by R. L. Syme
Suddenly, as if it weren’t really happening, the man atop her was gone. She immediately curled up into a ball, hugging her legs as close to her as she could. Faintly, she could make out the sounds of two men fighting and one cursing at the other, but she was too concentrated on protecting herself to take much notice of the circumstances surrounding her.
“Kensey,” a voice called. She faintly recognized it, but then didn’t. “Kensey, are you all right, lass?”
She couldn’t respond. Instead, she whimpered softly, trying to show some signs of life, but unwilling to unfetter her defenses as of yet. Her eyes remained tightly closed as she hugged her legs close to her, and she tried not to think.
“Kensey,” a hand tugged at her sleeve gently. Opening her eyes, she saw Quinlan standing over her. She unfettered her protective stance and tried to cry out. Quinlan picked her up and held her steadily. “Do not worry yourself, lass. I’ll have you back inside in no time at all.”
He began to carry her back toward the castle, but before she knew what was happening, she was falling out of Quinlan’s arms. She felt her head strike something hard and everything went suddenly black. Her last thought was of Broccin, the last time she’d seen him, sitting over her in their bedroom, saying goodbye. And she couldn’t help but wish she could say goodbye just one more time, in case that would be her last.
***
Duncan had been inconsolable as he’d realized Fiona was gone. It was all Broccin could do to keep him from going mad. He could not accept the fact that she was gone. He kept holding her hand and telling her she would recover, telling her how much he loved her, begging her to open her eyes.
Broccin had a difficult time watching his brother in this time. He couldn’t help but worry. Alec had gone back to the battle and brought news that the men began to scatter when they saw Colin’s beheaded body in the courtyard.
But every now and then, Broc heard a clash of swords through the window and walked to it to survey the damage. He hadn’t yet heard if there would be casualties other than Fiona, and that news worried him. He worried if Kensey would be among them.
When they couldn’t find her with the soldiers after Alec swore he’d seen her, Broc couldn’t help but assume Alec had been mistaken. Kensey must have managed to slip out before the fight and had gone… where? After him to Avoch? Or back to Assynt? For a jaunt on the mountainside?
Once Duncan finally went into a fitful sleep, Broc decided it was safe to let him be alone. He needed to decide what he should do about Kensey. Alec and Quinlan were supposed to be seeing to the burial of the dead and tending of the wounded.
He was about to walk away from Duncan’s room when he saw, wedged into the seat of the chair, a folded piece of paper. It had Fiona’s name on it and bore Kensey’s handwriting. Thoughts flushed his mind and he fairly ran to it, his hands trembling as he opened the sealed note with shaky fingers.
Dear Fiona, I cannot tell you how much you mean to me. Even as I am about to leave this place, the memories of you here are almost enough to keep me. But there is too much of Broccin in this place. I cannot stay here a moment longer, feeling his presence and not being near him. Of all the times I’ve wanted to tell you all about this and didn’t, I apologize. It is a difficult thing to wrestle with a love that is not returned, with a heart that will never know its mate. I know you will never know this pain, not in your entire life, for you have Duncan. You have someone who loves you without condition and someone who is content to watch you lie sleeping in his arms rather than finding his glory on the battlefield. I want that. I need that. Unfortunately, I cannot find that with a man who does not love me and who stays away from me, even after his reason for leaving is gone.
I beg of you, what am I to do, my dearest one? All the years we dreamed of finding love, but now I wonder if I will. I did not find it with Albert. I thought I had it with Broccin, but one can only love from afar for so long when all evidence points to the fact that I am alone in my ardor. All I ask is that you care for Robert, as I cannot ask him to leave a place he now calls home with people he considers the closest family he has. Remind him of my love. And if ever Broccin should return, please do not show him this letter or tell him of my reasons for leaving. I do not wish to hurt him, and he would be hurt to know that I have left him because he did not love me enough. I do not want him to be hurt. I only hope he will someday find his true love. I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all your love and kindness. And I pray God be with you as I remain, forever yours, Kensey.
The stillness of the room echoed with the beating of Broccin’s heart. He could almost hear her dulcet voice reading the words and yet they cut him to the heart. The shock that she loved him was less so than the true depth of her ability to love and sacrifice.
Broccin turned to run for the door. He tore into the courtyard, calling for his horse, ready to ride after his wife. But Alec was quick upon him.
Alec’s hand would not let him leave. “You must come with me, Broc.”
“I have to find Kensey. She’s out somewhere in the hills, on her way to—“
Alec’s somber face stopped the excited trill of possibilities. “We’ve found Kensey.”
Broc’s heart stopped beating. No. He couldn’t be too late. With both hands on Alec’s shoulders, he tried to take another breath and couldn’t.
“Please,” he said when he finally caught his breath. “Please, where is she?”
“We found Quinlan on the hillside.” Alec’s face was streaked with blood and dirt, but the tears formed flesh-colored pathways through all the grime of battle. “I think he must have tried to save her. There was an English soldier with his gut split open, and then Quinlan with his legs slashed at the knees and an arrow in his back.” Alec stopped and swallowed. “And then, we found your wife, covered by Quinlan’s body.”
Broc shook his head as though the very action would stop the progression of the story. She couldn’t be dead, she couldn’t. If they’d just looked a little farther out on the moor, they might have found her.
With ragged rage, Broc wailed. “Where. Is. My Wife.”
“I had Fitz take her up to the solar. She’s—Broc, you have to prepare yourself…”
Before he could finish his sentence, Broccin had run past him and through the doors. His lungs burned as he ran. He kept seeing her in his mind’s eye—the eyes that had gotten him through months in a rotten dungeon. The hair that had spilled over his arm when they made love. The hands that had healed him.
She couldn’t be gone.
Broccin burst through the door of his room. The sight of her lying in his bed buoyed his hopes. If she were dead, they would have taken her down with Fiona’s body.
She lay on the bed, covered with a dark cloak. Her right shoulder lay exposed, cleft open and crusted with blood, and her head was bleeding, though he saw more dried blood than wound. Broccin stood, in shock, unable to speak, staring at her without really comprehending what he was seeing. He was so relieved to be at last in her presence, the fact that she was bleeding from the head seemed, at the moment, irrelevant.
Lydia was sitting next to the bed, wetting a strip of cloth in the basin next to her, and she jumped when Broccin broke into the room. As Broc stood, staring at his wife, Lydia continued to wipe at the wound on her shoulder.
“Where’s Brigid?” Broccin asked, after a long silence. “She should be here. Kensey would want her here.”
“I sent little Robert after her. We’re going to need her to help close this wound.”
Broccin was about to take a step toward his wife, but stopped mid-step at those words. Robert. How he hoped the young lad hadn’t seen his sister looking like this. How he wanted to spare Robert that pain. Spare Kensey the pain she was in. His mind turned over itself in grief.
“Rob did not see her like this, did he?”
“No, we sent him to fetch Brigid as soon as we heard she’d been found. You’ll have to catch him at the door.”
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“Thank you, Lydia.” Broccin walked to the bed and sat on a stool at its side. Suddenly thinking of her father, Broc started. “I should send word to Avoch right away. They’ll want to know…” Lydia stared across the bed at him.
“But you will be staying here with the lass now, yes?” She was unable to hide her annoyance with him, as he deserved.
“I’m so sorry, Lydia,” he said. “I did not mean for this to happen.”
“None ever does, m’lord.” Lydia plopped the cloth into the basin and sat, staring at Broccin in silence for a few seconds as if pondering what to say.
“We think Quinlan was clearing out the dead near the north wall when he came upon one of the Rosses with Kensey. We think he meant to take her hostage, because she was bound hand and foot, and gagged.”
Broccin couldn’t speak. There was a tightness in his heart that had spread to his face. Tears began to slip onto his cheeks. A vision of Kensey being beaten and tied and gagged clouded his sanity.
He wanted, more than anything else, to go back a year and change everything that had happened to them. Change his words to Malcolm. Change his leaving with Elizabeth. Change Kensey’s mind about him and her current circumstances. He would have done anything to keep her from suffering. And yet, here she was, enduring pain, and practically at his own hands. He almost couldn’t handle the thoughts pushing into his consciousness.
“Will...” Broccin stopped, unwilling to admit what he was thinking. “Will she live?” He sat down at her bedside, his face contorted in worry.
“Only the Lord knows that.”
Broccin watched Lydia tending to his wife with a detached sadness. He remembered the letter she’d left. She had been leaving to get away from memories of him. She’d run right into the Rosses, no doubt, and it was all his fault.
He closed his eyes and turned his head away from her, whispering a silent prayer. Please, please take me instead. Do not make her suffer this way.
Chapter Twenty-Six
There was a stillness in the room that unnerved Broccin to no end. Though several people stood around the bed, staring down at Kensey, no one spoke, as though doing so might take her right away. They had just laid Fiona to rest and now the family stood around Kensey’s bed, praying for her recovery.
Duncan held his daughter in his arms with glazed eyes. Broc hadn’t heard him speak since he fell asleep after Fiona’s death. He held little Nualla even closer to him with each breath he took until the baby burbled, trying to let her father know she needed air.
Brigid and Alec held one another but paid close attention to Kensey. Broc couldn’t contain his gratitude for how Brigid had helped Kensey recover. They were so much alike, the two of them, and he wanted them to have many more days together.
After several wary glances, Brigid pushed Alana toward Duncan with a whisper. His young sister took the baby from Duncan’s clutches, claiming it was time for the child to be nursed. As she exited the room, the echo of the noise she made seemed to end abruptly and silence resumed once again.
Robert’s eyes were puffy and Morainn stood next to him, holding his hand and staring at Kensey silently. Broccin stood just behind the two children, a hand on each shoulder, protectively. He couldn’t look at his wife—he’d spent too much time gazing at her in the last few days, trying to help her regain a will to live. Trying to show her how much he loved her. Never leaving her side, even to sleep. He’d not slept in five days, and he could feel the exhaustion in every part of his body.
His sisters begged him to sleep, to let them watch over Kensey, but he couldn’t leave her. As tired as he was, he couldn’t even force himself to sleep. The fear of her leaving him was so real, so thick, it almost had a taste and a smell. He could feel it every second, taking over more and more of his awareness.
Kensey lay, her fevered brow glistening with sweat, in almost complete stillness. Her breathing was so quiet, it barely moved her body.
“When will she wake up, Broccin?” Morainn whispered, her little eyes remaining glued to Kensey’s face. “She’s been asleep for such a long time.
“I don’t know, lass.” The honesty of that sentence made his bones ache. “Lydia says she could wake up or she could stay asleep.”
“Why doesn’t she wake up?” the little girl begged, again. “She doesn’t want to see us?”
“Lass, it’s not that.” Broc knelt to her level. “She is just very tired and needs her rest. She’ll wake up when she’s healed and ready.” But even as the words came out of his mouth, Broccin had a difficult time believing them.
“We shouldn’t stand here and wait.” Alec took Morainn by the hand and she reached for Robert, who followed reluctantly. “I’ll take you wee ones downstairs and get you something to fill your bellies.”
The children left the room with Alec, both sniffling and wiping sleeves across noses. Broc finally turned to his brother.
“Should you rest?”
At first, there was no response, even in his countenance. They stood for a few silent minutes before Duncan blinked and met Broc’s gaze. But he only looked back at Kensey.
“It all happened so fast.” Duncan’s voice crackled, his eyes glazed and staring at the bed. “There was no warning.”
Unsure of how to respond, Broc tried to move his brother at least to sit in a chair to rest, but he was nearly frozen. His hands flexed in a slow rhythm and he stared at them as though expecting something to happen.
“She’s gone and I don’t know what to do with myself, brother.” He held his hands open, his mouth open. Tears welled in his eyes but didn’t move.
Broccin could not speak. He tried to put himself in Duncan’s place. Never seeing his wife again; knowing he could not save her; having found his heart’s desire, only to lose it.
And even though that possibility still lay on the horizon for Broc, he couldn’t fathom it. Perhaps there was no imagining that kind of grief until it was upon a man, because Duncan responded to this like no one Broc had ever seen.
“What would she have me do now, I wonder?” Duncan said aloud to no one in particular. “Would she have me raise our daughter alone? Would she want me to take a wife? Would she have me stay here? Should I go to her father? What should I do?” At this, he at last turned his eyes to meet Broccin’s and Broccin was confounded by the pure sadness he saw there.
“I cannot answer that for you.” Broccin could think of no other way to console his brother. Some pain could only be felt to be left behind.
Duncan stared into Kensey’s face, unable to speak. “I cannot either.” He paused, as if the breath he took pained him. “What does that mean? When I cannot answer my own thoughts without her?”
“You shouldn’t pain yourself this way. Things cannot be fixed so quickly. And you may never be able to answer your own thoughts without thinking of her. But someday, you will know what to do.”
Duncan’s tears subsided and he finally stood, turning to face his brother. Without ceremony or drama, Duncan simply placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders and said, “I pray you never have to go through what I am going through right now.”
***
“Fiona!” a voice rang through the darkness. Broccin woke with a start, recognizing his wife’s voice. “Duncan!” Broccin’s eyes adjusted to the dull glow of the fire and saw Kensey’s figure standing at the foot of the bed. He jumped from the bed and rushed to her side.
“Kensey.” Broc whispered, trying to take her into his arms. “Do not do this, lass.”
She pushed him away, screaming for Duncan. Broc finally got his arms about her and carried her back to the bed, realizing he was naked only after he turned and saw his clothing lying on the floor in front of the chair where he’d left it to bathe. Next to the cold tub of once hot water.
He quickly dressed himself as Kensey thrashed about on the bed—just in case anyone had been woken by her screams and decided to investigate, he wanted to be clothed.
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�Fiona!” Kensey yelled again. Broc sat down carefully on the side of the bed, being careful not to get in the way of her flying fists. “Help me!”
“What is wrong, lass?” Broccin asked, placing a warm hand on her forehead. “Why do you scream for Duncan?”
“His hands,” she whispered. “I couldn’t get him away.” Small tears came to the corners of her tight-shut eyes. “Broccin won’t come. I need Duncan’s help.”
“Why won’t Broccin come?” He wondered why she spoke to him as if she didn’t know who he was.
“I don’t know why he won’t come.”
“Lass, I’m here.” Broc waited for her to respond. “It’s Broccin. I’m here.”
Her eyes fluttered as if they would open for a moment, but then she lapsed back into her sleeping silence, going limp in his arms. He laid her back in the bed and sat next to her, expectantly.
Duncan came flying into the room, suddenly. His breath came raggedly as he watched Broccin move away from Kensey.
“Is the lass awake?” asked Duncan. “I heard her yell for me.”
“She was awake... but she wasn’t awake,” Broccin said, frustrated. He raked a hand through his unruly hair, more quickly than he’d anticipated, for he caught tufts of it in his fingers and his hand came to a halt at his crown. “I cannot explain it, Duncan. She was speaking and moving, but her eyes were closed. She didn’t have the look of a sane woman.”
Duncan stayed at the door, surveying his brother’s anxious pacing and Kensey’s sweating body lying in a tangle of bedding.
“Can you get some sleep, brother?”
“I tried to sleep, but she woke me from it.” Broc shook his head and gestured to the cold bath water.
“Go back to sleep,” Duncan urged. “I’ll stay with the lass.”