“The cellar is over there, ye amadan,” she grunted, shoving him away with a sweep of her arm. Bobbing his head, Malcolm slipped from the room and down the narrow stone stair.
They will pay for this. I willnae let Conn remain long as laird. I was meant to rule Morven. Corfin Castle should belong to me, not that sniveling arse. He would never wield the power as laird. But me, I revel in it!
He stared at his ragged clothing as he reached for a wooden bowl. The raveled cuff of his sleeve fell back, revealing his reddened hands, once soft and white, now blistered and roughened, attesting to the chores he was obliged to complete in his new role.
Cursed mercenaries! Could they not halt a handful of unsuspecting men? Curse my cousin’s luck! Malcolm rubbed a grimy finger across the bridge of his nose. ’Twill not be so easy to rid himself of me as he supposes. I will get Corfin Castle back. I will be laird again. And ye, my cousin, will take yer place beneath the burial cairns of Loch Morven.
* * *
Conn didn’t trust an enemy he had been unable to roust for himself. With a critical eye, he oversaw the ordering of the castle as he waited for Malcolm to make the next move, hating the patience it took.
He hired women from the village to help with the cleaning, and men to do the rough work of repairing furniture and roofs and other jobs needed after Malcolm’s short reign of drunken revelry and neglect. Soldiers rose before dawn to begin the day’s training, and, though hungry, none lingered at the table before seeing to the horses and the rest of the work demanded of them by their new laird.
Young men from the village watched with interest, and many stepped in to swell the soldiers’ ranks. Conn suspected some had left under Malcolm’s harsh rule, while others who joined his brutish ways had fled with him when Conn reclaimed the castle. Whatever the cause, he was satisfied to see the number of soldiers increase daily and he was even more pleased to see how hard they worked at their new duties.
He assigned Bray to help with the soldiers’ training. Bray carefully deferred to Seumas, using the old man’s wisdom and popularity to his advantage. Gillis trained alongside the others, though it was clear he considered himself part of the laird’s personal guard. Gillis’s staunch defense of Conn when they first arrived had won him his place, though Bray worked him hard enough to ensure he earned his new station.
With Conn accepted as laird, the castle and its inhabitants showed much promise, and the wealth of the villagers was in full evidence, their wares of butter and cheese, fruits and vegetables a welcome addition to the new cook’s fare. The kitchen fairly hummed with industry, and Conn noted the cleanliness of the tables and floors, as well as the appetizing odors wafting through the doors at mealtimes. This would be the home he shared with Brianna, and he marked its progress as he eagerly counted the days before he would ride to Wyndham to claim her as his bride.
He sought pen and parchment in the laird’s private chamber and penned a note to Brianna.
I have reclaimed Morven, though Malcolm escaped me. He is now my top priority as I dinnae wish to bring ye into danger.
Scarcely a week remains until I arrive at Wyndham, and I count each day eagerly.
I am,
Yours, Conn
He blotted the page and sanded it, then sealed the missive with a waxed seal. Giving it over to a young soldier’s hands, he bade him carry it to Wyndham.
* * *
The young soldier touched his forehead respectfully and handed the sealed parchment into the older man’s hands.
“I will see she gets this. Dinnae worry.”
With outrageous flair, the young man bounded into his horse’s saddle, feet not touching the stirrups. Pulling his steed into a flamboyant rear, he kicked him into top speed and raced down the long road to Morven. The older man ambled slowly across the hall, casting a furtive glance around the nearly empty room. He froze as Brianna crossed the floor, realizing he held the missive in plain view.
“Who was at the door?” Her curiosity showed as she tilted her head to his clenched fist.
“A rider. He wouldnae stay.”
“A rider? Who is the missive for?”
Should he say it was for the laird? Would she trust him to deliver it, or would she take it and discover her name on the parchment?
He made a pretense of turning the missive over in his hands, his face registering false surprise as he beheld the address.
“’Tis for ye, lass.” Reluctantly, he held it out to her, forcing his fingers to release their grip as she took possession. The corners of her lips tilted upward, but he derived no satisfaction from her pleasure.
“I thank ye,” she murmured as she turned away, a finger beneath the flap to break the seal.
Without comment, his face twisted by grief and remorse, he dragged himself up the stairs, feeling the edges of his world closing in.
Chapter 20
Brianna broke the seal on the folded parchment and opened the flaps, her eyes scanning the contents. A peculiar warmth lit beneath her breast and a smile played about her lips.
M’laird pens his words as skillfully as he speaks them. Her smile broadened. Mayhap he is committed to this union.
She smoothed the parchment with her fingers, drawing her hand down the page to linger on his signature.
Yours,
Conn.
The right corner of her lips twitched. I think I like being wooed.
Placing the letter in the desk in her room, she squared her shoulders and saw to Wyndham’s daily business, feeling the days rush past as she sought to discover who plotted against her. Though she watched diligently, no one under her direct care acted out of the ordinary, and she was at a loss for someone to affix her suspicions to. Only Auld Willie acted strangely, but she was certain his grief would soon ease and he would return to his duties in time.
With Geordie’s funeral past, the gloom around Wyndham began to lift, though Brianna still felt an oppressive atmosphere and her temper frayed easily. She could only lay the blame for her attitude on her frustration with her da, for attempts to discuss finding a steward fell on deaf ears. His behavior sank lower than ever before, scarcely acknowledging her, and ignoring all duties laid before him. Time was running out, and she had no answers to her problems.
Auld Willie wandered from his rooms more and more, his body gaunt and trembling, appearing as lifeless as the son they’d buried three days earlier. Brianna saw his eyes, dull with internal pain, and pulled his chair from beneath the table.
“I am glad ye are here, Uncle.” She patted his shoulder as she would a child and plied him with food from the laden table, but he refused all but a few bites. “We will plant a rowan tree in Geordie’s memory,” she told him, hoping to garner a response. But his eyes darkened and she moved away from the topic he clearly did not want to discuss. After several moments in the company of the hall, he rose abruptly and wove his way unsteadily outside. Brianna started to follow, but Gavin held out a hand to stop her.
“He needs to come back slowly, in his own time. Let him set his own pace.”
Brianna heard the wisdom in Gavin’s words and wondered, not for the first time, what could have happened were she not betrothed to Conn. Gavin was unfailingly kind to her, tempering his words so she easily agreed with him. Despite the letter she received from Conn, doubts lingered. How would he deal with a wife used to ordering a clan?
Moved to send him a reply, she retired to her room after the meal. Seated at the tiny desk, she stared out the window, touching the tip of the quill to her lips pensively.
He has reclaimed Morven, but has he claimed his new responsibilities? Does he still long for the lass who broke his heart, or is he past the hurt? She glanced down at the page before her. Are these things I can ask him? I dinnae know him well enough—but I will soon be his wife.
Conn, It pleases me to hear you have regained yer birthright. I know there isnae much time before our wedding to settle in yer new responsibilities, but ’tis my desire to be a true help to y
e.
She snorted. That sounds somewhere between stilted and self-serving. She started to crumple the parchment, but hesitated with a shrug. ’Tis what I meant, though not as pretty as his. He promised to look to my advice—and I willnae be shy about giving it. She dipped her quill in the ink and continued.
It seems as though time is flying past, and I will have leadership set up here soon, though Da falters more each day. I admit to being reluctant to leaving Jamie here, as he has become quite a handful. Ye may be glad to hear I plan to leave Tam with him as they have become fast friends.
That should make him smile. Her lips pursed in a moue of discontent. How to end this letter? Am I to mirror his signature? Nae. I willnae mimic him, nor am I ready to call myself his.
Fondly,
Brianna
She placed the quill in the inkstand and sanded the parchment. She glanced over the contents but folded the page quickly before she could second-guess herself. Hurrying down the stairs, she caught Duncan in the hall.
“Would ye have time to carry this to Morven—or find someone who can?”
Duncan gazed at the missive she shoved at him and slowly took it from her. “Aye. I will see it gets there.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Brianna turned the matter over to him.
Her wedding day drew near, and she faltered on accepting the actuality though it was nearly a month since she’d heard the king’s decree. She hadn’t lied when she’d told Conn she’d burned her dowry chest and its contents. The loss of her mother’s wedding gown was another regret, though hardly one to lay at Conn’s feet. She’d consigned it to the rag bin soon after her return to Wyndham as Mungo’s widow—her vow to never marry again. The arrival of another soothing letter from Conn did much to assuage her skittishness, though she could not say with complete truth she looked forward to her new life. This business with the MacLaurey laird was vexing to say the least.
* * *
Brianna glanced up at the soft snick of the door. The figures on the parchment on the desk before her defied her for the third time, and her patience stretched thin. The sight of the priest in the doorway did not improve her thoughts. From his corner of the room, Tam lifted his head, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Brianna raised a hand to silence him and he settled his muzzle onto his paws, his dark eyes fixed on the man in the doorway.
“I understand ye are to marry at the end of this week.” The priest’s gaze moved from the dog and settled on her with mild accusation.
She held her tongue in check, supposing it was too late to allow Tam to rout the man. She did wonder who had given him the information about the wedding, as she had not. With a sigh, she flipped the quill into the ink pot and folded her hands on the desk.
“The king has commanded it,” she replied evenly. The priest met her terse statement with a questioning look. But his disapproval no longer had the power to make her cringe. For several years she had dispensed with his invitation to hear her confessions, preferring to voice them directly to God, certain He was more lenient than Father Roderick. The priest was too shrewd to believe her an unusually pious young woman, and if he believed her particularly heathenish, she most assuredly did not care.
“Ye have much to do in preparation,” he reminded her. “There is the matter of guests and food and lodging, and I hesitate to remind ye of yer prayerful provisions.”
“The kitchen staff can easily handle the food. There will be few guests, and none will stay the night.” She rose to her feet. “My prayers are my own, and currently not being answered.”
Father Roderick drew back, shock on his face. “Yer ma—”
“My ma is dead! Dinnae bring her into this. She did her best with me, taught me what I need to know about running a household. But she isnae here to tell me how to live with a man who is scarcely more than a stranger to me.” Too late, she bit back her words.
“I understand yer reluctance to marry, Brianna. Though I dinnae countenance rumors, I have heard what is said about the laird and yer husband before him. But it is yer duty to marry to protect Wyndham, and it will be yer duty to be a wife to the MacLaurey, see to his household, his needs, his children.”
“I dinnae need yer lecture, Father. I know what my duty is.”
Tam whined and slipped from his blanket to Brianna’s side. He thrust his nose against her closed fist, and she relaxed. Father Roderick eyed the young dog and cleared his throat.
“Ye have the choice of making yer marriage a thing of joy or of bitterness. Choose carefully, Brianna, for ’tis difficult, if not impossible, to change once ye have decided.”
She tossed him a mocking glare. “Where was yer sage advice for my first husband? Seems he could have benefited greatly from it.” With a wave of her hand, she dismissed him.
Turning to the door, the priest hesitated. “Resentment will poison not only yer marriage, but the lives of those around ye, including yer children.”
Brianna’s lips thinned. “I dinnae anticipate children, Father. And the MacLaurey is fully aware of it.”
Disapproval etched in the stiff line of his shoulders, Father Roderick strode from the room, closing the door behind him.
Brianna stared after the priest long after he left. Slowly, she paced the room. Her fingers flew against the cloth of her skirt as she counted. Over and over again she counted, but the numbers came out the same.
Damn! It couldn’t be true! She’d had ample opportunity to conceive a child in her first marriage. The fact she had not, had been laid repeatedly and wrathfully at her feet, both her husband and his father furious to find her barren each month. Never had she been late or missed her woman’s cycle. Until now.
Damn, damn, damn!
She whistled for Tam and swept from the room, ignoring the gawking faces of those she passed as her feet flew faster and faster. Once at the stable, she paused only long enough to toss a bridle over Maude’s head. She swung herself onto the mare’s back and sent her skittering out the double doors, Tam leaping joyfully at her heels. Maude flattened her ears against her skull and took the bit firmly in her teeth, hitting a hard gallop in two bounding strides. Brianna urged her faster, riding to outdistance her new problems, the only sound in her ears the whistling of the wind, the pounding of Maude’s hooves, and the nonstop chanting in her head.
Children, children, children.
Nothing silenced the words, for in her heart she knew the answer. For whatever reason, she’d never conceived a child with Mungo, but it had taken only one moment, one illicit incident beside the burn to put Conn’s bairn in her womb. It was too early to be completely sure, but she knew her body too well to hope differently.
She reined Maude to a stop and let her blow. Tam collapsed at her feet, tongue lolling, chest heaving, his tail thumping the ground. After a few moments, she urged the mare down the wooded trail. Tam’s nose led him in and out of the brush as they wound past the village and back to the hall. Approaching the stable, she spied Gavin sitting outside, cleaning his saddle. She eyed him narrowly. He had no need to clean his tack. He would never have put it away dirty, and there were plenty of stable boys to attend the task for him. It was clear he waited for her, and she bit her tongue against his coming reprimand.
She slid from Maude’s back. The mare dipped her head and gave a mighty shake. Tam drank from the water trough, then leapt into the water, splashing around in youthful high spirits. Without a word to Gavin, Brianna led the mare into her stall, where she fed and groomed her before turning her out to graze in the paddock beyond the stable.
When she returned to the front of the stable, Gavin remained, Tam wriggling in the grass beside him, still dripping water from his swim.
“Good ride?” He quirked an eyebrow, his face calm, though his lips turned down at the corners.
“Aye.” Brianna checked her stride, holding one hand out, palm down, to keep Tam from jumping on her skirts. The puppy danced about, then took off with a bark toward one of the stable cats stalking out of the door. “Keep
ing yer saddle clean?”
“Aye. Busy hands and all. Something wrong, lass?”
“Och, there seems to be something wrong every day.”
“Do ye still fear for Jamie? Ye are wound tighter than a warm plaide on a chilly day. Come, tell me what is bothering ye.”
Brianna fixed him with a blunt stare. “I think I may be with child.”
Gavin stared at Brianna, at a complete loss for words. He had imagined a lot of things that would bother her—Jamie, her da, Auld Willie, her wedding, Conn. But this turn of events wasn’t even on his list of possibilities.
“I think we both need to be sitting for this one.” He motioned for Brianna to seat herself on the bench next to his, and she complied. Waiting patiently, he considered her profile as she stared into the distance.
“Do ye remember the night we camped beside the burn outside Troon—and I disappeared?” she asked.
He nodded, easily bringing the night to mind. “Aye. Ye gave us quite a scare.”
“I went swimming in the burn as I told ye. I slipped and fell, injured my ankle, and Conn rescued me. He played the gallant, helping me look for ye. I dinnae want his help, but I had no choice.” She gave a small shrug. “I havenae had much use for men since Mungo. I prefer being in control of my options.”
Gavin shifted on his bench in the ensuing silence. There was really no need to agree with her. Her tendency to take charge was well known.
“We rode for a full day, then he announced he would be taking me to the king rather than leaving me on my own. I was unsure where the king was, if the sheriff’s man had reached him—or not—unsure if I would be imprisoned. It dinnae sound like a good idea to me. So I planned my escape.
“I got them to add lettouces to their meal that night, and Bray and Gillis were soon asleep. Once I thought Conn also slept, I slipped away, but he followed me. We sat beside the burn and talked, for I could tell he was drowsy, and I thought he would soon sleep as well.”
The Highlander's Outlaw Bride Page 12