A Hellion at the Highland Court: A Rags to Riches Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 9)

by Celeste Barclay

  “Monty, will you walk me back to my chamber?” Laurel admitted defeat to her brother. She didn’t want to spend time with him, but she didn’t trust herself not to fall apart somewhere and dissolve into a puddle of tears before she made it to her chamber.

  “Aye, Laurel,” Monty whispered as he stepped forward. Laurel gathered her skirts and walked down the steps just as the clatter of pounding hooves entered the bailey. Laurel knew it was Brodie before she saw his face. She sensed it as much as she recognized his horse, Lann. She watched as Brodie swung down from his horse, tossing the reins toward the stable boys running to greet the arriving warriors. A buzz swept through the crowd as Brodie pushed his way through.

  When Laurel finally saw Brodie clearly, she gasped. His leine was filthy and torn, his plaid had fabric ripped and trailing behind him. His boots were encrusted in mud, and Laurel realized blood was splattered across Brodie's face. His hair and beard were matted. He looked like he’d rolled around in a pigsty before arriving. But Laurel didn’t care. He was alive, and he was barreling through the crowd to reach her. When he was within reach, she moved toward him, but he caught her arms and kept her away.

  “Thistle,” Brodie whispered, his voice noticeably hoarse. “I want naught more than to hold ye, devour ye, but ye are too beautiful in yer new gown. I dinna want to ruin it. I would remember ye and this eve as both being perfect.” Brodie smiled, and Laurel’s world lit up as though it were the middle of the sunniest day in Scotland.

  “It’s only a gown,” Laurel responded.

  “One I ken ye made, and one I wish to see ye in many more times,” Brodie said before dropping a kiss on her cheek.

  “Do ye have a clean plaid?”

  “I dinna,” Brodie admitted. “But mayhap one of ma men does.” He looked at her in confusion but called out to his men just as King Robert and Queen Elizabeth returned.

  “Dear God, mon!” King Robert exclaimed, as he wafted his hand before his face. “Ye smell worse than ye did after Bannockburn, and I thought ye were a wild beast then.” In his surprise, King Robert didn’t notice that his own burr slid into his voice. It was a rare occasion for the man to be caught so off-guard that he dropped his refined speech.

  “I’m late.”

  “We ken. You may as well get cleaned up since you’re already late,” King Robert said as his surprise wore off and his courtly speech returned.

  “Is a wedding aboot what a mon wears or aboot the words he speaks?” Brodie asked.

  “Would you accept a bride who appeared as you do now? King Robert asked.

  “A bride? Nay. Ma wife, Lady Campbell? Aye. I would welcome Laurel if she came to me in rags because I would still be richer for having her as ma wife.”

  “He couldn’t bother wiping the muck from his face. He’s in such a rush to have it done with,” a man called out. “Show him some mercy, Your Majesty.”

  “Show us all some mercy,” another voice demanded.

  “I think he looks fitting for a marriage to a harping fishwife,” Sarah Anne announced.

  Brodie gazed down at Laurel, horrified by what he heard. He wondered what they’d said when he wasn’t there; if they were brazen enough to say such damning things within his earshot. He worried that he’d erred by not stopping at an inn to bathe like he considered. But he’d been too impatient to reach Laurel to delay any longer. But now he feared Laurel would be hurt not only by what she heard but by his lack of consideration.

  “It was more important to me to reach ma wife’s side than to worry aboot ma appearance. I’ve kept Laurie waiting long enough,” Brodie explained, not realizing he’d used the diminutive. His gaze locked with hers, his expression questioning.

  “I dinna care what ye wear,” Laurel whispered. She looked around and spotted a Campbell guard with the extra plaid she asked about. She reached out her hand “May I have that?”

  The guard handed her the folded Campbell plaid, which she opened and shook out. She wrapped it around herself, covering her gown. Understanding her intention, Brodie engulfed her in his embrace, her arms pinned beneath the yards of wool.

  “Kiss,” Laurel mumbled. Brodie’s mouth crushed hers as he pressed his tongue against her lips. She opened to him as though she was starving, and his kiss was her only succor. Brodie felt light-headed as all the blood drained from everywhere but his groin. It pooled there, making his cock stand at attention.

  “Do ye wish me to change?”

  “Nae one bit,” Laurel answered with a broad smile. “Can we just get married?”

  “Ye heard the lass,” Brodie said as he turned toward the bemused priest who stood silently watching the couple.

  “We hear the shrew giving you orders, Campbell. And we see you are quick to follow!” Nelson called out.

  “I wonder which one has the bigger bollocks,” Liam snickered.

  “Enough prattle,” King Robert commanded. “Campbell, you have kept us waiting for hours. Let’s have the wedding. My stomach grows tired of wondering if my neck’s been cut off. We have a feast to attend.”

  Brodie guided Laurel up the steps of the kirk to stand before its doors, where she unwrapped herself from the plaid but kept it draped over shoulders and back. Laurel thrust out her hand, and Brodie grasped it. He couldn’t overlook the contrast between his grimy hand and her clean, well-manicured one. But Laurel didn’t seem to notice, or at least it didn’t seem to bother her. She wove her fingers around his as the priest bound their wrists with the end of the plaid Laurel wore.

  “Wait,” Laurel said. “I ken this is a Campbell plaid, but it isn’t yours. I want it to be your plaid that binds us.”

  “Even I ken it’s too filthy for that, Laurie.”

  “I dinna care if it’s dripping with shite if it’s yers.”

  Brodie nodded before he slipped the brooch from his shoulder. The priest warily took the edge of the wool Brodie offered and wrapped it around the couple’s joined hands. After waiting for what felt like years, the brevity of the ceremony disconcerted Laurel. She blinked several times before shuffling to wrap the yards of material around her again. Brodie helped her cover her gown, then once more kissed her until she feared her knees could no longer bear her weight. The crowd called out randy comments and wagers on how long it would be before Brodie came to his senses. There were suggestions that he send her to a convent. Others argued he had to at least wait until she bore him a son.

  Brodie’s temper was pushed to the limits as he heard the hideous comments, knowing Laurel heard them, too. He couldn’t force any of them to stop other than by running his sword through all of them. He wrapped his arm around Laurel and guided her down the kirk’s steps.

  “Bathe and change, then meet your wife on the dais.” King Robert stood at the bottom of the steps, blocking the couple’s way. Brodie looked down at Laurel, seeing the fine skin pulled taut over her cheeks and the pinched look around her eyes. She appeared exhausted, and he couldn’t blame her. He knew she’d been standing for hours, waiting for him, not knowing whether he would arrive. He could imagine what she’d thought as she faced the crowd without him at her side.

  “Ma wife and I are retiring,” Brodie spoke quietly, but there was steel in his voice. “Ye wanted the ceremony, so ye had it. But I didna agree to a feast. Ma wife doesnae need to be on display to these people, and I have important clan matters to discuss with Lady Campbell.”

  “If you were so worried aboot people staring at Lady Campbell, you shouldn’t have sent word you would arrive within an hour, then take nearly three.”

  Brodie gritted his teeth and seethed. “I stopped to bury two of ma men. Ma apologies to ye and ma wife that I couldnae rush ensuring their eternal souls went to heaven.”

  “Brodie,” Laurel gasped. She looked at the weary Campbell warriors who stood silently while she and Brodie exchanged their vows. The men looked like they could barely remain on their feet, some leaning against one another. She glanced around for her maid. She left Brodie’s side and hurried to the
woman. “Ina, fetch the healer and send a tub and hot water for each of the Campbells. If they dinna wish to join the feast, have trays brought to them. Have a Ross mon sent to our chamber if any of the wounds are serious. Please hurry.”

  “Aye, ma lady.” Ina spun on her heels and pushed through the crowd, lifting her skirts once she broke free and ran into the keep. Laurel had never seen the woman move so fast. She walked over to the men who’d ridden with her husband.

  “I dinna ken what happened, but I can easily guess,” Laurel said softly. “I dinna doubt ye each played a part in ensuring yer laird returned here—returned to me. Thank ye. I—” Laurel caught herself. “I thank ye.”

  Brodie came to stand behind her. His men looked to him, wide-eyed. They’d gotten to know Laurel while they accompanied the couple on their daily rides, but none had expected her to thank them personally or to call for the healer and baths.

  “Ye’re welcome, Lady Campbell,” Graham spoke up. “We welcome ye to Clan Campbell.” Laurel’s smile shone in the early night’s darkness.

  “Laurie, I canna tell ye how sorry I am to have kept ye waiting. I can imagine what ye must have thought, and it pains me to ken I caused ye any anguish,” Brodie said as he stripped off his soiled clothes and stepped into the tub Ina had waiting. He dunked his head beneath the water, shaking the dirt loose. When he emerged, he found Laurel standing with a sudsy linen in hand. Working on his back while Brodie scrubbed his front, the couple remained quiet. Laurel was too grateful to see and touch Brodie, knowing he’d survived whatever danger he’d found. Once Brodie’s hair was clean and he had a drying linen wrapped around his waist, he guided her to sit on his lap before the fire. Laurel finally felt the gorge in her throat drop, and she could speak.

  “I feared ye were dead, that Michael hadna told me aboot some grievous injury,” Laurel whispered.

  “But ye also feared that the crowd was right, that I left ye at the altar.”

  “Aye. I’m sorry I doubted ye.”

  “I dinna blame ye, thistle. It must have been agonizing, wondering if they spoke the truth. I need ye to ken that I will always come for ye. Till ma vera last breath. It may nae be as soon as I wish or in a manner,” Brodie nudged his chin toward the pile of discarded clothes, “I wish. But I willna forsake ye, Laurie.”

  Laurel thought Brodie might say more. She prayed for a declaration of his feelings. She’d nearly admitted hers when she stood before his men. But neither broached the topic, and Laurel already felt vulnerable to having Brodie turn a blank face to her if he didn’t reciprocate those feelings.

  “Will ye tell me what happened?”

  “I will. All of it. But I wish to hold ye for a little while, mo ghràidh.” My darling.

  Laurel supposed it was a start, and she clung to the endearment as she clung to him, resting her head against his broad chest. She supposed he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders, so she wouldn’t push him to speak before he was ready. She trusted he would share when he felt it was right. One hand ran over his hair while the other caressed his chest. It wasn’t long before need overtook affection. Brodie carried his bride to their bed, where they spent the night reassuring one another that there was no place they would rather be.

  Twenty-One

  “Laurel,” Monty said as he stepped beside his sister, who held the reins to Teine. The siblings hadn’t spoken in two days, largely in part because Laurel and Brodie didn’t leave their chamber during that time, and Monty didn’t dare show his face again. “At least say goodbye to Donnan,” Monty whispered.

  Laurel looked at her brother for a long moment, then nodded. She handed the reins back to a groom and made her way to where her brother’s partner stood watching the Campbells prepare to depart. She didn’t hesitate to return her friend’s embrace.

  “Lass, I’m pleased for you. I couldn’t have guessed it, but you and Brodie appear in love,” Donnan whispered.

  “I don’t know that it’s love, Donnan,” Laurel said cautiously. Neither the bride nor the groom had articulated their feelings, and Laurel was wary to believe Brodie’s ran deeper than lust and affection. She’d promised herself that she could live with that, even though she prayed one day he would reciprocate her feelings. She was certain she both loved and was in love with her husband. They’d spent long hours talking during their two days in seclusion, sharing their ideas for their clan’s future and what they hoped their life would be together. He’d recounted his days of tracking the Lamonts and MacDougalls, the skirmishes they fought, and how things were still unresolved.

  “I pray that one day it is. For all your brother’s faults, and you and I know there are plenty, I couldn’t imagine my life without him,” Donnan confessed. “I hope you find the love we have.”

  “I hope so, too. Monty’s words have hurt me, but I’m not angry.”

  “Will you tell him that?”

  “I don’t know how,” Laurel admitted.

  “Och, just say to him what you said to me. It doesn’t need to be harder than that.”

  Laurel looked at her friend and smiled sadly. She wasn’t sure if Donnan was right, but she supposed she faced her last opportunity to find out. She embraced Donnan once more before she pulled away, but Donnan caught her hand.

  “Send word, and we will come for you,” Donnan promised. Laurel heard the sincerity in his voice and knew that for once someone other than Brodie was offering their protection. It came from Donnan’s free will, not duty. Laurel glanced at Monty and found him watching the pair. She smiled and waved him over. Laurel looked back at Donnan before she wrapped her arms around Monty’s waist. Her brother hesitated for a heartbeat, then hugged her so tightly she had to tap on his back lest he suffocate her.

  “Monty, I’m hurt, but I’m not angry. Mayhap you were angry with me or with Brodie when you couldn’t find me, or mayhap you were worried. Mayhap it was discovering I’d married without telling you, including you. I didn’t give you a chance to explain. I was embarrassed, so I lashed out. Your words only made me feel worse. But I don’t want to be angry all the time. Bitterness has made me an ugly person, but I have a chance to start fresh. I don’t want to begin my new life with the trappings of my auld one. I’m sorry I’ve been difficult to tolerate.”

  “Laurel, it’s never been aboot tolerating you. You’ve not been easy to like since you left Balnagown, but I was the one who refused to consider how unhappy you’ve been. You’ve tried to tell me each time I’ve seen you. But I refused to listen, telling myself that you were just being awkward. It was easier than admitting that I can’t help you. And each time I can’t, I lash out just as you do when you don’t get the love you deserve. I’m sorry, Laurel. I don’t want you to ride away hating me.”

  “I don’t hate you, Monty. That’s why it hurts.” Laurel rested her head against her brother’s chest, finding comfort there but wishing Brodie was closer. She felt the tears threatening, and it was Brodie who she wished to turn to.

  “Laurel, send word if ever you need me,” Monty murmured beside her ear. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I will never leave you to fend for yourself again. Ask, and I will come.”

  Laurel looked up at the older brother she’d adored as a child. She watched the breeze rustle hair that was so like hers before she gazed into eyes a reflection of her own. She nodded and strained to kiss his cheek. She knew when Brodie came to stand behind her, sensing his presence. With a nod to Monty and a smile to Donnan and him, she turned to accept Brodie’s proffered hand. Her husband drew her into his embrace, and Laurel felt like she could once more face the world.

  Once Laurel mounted, she turned back and waved at the Ross men gathered in the Stirling Castle bailey. She’d prayed for when she could ride away from everything that tied her to the clan of her birth. She thought she’d feel elation. But it was a sense of peace that wrapped around her. She looked at Brodie, who rode beside her as they clattered under the portcullis and onto the road.

  “Are you ready for the Hi
ghlands, thistle?” Brodie smiled.

  “I canna wait, bear,” Laurel grinned. She’d taken to calling Brodie bear, and she thought it fit him as well as his pet name thistle fit her. She enjoyed having a special endearment for him. He’d told her how much it pleased him to hear it, then he’d shown her. They had a three-day ride ahead of them, with nights under the stars instead of in a private chamber. The couple made the most of the early morning hours to tide them over. When they were clear of the town, Brodie encouraged Laurel to race. It was her first day of real freedom, and he wanted her to enjoy every minute of it.

  “If we’re going to do aught, it must before they reach Kilchurn. Once she’s behind the gates, there’ll be no way to reach her.” Nelson looked at Liam and the men who sat with him at The Merry Widow. He’d watched Laurel, Brodie, and the Campbell men ride out that morning with the Ross entourage leaving within an hour of the Campbells. “The eejit doesn’t realize what he’s done. He’s too enamored with what’s under her skirts to realize the mistake he’s made.”

  “But he defended her before he bedded her,” Stephen pointed out.

  “You really believe he didn’t tup her before they handfasted? You’re just as much an eejit as he. We all heard what Lady Sarah Anne and Lady Margaret saw. Half the ladies-in-waiting watched him pawing her in the passageway. Why else did they ride out every day for hours on end? Even her brother stopped chaperoning them. Campbell’s blind to her ways. He hasn’t known her for years like we have.”

  “MacDougall, why do you, of all people, care? Your clan’s been raiding the Campbells,” Stephen pressed.

  Nelson sat back and looked at the surrounding men. He’d thought he would have less trouble convincing them to support his plan to end Brodie Campbell’s marriage. He’d thought it a stroke of brilliant luck when Liam offered the wager that Brodie couldn’t tame Laurel. He’d assumed Brodie would fail. Even when Brodie and Monty refused the bet, he still believed Brodie would fail. He’d eagerly awaited his enemy’s humiliation before the entire court. Instead, he’d made Lady Laurel into the image of a doting wife. He wanted to be ill.