I remember.” He chuckled but there was torment in the sound. “I wanted to stay at the keep; my friend, Owain, and I had a wager on the number of times we could toss a stone in the air and catch it without it dropping to the ground. If I won the wager, I’d win his new pair of stilts, a thing I avidly desired after having used them earlier. I was on my twenty-seventh toss, with ten more to go to beat his number when my mother came up to us and said ‘twas time for us to depart on our journey to her sister’s holding.” He looked away. “I pleaded with her, as I continued my tosses, to allow me to stay to finish the game, but she refused—and then she caught the stone and gave it to Owain. I was so furious with her.” His voice turned bitter. “I thought: Why could she not allow me to stay a few more moments to complete my game?” A wayward tear fell from the outer corner of his eye and he quickly scrubbed it away with the base of his palm. “Of course, I learned later that she’d given Owain’s mother an oath that she would not allow me to make wagers with my friend anymore.” He crossed his arms over his chest and bowed his head. “And when she took hold of my hand to lead me away I...God’s Bones!” Pressing the base of his palm into his eye, he said brokenly, “I hit her—in the stomach!”
“Reys!” Branwenn’s mind reeled. ‘Twas truly an awful thing he’d done, yet he had been so young at the time. “Was she...did she...”
He cleared his throat. “She was not harmed, God be praised.” He looked over at her then. “And, neither were you.”
A chill ran down her spine and she shivered in reaction. A faint memory niggled at the corner of Branwenn’s mind, and, all at once, she knew. “Godamercy! You were with her when Jamison Maclean abducted her!” She tugged on his sleeve without realizing it. “How ever did you manage to not be captured—how
did you survive—and how did I not know of this before?”
Reys returned her gaze, placing his hand over the one she had fisted in the sleeve of his tunic. “While my mother’s guards were fighting the brigands, she told me that no matter what happened, I was to remain still and silent. I agreed, but not without several long seconds of fearful debate, for I was crying and shaking by this time. And, oh, God! Branwenn”—he threw his head back, his eyes squeezed shut. Finally, he opened them and settled his gaze on her once more—“even then, I didn’t give her my confession of sorrow for what I’d said to her earlier.” The hand that covered hers clenched slightly. “A thing that haunts me to this day. Why did I not say the words? I thought them, I assure you, but I didn’t say them to her. All I said, over and over again, was ‘I’m afraid, Mama.’
“Reys,” Branwenn whispered sadly, not knowing what else to say to him.
He continued, as if he’d not heard her, “Then, she rolled me in her cloak and tossed the contents of her spew bucket over it—gambling that the fiends would leave it be once they saw that the garment was ruined.”
“Spew bucket?” She looked up from her dazed and blind stare at the gold and red badge on the left breast of his dark blue tunic.
His lips pressed together a moment before he nodded, saying, “Yes. You recall, she was carrying you at the time?”
“Oh. Aye. Spew bucket.”
“Anyway, the ploy worked, for when the men threw the door open to the caravan and yanked my mother out, taking whatever small items she had with her in the thing, they left alone the cloak she’d arranged, as if wadded up, on the opposite seat.”
“But, Reys, how on earth did you survive until your father and his men arrived? Were you still there or had you left the place?”
“I’d left. I was so frightened, so terrified, actually, that the men would come back. But, I, being such a young boy, had no idea what to do—so I just moved, walked forward, in the opposite direction of where we had been headed. I just wanted to get home. And find someone who would chase the men down who’d stolen my mother from me.” He moved away from her and sat down on the bench with his hands braced on its edge and his arms straight, his whole body rigid. “One of my father’s men found me on the side of the road a couple of days later. I was ill from lack of food and drink. He lifted me up and took me back to our keep.” Turning his head, he gazed, unseeing, at the brown and grays of the winter garden. “I was not well for quite a time afterward, from exposure to the elements and hunger and thirst, but also from the trauma of losing my mother and knowing that I’d told her I wanted her dead. God had punished me for those words, I knew.”