by R. L. Syme
“He put his hands all over me and I could feel him… his… it was horrible…” She stopped. “The next thing I remembered, I was in Duncan’s room and Brigid was helping me into my night dress. Duncan wouldn’t even talk to me about it.”
Broccin’s fury, where it had been a spark now raged out of control. “What kind of man does that to the woman he loves?” he blustered. “And Malcolm told you that I told him to… to… take you, is that what you thought?”
“He said you told him I loved him.”
“Where would he get a notion like that?” he wondered, then it struck him. He’d told Malcolm that his brother had already obtained Kensey’s affections. But Malcolm had taken it to mean the wrong brother. That’s why he seemed so surprised to hear that Kensey loved Duncan, Broccin thought, because he didn't believe it was Duncan I was speaking of. He thought I spoke of himself.
“Och, lass.” He looked down into his lap. “I believe I said something at dinner tonight that could have been construed as what he thought he heard.” When he finally met her eyes, there was an oblique question there that he knew he had to face. “I did not mean for this to happen.” When he finally searched out her eyes again, he saw forgiveness and understanding there.
“It’s not your fault, Broc.” Kensey touched his hand. He flinched under her touch, but she left her hand over his, the tiny expanse covering only part of his. “You didn’t mean to set him after me and had no idea he’d try to... how could you? Anyway, I believe you.”
There was something so seductive and yet so fragile about the innocence she showed him. His heart split at the thought of her being crudely handled by his brother, and it was all he could do from going down to the lout’s bedroom and beating some sense into him. But he knew she needed someone here to listen to her, just at this moment, and he wanted so badly to do something right for her, after failing her so completely.
“I wish I could take it all back, lass,” he said quietly. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that and I hate myself for ever putting such a notion into his head.”
“Don’t, please.” Kensey pulled his face down toward her with her hands so he could look her straight in the eye. “I don’t blame you, so don’t blame yourself. If we don’t place the blame where it belongs, it will eat us inside out.”
She gave him a gentle smile that made his heart skip a beat and he watched her graceful movements as she turned and leaned over to kiss Rob’s forehead. The boy rustled in his covers and turned over quietly after she rose from the bed. Broccin stood at her side and gazed into her shining green-blue eyes as she looked up at him. She leaned towards him, swaying in what seemed to be utter exhaustion. Her eyes were barely open, but fluttered wide every few seconds. Her lips pursed, relaxed, inviting. He wanted to kiss her. To just take her in his arms and kiss her deeply. To tell her how he much he wanted her, how much he’d always loved her.
But after what had just happened to her, how could he even think she’d want to receive unwanted attentions? It would be worse than Malcolm, because Broc knew better. He’d seen it in her own hand.
“You’re tired, lass.” He caught her arm as she swayed in case she missed the bed, but she landed firmly on her backside. She yawned and gripped him to steady herself in her tired wobbling.
“I’m not tired,” she yawned, swaying toward him again. “I just need to get back to my room.”
He reacted as he saw her swaying forward again, this time with eyes more closed than open. He caught her in his arms and hoisted her up, carrying her as a bridegroom would his bride. As Duncan had carried her earlier this evening when she fainted. Despite his better senses, he carried the sleeping beauty back to her room and laid her into her bed, trying to ignore the havoc her smell and her presence wrought on his senses and his imagination.
***
“Ah, Brigid, my love, bring me another pitcher,” Alec called greedily from the table where he sat with Broccin, the two having their dinner. When she returned from the kitchen, Brigid was practically glowing. She set the pitcher down in front of Alec and sidled up next to him on the bench. She kissed his neck and whispered something in his ear, then giggled as a look of near shock came over his face. Broccin smiled at their obvious infatuation with one another, even after four years of marriage, though he made the pretense of not watching the two.
Alec guzzled more of the ale she’d brought and then looked at her with a pair of eyes that even Broccin could read. Alec stood from the table and almost ran towards the corridor. Broccin could hear him bounding up the stairs shortly afterwards.
“Well, brother,” Brigid laughed, her gold eyes twinkling. “I must be going. I should not keep my darling Alec waiting or he will have your hide.”
“By all means, lass,” he smiled, waving his hand after Alec. “Go. For it appears your interlude awaits you.”
“Aye, he does that.” She stood over him for a moment, him guzzling food, her watching with a smile only a woman could read. “I wish you the same happiness I’ve found with my Alec for yourself someday.” Broccin stopped eating, as though she’d frozen him.
He couldn’t speak. Something inside of him was twisting around and he wasn’t sure exactly how to respond to that. I can’t, he thought. Not when the woman I love is in love with someone else. He grunted. He found himself oddly drawn to confide in Brigid, even as she had the look of the bedroom in her eyes and would probably rather join her husband than share secrets with her brother.
“Thank you, sister,” he said quietly, stabbing a potato. “Would that your wishes could come true.”
“And why can they not?” asked Brigid, her interests suddenly perked. She sat back on the bench and swung her knees around so she was facing him.
“It’s not important,” Broccin insisted. “Go to your husband.”
“Och, stubborn man.” She swore. “It is of grave importance. You are my brother and I want you to be happy.”
Broccin laughed to himself. Brigid always was the one to believe in fancy and fairy tale. She was the expressive one. The one who could and would tell you everything in her mind and on her heart. Thank the good Lord I didn’t pick that up from her, he thought. Some thoughts are just part of a man’s private intercourse, and have no business in the public sphere.
“I thank you for your concern, dear sister, but my futures are truly beyond saving, I believe.”
“Why?” she persisted.
He could see that he never should have opened this closet into his heart. “I have my reasons, lass,” he assured her. “I just do.”
“You cannot leave it at that, Broccin,” she looked into his eyes, studying them before he turned away from her probing glare.
“Aye, I can.”
“No, you can’t,” she went on. “I will not let you throw your life away pitying yourself and trying to make it seem like that’s the way it is supposed to be.” She refused to listen to him. “There is someone God made for each of us to love with all our hearts. And I believe that with all the belief I can muster.”
“I believe you do,” he chuckled. “But I cannot help it if I don’t believe it myself.”
“How can you say that?” she probed. “Because you were stung by Elizabeth?”
That was a blow Broccin had not expected. He lowered his eyes to his plate and couldn’t speak for a moment or two. Conflicting emotions arose in his heart. The pain of lost love. Again. Perhaps this was his doom. To love and lose.
“I do not wish to discuss Elizabeth, if you please.”
“And why not?” she asked, her voice rising. “Because you think if you keep silent, you will suffer alone?” When he raised his eyes to hers, she swore, “You cannot even see what’s in front of your face.”
Those words caught him off guard. He almost didn’t dare to ask for elaboration, for fear his hopes would be raised and then dashed to pieces once again. “What do you mean by that?” he finally asked.
“I’ve held quiet long enough,” she sai
d. “I’ve been watching the two of you dance around each other for the last month full and I’ll not watch it any longer.” She braced her hands on the table as if she had something to say that was taking all her strength to muster courage. “I know you are in love with the lass. And I’ll not stand by and watch you hurt her because of Elizabeth. I’ll not stand by and watch you break her heart because yours has been broken.”
Broccin couldn’t speak; his heart was in his throat. He just stared, incredulously, at his sister and tried to decide whether he wanted to continue listening. Part of him said he should get up, but part of him was so convicted by what she said, he couldn’t move.
“I watched you all those years before you left, torturing yourself over Elizabeth. I watched you, day in and day out, forcing yourself to keep quiet because of Andrew and because of your devotion to him. I also watched you leave and never come back because of one disagreement with Da.” She stopped, tears beginning to come to her eyes. “It was so hard to be away from you all those years, but you were doing what you thought was best for you. You thought you would be the only one to suffer. But you were wrong. And I do not want you to ease into martyrdom that way with Kensey.”
Finally finding his tongue, he looked up at Brigid. “What do you mean, with Kensey?”
“I can see you love her.”
“And what if I do?” He dropped his eyes in resignation.
“Can you not see the way she looks at you and the way her eyes light up when you come into the room?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Do you not realize that she goes to you for everything, and you just push her away? What are you trying to do to the lass?”
“If you want to know the truth, sister,” he began. “I keep away from her because of Duncan.”
“Duncan?” wondered Brigid. “What about Duncan?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You think she’s in love with Duncan?”
“Aye. She is.”
“You are sorely mistaken there, brother.” She didn’t realize the gravity those words carried for him. And the ease with which she said them almost floored him.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“I said you are sorely mistaken. She does not love Duncan anymore than she did Malcolm,” she stopped. “Actually, I believe I should say she isn’t in love with Duncan anymore than she is with Malcolm. Nor Duncan with her.”
“But how do you know this?”
“Kensey is like a book, Broccin. You can read her if you just open her up. The way she talks about Duncan and Malcolm, well, it’s just not the same way she speaks of you.”
“She was just taking care of me,” he argued. “It’s in her heart to be generous and compassionate.”
“Aye, it is that,” agreed Brigid. “But that was not all of it. She loves you, Broccin. It’s as plain as day to look at her. Besides, she knows that Duncan is in love with Fiona.”
“Fiona?”
Brigid stared her brother down, dumbfounded. “You don’t know who Fiona is?” When Broccin shook his head, she laughed. “No wonder you are so off the mark.” She told him a story of Duncan and the daughter of a neighboring lord, and when she finished, Broccin felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“So that was the reason for the ride to Balconie?”
Brigid nodded. “You’ve been silent all this time because you thought she belonged to Duncan. Brother, you are a Sinclair after all.”
Something about those words buoyed him. He knew where his blood came from, but he needed to be reminded that he also belonged. He needed to remind himself. Because if he was honest, he had planned to leave again once Duncan announced his intentions for Kensey. He couldn’t subject himself to that.
Yet now, the entirety of his future had a different look. Perhaps nothing would be the same again.
Suddenly, the side door to the kitchen opened and Robert came tearing through the room with Kensey after him. Neither of them even spared a glance for Brigid and Broccin at the table. They tore through the doors and up the stairs, Robert wailing. Standing at the door, his mouth ajar, was Duncan.
Brigid stood and looked down at Broccin. “I need to get up to my Alec.” She smiled brightly. “He’s likely to think I’ve fallen or taken ill.” She walked around the table and placed a loving hand on Broccin’s shoulder. “Just say what’s in your heart, brother.” With that, she left through the doors and Duncan plopped down where she’d been sitting.
“That lad will be hurting for some time now,” Duncan observed, taking a full trencher from the tray that sat in front of him. “I just wish there was something to be done about it.”
“What happened?” Broccin asked, taking a mouthful of food.
“Kensey received word that her father has been executed,” Duncan stared after them and picked a carrot out of the soup. “When she told him, I feared Robert would cough up his insides, he cried so hard. Then, he just took off running.”
“Best that he knows,” Broccin said, taking a gulp from his cup. “Better to find out when he can grieve.”
“Better than the way you heard, is that what you’re saying?”
“Aye,” Broccin said. He allowed himself to look at his brother with a careful eye. Duncan was honestly concerned about the lass, and her brother. And he couldn’t help himself wondering whether there were feelings developing on Duncan’s side. Perhaps, given what sounded like a lost cause with his first woman, he would begin to look at Kensey with an eye toward marriage. He almost dared himself to ask. “But that was my own fault. Not yours,” he offered.
Duncan shifted uneasily and looked around the room. “Truth be told, we’ve had another letter.” From the belt of his tunic, he produced a folded piece of parchment. “I wanted to wait until you’d been well to tell you, but I’ve decided that we need to let you make your own decisions.
Broc’s breathing faltered. He hadn’t anticipated being searched out, but Duncan made it sound as though there were consequences to this finding. He took the parchment.
“The seal is broken.” He held the letter up to his brother. “Why is the seal broken?”
“I wasn’t sure I could trust the bearer.” Duncan crossed his arms. “I only read the very beginning.”
Broc closed his hands around the letter’s edges. It was in Elizabeth’s hand.
My Lord Sinclair, News has reached our ears that you have been reinstated to the lairdship of your clan and plan to stay in Caithness for the foreseeable future. While Andrew may have encouraged you to visit your family, I’m afraid he is loathed to remind you of how they have treated you in the past. We both hope that these rumors are indeed false and that instead of remaining with a family who does not appreciate you, you will instead be returning to Moray to be with us, and to continue to aid in this fight. We have received word that there is another group of freedom fighters amassing in the West under the leadership of a landowner near Lennox. Andrew wishes to seek out this man and offer to join forces, but he needs someone to remain here in Moray to continue the raids on English strongholds. We pray that your family affairs will be closed and you will join us here in the fight for our nation. With humble prayers, Elizabeth de Moray.
Without a thought, Broc crumpled the letter and handed it back to Duncan. A stunned look crossed his brother’s face.
“You’re not going to consider her request?”
Broc shrugged. “She doesn’t speak for Andrew in this letter, or he would have written it himself. He knows why I came back here and if he’s received word that I’m going to be the new laird, he would never ask me to return.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because he was the one who encouraged me to come back and take my rightful place among my family.” Broc glanced up, trying to remember his friend’s exact words. “There is no country without family and there is no family without duty.”
“So that’s what we are to you? A duty?”
Broccin shook his head, f
rustration building inside. “That’s not what I meant at all.”
“Then say what you mean.”
“I am not leaving to help Andrew fight a war. There are plenty of men there to take my place.”
Duncan’s dark eyes narrowed on him. “Only yesterday, I had to convince you to stay.”
Broc turned back to his food, not wanting Duncan to see the emotion on his face. “You convinced me.”
“What should I do with this letter?”
“Burn it.”
Elizabeth would expect a reply to her letter and perhaps he would write one, when he felt more up to sitting at a desk for hours. But for now, it was enough to know that, when given the choice, he chose family. Elizabeth had always told him he was a warrior and when he’d loved her, he’d wanted to be only that.
But truth be told, Elizabeth didn’t know his heart any better than he did. It took hearing the invitation to know for certain that he had no desire for the glory a man could win for himself. He only wanted to make up for lost time. With everyone he could.
Duncan ate another carrot and blew on the hot contents of his trencher. “Now, I may take my life into my hands as I ask this, but I want to know what your intentions are.”
Broccin coughed, trying to recover his wits after the challenge caught him off-guard. “My intentions? Concerning?”
“I mean about the lass herself. And her brother.”
“Aye?”
“She has no home now,” explained Duncan. “With her father and mother dead, she could be forced to return so that the council could find her a husband. As the daughter of a nobleman, she could be the property of the council. Even if you claim Robert as your ward.”
“I realize Kensey has nowhere to go,” Broccin said. “But what can I do about it? She cannot stay here if her family wish to have her returned to them.”
“Well, you could marry the lass,” Duncan offered.
“I cannot do that,” were Broccin’s next words.
“And why not? Is there someone else? Are you still pining for Elizabeth?”
“You do not understand, Duncan. And why does everyone think I’m pining for Elizabeth?”