Bram--#35--Ghosts of Culloden Moor

by L. L. Muir

  Amazing.

  Sophie casually watched the man who so amazed her, and suddenly, as if sensing he was being watched, Bram turned his head and looked at her. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. An honest, open moment in time when they weren’t lord and lady of the castle, weren’t Scot vs. American. They were just two people, one pretty hot human connecting silently with another.

  No conversation necessary.

  And she knew that, even if she tried to forget everything about that weekend, that look was a happy little moment that, as Wickham had suggested, she would hang onto with both hands.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ian MacKenzie seemed invigorated as he sat and accepted the clan’s congratulations. Standing just behind his right shoulder, his son tried to remain dignified as he accepted the same. And that Godfrey Torvaldson—damn the man—stood behind MacKenzie’s left shoulder as if he had something to do with their new circumstances.

  Standing at the opposite end of the table, Bram couldn’t help but feel a pinch of envy. Even though every now and then a man would send a wee nod of acknowledgment his way, he couldn’t help feeling disappointed; he wouldn’t be staying long enough to see the fruits of the seeds he was sowing. But that was all he had time for.

  Seeds.

  The hair on the back of his neck lifted and he looked about to see what threat might be lurking beyond his ken. He found Sophie Pennel watching him with unabashed admiration shining in her eyes.

  Now there lurks danger in truth.

  He might be safer keeping her on the opposite side of the table, so to speak, for her look of approval affected him much more than he expected. And he found himself wanting to earn another.

  For a long moment, he stared into her eyes, wondering at the secrets lurking there, wondering at his sudden desire to know all of them. Did she suspect he’d fed her earlier just so he might have an excuse to touch her enchanting bottom lip?

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. Self-consciously, she bit her lips together. He had to look away or be tempted to toss her over his shoulder once again and carry her upstairs. There truly was no time for such things.

  Two days was so little time at all, and one of them was half gone…

  ~ ~ ~

  Now that Bram had Torvaldson’s measure, he decided to change his tack. Instead of putting him in his place before a clan who obviously revered him, Bram asked the man to stay behind while Ian MacKenzie was carried out on a pair of shoulders, taking the crowd with him.

  He then shooed his lady wife away as well. Nothing could be achieved with two of them distracted by her. To his great surprise, she went willingly.

  Finally alone, he congratulated the Viking on his repeated Championships and on earning the adoration of the clan. Then he pointed out the power Godfrey held over the entire settlement. “And with such power comes inherent responsibility.”

  The big man reluctantly acknowledged he’d neglected that responsibility and agreed that providing entertainment and sport was not truly providing much at all.

  “They need protection. And I will not be here long enough to see it done.”

  To his credit, Godfrey did not seem happy to hear it, even though it was Bram who had disrupted his comfortable community. “How long will ye stay then?”

  “I have another day and some. No more.”

  Torvaldson’s eyes rounded. “A day!” He shook his head. “Then why come at all?”

  “Two days.” Bram couldn’t help but be defensive. “If ye had only a pair of days, what would ye try to do for these people?”

  The man thought for a moment, frowning all the while. Then he grinned. “I would close up the coliseum and send the men back to work.”

  “And you would ensure that able men would be left behind to see that the work gets done.” Bram offered a hand, and with it, his trust.

  “I would indeed.” Torvaldson took his hand and shook it, squeezing his bones together all the while. And though Bram was certain one or two had broken, his hand was whole again by the time the big blond left the hall, to fetch back what was left of the leadership of Inverbrae.

  ~ ~ ~

  He knows I’m here!

  Standing in the shadows just beyond the archway to Bram’s right, Sophie looked down at her dark dress and wondered how in the world the man had known. The shadows were so deep, even the yellow trim was hard for her to see. There was no light coming from behind her, and she was back so far she couldn’t even see him.

  So why had Bram and Godfrey kept up the act?

  It made no sense whatsoever unless Bram really was a paying customer who wanted to play king of the castle for the weekend. A little over a day left. That meant they would both be out of there on Sunday. A quick two-day weekend was all they’d have.

  An hour ago, she would have been relieved to know that she hadn’t been sucked into a twilight zone after all and that there was definitely a light at the end of the tunnel. But now she was wondering if there might be a few more memorable moments in store for them.

  Hah! Maybe if we can keep from speaking to each other.

  “Sophie?” Bram’s voice was a soft echo in an empty hall. “Are ye there, lass?”

  His tone said he didn’t know. And in any other situation, she would have answered him. But… If she kept quiet, at least they wouldn’t have a chance to bicker.

  Feeling both wicked and justified, she turned around, held out her arms to feel her way, and went searching for that back door. She and the handsome Highlander might only have one more day together, but this first one she wanted to end on a pleasant note.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The meeting with Inverbrae’s leaders couldn’t have gone better. Present were young Phillip MacKenzie and Jericho from the new team of young masons. Gilliard, the master mason, Bull—who represented Inverbrae’s infrastructure—and Godfrey were also in attendance, but Ian MacKenzie had enjoyed enough excitement for one day. The castle’s cook was there as well, for whatever work was planned, sustenance would play a part. And another half dozen men and women joined them, who also played important roles in the settlement’s future.

  With Godfrey there to support him, Bram and Inverbrae’s leaders managed to make a plan that would see Inverbrae’s curtain wall and other structures well-supported before the first snows fell, as well as a strategy for preparations to be carried out through the winter so grander repairs could start with a bang in the spring.

  The farmers now had a plan that would include setting aside stores for tax payments. Bram warned the gathering that, even though they’d been left in peace for a long time, the king of the now-unified kingdom would come knocking again, one day soon. He just left out the part about it being Cromwell and his Puritan gang who would do the knocking.

  Torvaldson’s concession was the victory of the day, however, when the big blond admitted that none of their ambitious plans could succeed if he didn’t do something about the coliseum.

  “What would ye think, Laird Ogilvy, if we only held matches on Saturdays?”

  “I would say that would be a fine start. And perhaps ye should keep the practices private, so as to make the betting more interesting.”

  The man’s face lit with a grin. “It would at that! Aye, it would at that.”

  With matters well settled and the chance of success all but ensured by Torvaldson’s concessions, talk turned to the stadium and all the players involved in the sport, none of which held much interest for Bram. So he excused himself and went in search of the American woman who might be getting up to all sorts of trouble while out of his sight.

  By the time he returned to the hall and realized she was not inside the keep, his chest constricted with worry. It was dark outside and the hour was late, but he didn’t wish to raise a hue and cry without checking the kitchens first.

  Just outside the back door, he found Harris’ wife, Peg, sitting on a step with her head in her hands.

  “What has she done now?”

  Th
e lady’s maid jumped to her feet and made a powerless gesture before pointing to the oven house. “No need to hurry, my lord. She is going nowhere, aye?”

  That vague comment put new haste in his step. Had the wee fool gotten her head stuck in an oven, then? He glanced at the chimneys and noted the billowing smoke. Something, or someone, was still cooking. A deep breath, however, told him it was the next day’s bread and not his lady wife roasting in the fire. But he would make her pay for that moment of fear, brief as it was.

  He kicked the door open and bellowed. “Sophia!”

  Two old women squawked and shuffled about, trying and failing to get out of his way. He breathed hot and steamy air while he searched the large room for his wife, and thankfully, when he found her dark-clad form in the orange fire glow, his path was clear.

  Grateful to find her on the side of the room opposite the ovens, he wanted to pull her into his arms for just a moment, his relief was that great. But at the last second, he controlled himself and ended up grabbing her arm instead of her entire person.

  She paused in the act of scrubbing a pot within an inch of its life, looked pointedly at his hand, then at him.

  He held her a moment longer, then released her. “Why did ye not answer when I called yer name?”

  She turned back to her scrubbing. “Because my name is not Sophia.”

  He grunted. “Even so, ye kenned it was ye I sought.”

  She ignored him.

  “Sophie.” He cleared his throat. “Wife. I demand ye look at me when I speak.”

  She snorted and scrubbed on. He glanced at their audience of two. The women were still fretting about, even though he’d ceased his bellowing. Then he realized that he wasn’t the cause of their distress. It was the American they glanced at, over and over again, while wringing their hands.

  He looked at the pan and the furious way she was scrubbing. “What do ye do here, lass?”

  “I’m cleaning this pan. Obviously.”

  He glanced at the elders again. “The women seem unhappy about it.”

  She didn’t stop to look. “I don’t care. I said I’d wash up, so I’m washing up.”

  “The Lady of Inverbrae,” one woman wailed, then she dragged her apron up to cover her face.

  He finally understood. “Ye’re finished here, lass. Come now.”

  Sophie shook her stubborn head.

  “I mean it, lass. Come with me or I shall remove ye. The choice is yers to make.”

  Again, she shook her head, even while she stepped sideways, away from him.

  He needed her to face him, so he shouted, “Fire!” When she turned to look, he bent and swept her off her feet and over his shoulder as he’d done before. Only the first time, she hadn’t been holding a heavy pan half filled with hot water.

  First, the pan swung against his legs and nearly knocked him down. Then the painfully hot water hit the backs of his knees. His roar filled the oven house and likely woke all the babes in Inverbrae, but he was beyond caring. And since he was easily as stubborn as the woman in his arms, he was determined not to let go of her, even if it killed them both.

  “A horse! Bring me a horse!”

  When a dozen figures scattered in different directions, he prayed one of them was headed to the stables.

  “Take mine, yer lairdship!” A young lad rode up to him and jumped to the ground.

  Bram hoisted Sophie onto the saddle, then mounted behind her, pulling her close so she couldn’t jump off. It took a few seconds to get his bearings, then he spurred the animal into a run. Not half a minute later they were out the gates and headed for Loch Duagrich.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  He ignored her until she asked the third time, giving her a taste of her own medicine.

  “The loch. It’s just ahead now.”

  They were splashing into the water before he realized it and pulled back on the reins. He swung a leg over and jumped off, leaving her to her own devices in favor of saving the skin on the backs of his legs. He waded deeper until the cold liquid reached his arse, then he paused to enjoy the relief.

  Sophie squealed, and he turned just in time to see her slip sideways off the beast, her eyes closed, her arms flailing. The horse shied away, smart animal that he was.

  Bram stifled his smile and had a stern face waiting for her to notice. With all her fumbling about to stand in her now heavy gown, it took her a minute.

  “We need an understanding between us, Sophie Pennel, if we are to spend another day here together.”

  “You know what?” She squeezed the water from the long ends of her hair. “You’re right. We do need an understanding. You need to understand that you better keep away from me. And I understand that I need to not kill you. Or sue you. Or press charges—”

  “Haud yer wheesht!”

  “Sorry. I only speak English. Oh, and this.” She held up her middle fingers. Both of them.

  “Oh, verra ladylike. I’m sure yer ma’s right proud—”

  She ignored him and turned to the river bank as she hiked up her dripping skirts and dragged her legs through the water. She picked up something floating on the surface and faced him again. “I wasn’t supposed to get these wet!” Then she threw it at him with such force that it smacked him in the face.

  He grabbed the offensive thing before it fell. It was a slipper.

  She made it onto the shore and wrung more water from her skirts. Then she tried to approach the horse, but he would have none of it and trotted away, toward the castle. She gave the beast a middle finger as well.

  That was the last straw. Bram could contain his mirth no longer. And even though it sounded as if a pack of hyenas had surrounded the loch, he couldn’t stop himself.

  That was...until the first rock hit.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sophie remembered back to a wild thought she’d had—that she ought to go along just to see how crazy this trip could get.

  Well, she didn’t think it was really possible, but it was officially crazier than she could handle. And she was done.

  After standing in that horrible bake house for two hours, scrubbing pots and pans while those ninny’s whined at her in another language... Then, when she was finally, finally finishing up the last pan—the end of her stupid quest to contribute to their stupid, delusional society—he had to come along and tell her she had to stop? Minutes away from victory, he expected her to drop out of the race?

  Then he’d taken the choice away from her.

  When the pan whacked him across the legs, she totally thought it was worth it, even if she fell on her face. But then the water had splashed. Whatever harsh lye soap they used burned her eyes and she had to squeeze them shut. But did Bram notice? Did he care that she might go blind?

  No. He thought it was a great time to take off on a horse, ride to the lake, and drag her along for the ride. Then he’d left her dangling over the saddle, expecting her to fend for herself.

  In the end, she was grateful to have cool lake water wash over her face and clean the soap from her eyes. But was she going to tell him that?

  “Not on your life.” She scraped her fingers along the shore, searching for another rock. The first one had missed, but it was hard to hit a moving target with only one good eye.

  She found another the size of a baseball and threw it as hard as she could at the man laughing so hard he was bent in half, his face nearly in the water. She was thrilled when she heard the satisfying slap of stone against wet body. Thrilled even more when the laughter stopped a millisecond later.

  “Hah!” She took only an instant to celebrate, then started searching for the next rock.

  Her heart beat loudly in her ears, but then she realized it was the sound of Bram’s legs pushing through the water. He was coming after her.

  She ran ten feet to the right, then searched the sand at her feet again. The rocks were so little! She needed something bigger!

  Her knuckles scraped against a stone the size of a bucket. She
squatted down and tried to lift it. She might not be able to throw it, but she might drop it on his toe if he caught her.

  Sadly, the rock wouldn’t budge.

  Still crouched, she held still and listened for his breathing. The squishing of his water-soaked boots gave him away. Five feet and closing.

  A rush of adrenaline made her scream and run. Her wet dress slapped at her legs and slowed her down. It was like running in a dream; she got nowhere, no matter how hard she tried.

  Then the dress pulled her back. She lost her footing and ended up on her butt, being drug by the cretin that dared tell her what she could or could not do.

  The pulling stopped. She struggled to get her feet under her again, but they sank into the wet sand. and she was yanked off balance once more.

  She slapped at the air behind her. “Leave me alone!”

  “I beg yer pardon. I had left ye alone, but ye attacked me with yer rocks. I’m only defending myself.”

  “Only after you laughed. You shouldn’t have laughed. It’s not funny. I’m going to freeze to death now that the horse is gone, and you think it’s funny!”

  He laughed but had no breath for it. “Lass, ye won’t freeze to death. And aye, I do think it’s funny. Only now, I’m too tuckered to laugh anymore.”

  Neither of them spoke as they struggled to catch their breath. After a minute of actually getting enough oxygen, she jumped when she realized he was standing in front of her, offering her a hand up.

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Silent as a ghost I can be, when the moment warrants. What do ye say to a truce?”

  She couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t pick her up and throw her back in the water. In fact, she couldn’t guess what he might do to her, but she did trust the sincerity in his voice. So she put her hand in his. “Truce.”

  He pulled with a little too much force, and she flew up to her feet and then some, slamming into him. He caught her around the waist and chuckled. “Light as a drenched feather.”