Claiming the Highlander

by Mageela Troche

  “I canna ask ye to desert this plan of yers. Ye are too honorable a man. I ask fae one thing, please dinna put yerself in harm’s way. I canna lose ye now that I found ye.”

  “I canna tell ye nay but I shall try. That is all I can give ye.”

  “I shallna ask fae more.”

  A snap of branch turned their heads. Both peered into the copse of trees, and then looked away after seeing nothing.

  * * * *

  The three days of caoine finally ended. The pounding behind Brenna’s eyes hadn’t lessened between the scent of wine and uisge beatha. She could only smell a staleness that irritated her nostrils and stuck in her nose.

  She forced her eyes open. The next three days would be hectic ones, dealing with the feasts and games in the laird’s honor. She gathered the servants and the clan members who aided this endeavor.

  “Men please finish seeing to the ensemble of the games. Are the tents prepared?”

  “Aye, my lady. There is ane fae the family an the aither for the council an gentlemen of the clan.”

  “Very good.” She turned to the kitchen staff. “Please bring out the food before we are to depart. It would not be good to have insects about.”

  She went over a few more details. After she dismissed everyone, the lairdess appeared.

  “You have finished with the servants.” Her eyes danced about the empty hall.

  Brenna beamed. “Aye, all has been seen to so you may rest.”

  She let out a gusty sigh. “There is nothing for me to do.”

  “You can rest and do not worry. I have everything in hand.”

  “That I see.”

  The sound of hurried steps heralded Keir’s entrance into the hall. “Laird Grant is approaching.”

  “My father,” she said.

  “Aye.” He shared a look with the lairdess.

  Brenna watched her, seeing her face hardened with the coming denial.

  “Give them entrance,” Caelen said as he joined them.

  Keir departed. The closing door cut off his scream to open the gate.

  Brenna couldn’t understand the reason for his arrival. He would say he came to pay his respect to the laird. She knew he had another reason. Everyone did. After yesterday’s events, she knew Caelen would look at her with distrust. She saw it now with his quick glance before he looked to the doorway.

  Every instinct in her demanded she react but she stifled it. She had no reason to be on the defensive. She was not guilty.

  “Prepare a chamber for him, Brenna.”

  “The servants are busy,” she answered. “But I shall find one.”

  “Nay, I will handle it. Brenna must greet her father.” The lairdess went off in search of one.

  She watched him swagger toward her. Right in her heart, she felt a stabbing pain that almost had her bent over. She yearned for nothing more than to hold him, bury her face in his chest. This urge in her to have his love and loyalty weaken the strength she had carried with her throughout life. All worsened with her father and his arrival and any scheme he planned. Both Caelen and her father wanted power. She wanted love.

  “Do you think it is wise to have him here?”

  “Aye, I want him to see us and watch him.”

  She ached to turn away, but his confidence in her raised her hope.

  “Come, Brenna.” He offered his arm.

  She accepted it. The simple touch soothed her. Such a simple act of a gentleman, and she was ready to forgive all.

  Arm in arm, they waited atop the castle stairs. Grant guards came in first. In the center of the column, Laird Grant rode in. He halted his horse. She watched him dismount and amble toward them.

  He was still a handsome man, and the women whispered this about him. His light brown hair was touched with gold. He was still as fit as men half his age and strong enough to wield his claymore. He squinted, deepening the lines about his eyes and hiding the sapphire blue hue. What most did not know was that his eyesight was failing him.

  He greeted Caelen. “Brenna.” His thin lips spread, showing how he had charmed many, including his current wife. He embraced her.

  “Father.” His plaid muffled her reply.

  “You look well.”

  “Good, since all is.”

  He searched her face and then remembered Caelen was beside her. Terse condolences were given. “A chamber is being prepared. Come inside and wash up from your journey.” Brenna stepped back for him to enter.

  He swept inside and looked about. He ambled to the laird.

  The vein in the center of Caelen’s forehead throbbed. It was his only sign of annoyance. Brenna felt hollow. She was caught between these two men and had bestowed her loyalty to both, which pulled her in two directions. Soon, she’d break apart.

  Her father turned back. “The hall appears empty.”

  “We are preparing for the games and the feast.” She led him to the enclave where a bowl and a ewer filled with rosewater sat, along with a linen to dry. “How is your wife? Why didn’t she accompany you?”

  “She is well. She’s with child again.” He gave a boastful grin before he splashed his face.

  He needed the sheriffdom more than ever. He had a legacy to build and it started with that position. Brenna hid her thoughts by pouring him wine.

  “Good lass,” he said, as he swept up the cup.

  Brenna watched his throat move as he swallowed.

  He set the cup down. “You have settled nicely.”

  “Aye. I have been helping the lairdess.”

  Father’s brows pinched at the last word. He wiped away his expression. “Good. Good. It’s important you are a value in the household.”

  Caelen’s mouth thinned.

  Brenna blinked at his snide comment. “As I was schooled. How was your journey?” She had no care about his travels. He hadn’t come to pay his tributes. Nay, Father was assessing where he stood, but more importantly, her standing. They sat around and shared drink, speaking of nothing that held any importance.

  “I rode whiplash fast. News had spread and as we are kin, I pushed my horse and men.”

  “We are honored by your presence and loyalty,” Caelen said.

  Their gazes locked on each other and held. Brenna’s mind scurried for something to say but nothing came to her. She knew the weather would not turn these two men from their stare down. Two men of the garrison entered, stopped short, and then departed.

  “I am honored to be welcomed in to your home.” His tone was flat and he wore a tight smile that never reached his eyes.

  A servant hurried over. She peeked at Caelen, and then at Brenna’s father. “The chamber is ready, my lady,” she whispered hurriedly.

  “Father, allow me to show you to your chamber.”

  Caelen stood. He laid his hand flat on the table. Before Brenna disappeared up the stairs, she looked back at Caelen. He slammed his hand flat against the table.

  She led the way to the chamber. Prickles broke out along her neck and down her spine from her father’s steady gaze. She never glanced back.

  At the chamber, she pushed open the door and lingered outside. Her father motioned her inside with a sweep of his hand.

  She gulped back her hesitation and dragged her feet across the threshold. He shut the door and then leaned against it.

  “Nice chamber.” He hadn’t bothered to look away from her. “Brenna, you look much changed.”

  She blinked then looked down at herself. “It seems fitting. My life is much changed.”

  He smiled. “You were always happy here. When you returned after being fostered, you talked about nothing else. Truth was, I grew to detest your stories.”

  “Aye, you tended to groan when I repeated them.” Her insides felt like jelly.

  “I knew each one by heart, but then I encouraged it.”

  “That you did with the letters.” Her eyes began to burn. She blinked away the wetness.

  “Ah.” He pressed his lips together, looking sheepish. “You have
learned the truth. Laird and Lairdess MacKenzie, as well as I, thought it best. You were naught but a wee lass, no bigger than my leg, and you became fearful—nay—uneasy about the union. To stop your fears, we set off on that course of action. Besides, you were like most lasses, you wanted love.”

  “So, you lied about it, made me a fool.”

  “Nay. Love can come after marriage. It did with your mother and I.”

  “Yet you are willing to take it away from me.”

  “The laird’s death endangers our clan.”

  “I do not believe so.” She folded her hands together and hid them among her pleats.

  “The Frasers are stirring up trouble. They are stealing cattle and raiding the village. Our men are fighting with them. If I am sheriff, then I have the power to quell it and build up the clan.” He shook his head. “Caelen does not have the influence his father held.”

  “Caelen is an earl.”

  “Thanks to your mother,” he sneered, curling his upper lip.

  “My mother, whom you now believe has blood ties with my husband. If the king had granted you the land, you would have never believed such a thing.”

  “I would not need it.”

  “Well, Father Murray is here to report to the bishop. But, Father, you forget one fact. Caelen holds influence with powerful clans and men. Scots do not forget, and that includes their king.”

  “I have been waiting since you were a wee lass. The office is still not mine.”

  “If you proceed with this action, you may never get your deepest desire.”

  “Watch what you say to me.” He grabbed her by the arm.

  She pushed off his hold. “Then watch how you treat me. I am a countess, and if this union is dissolved, I imagine the king will have much to say about my next marriage. Where shall that leave your ambitions?”

  * * * *

  Caelen stood at the window and gazed out to the bridge. He hadn’t been in the garrison tower since he was a small boy. He loved being here, hearing the naughty jokes and manly talk. He never cared that it smelled of sweat, oil, and dust or that the light was lacking.

  He heard the scrap of footsteps and looked over his shoulder to see Gilroy drag himself to a stool. He waited for the others of the council to join them. The heat of his temper fired inside him. Grant—that damn man frustrated him. Did he think him a little boy playing at power? Worse, he thought him a fool. And his treatment of Brenna…the man didn’t even know his own daughter and her smarts. That was what kept him from jumping over the table and landing a solid blow to the chin. Grant would learn one day.

  Tavish and Finian slipped inside. He pushed off the wall.

  “We heard that Laird Grant arrived,” Tavish said.

  “He is in his chamber now.”

  “He maun be here before he plans his next mair.” Finian smacked his lips, disgusted by the laird.

  “Gilroy, have you found anything?”

  “Not a thing. There is no relation between you and Brenna. Your paternal line is from Kenneth Alpin, the Conqueror,” he said, referring to the king who united Scotland, “whereas your mother hails from Viking and Norse.”

  “Laird Grant carries Norman blood. One of those men who followed David the First from England. I do not know about the mother. I have sent a messenger to a monk who knows all.”

  “We can raise questions to the countess,” Finian said.

  “Nay—” Caelen cut his arms through the air, “—I will not have her hurt in any way.”

  Tavish shook his head. “Her answers might gie us the information we require.”

  “Tavish, hate me if you wish. I do not care, but do not harm my wife. She’s been hurt enough.”

  “Wat aboot the clan? Wat aboot the harm to them?” Tavish pointed his arm in the direction the Grants resided.

  “You say that now. You are the one person who speaks of nothing but land and pushing off the Grants. Brenna has brought that land and is most important to this clan.” And me. He turned away, not from the council, but from his own thoughts.

  “Caelen is correct,” Finian said. “Wit Laird Grant present, we ha’e a chance to watch him an’ the Grants. Then we shall decide wat we do next.”

  “Her ladyship maun be watched.” Tavish slammed the flat of his hand against his open palm.

  “Caelen can do that. Though, I don’t believe she has any part in this. She loves Caelen, and that is all that matters to her.”

  “That can be an advantage.” Tavish leaned his elbows on his knees.

  “I cannot do that. I will not harm her.” Caelen loomed over Tavish. His breathing increased and matched his galloping heartbeat. He fisted his hand.

  Tavish leaned back. “Wha’ever is necessary to keep our power we maun do. I am nat wrong.”

  “I see where your son inherited that dishonorable streak from.”

  Tavish charged Caelen. His head buried in his chest. By the shoulder, Caelen shoved him off. Finian and Gilroy clutched him by the shoulders.

  “Ye dinna speak aboot him.” Spittle sprayed from his mouth. “Ye dinna ha’e the honor. Ye left him to be stabbed in the back. Ye ran instead of stood an’ fought.”

  Caelen jumped at him. His fist connected with Tavish’s mouth. Blood and spit sputtered as his head twisted to the right.

  Finian pushed him back. “Enough!”

  With a simmering hatred, Caelen stormed from the chamber. He stared down at his knuckles and the blood pooling about the teeth-made cuts. He shook his hand, flicking the blood off. He made his way upstairs. He stopped at the landing of his father’s chamber. The door was closed. He ought to have shared the truth with him. So much would be different. But he never had the correct words, and then the right time never came either.

  He turned away. He stormed his way into his chamber, muttering curses, and fisting and stretching out his hand.

  “What happened?” Brenna grasped his hand.

  Every instinct in him demanded he pull away from her caring touch. He couldn’t hurt her again with his rejection. He refused to see her disappointment in him again. If he was honest with himself, he loved that she saw a heroic side of him, thought him better than he did himself.

  “A foolish act of a man who lost control,” he replied, his voice dripping with contempt at himself.

  She held his hand over the bowl and poured water over his wounds. She peeked up at him to see if he was pained. “Are you planning to share this foolish act? Or hint at the one whom you punched.” She poured more water over it. She set down the ewer. “I suppose not. I hope it was not my father.” She patted his hand dry.

  “Not yet.” Some of his tension vanished. He curled his fingers around her delicate hand and squeezed.

  Her warm, sable brown eyes sparked, and then she blinked and the light vanished.

  “Forgive me for breaking your trust. I cannot change what I have done, but I will earn it again. Will you give me the chance?”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “I cannot deny you anything.”

  She wanted too. The thought gnawed at him. He never meant to do this. Secrets and the unearthing of them damaged lives.

  He molded his lips to her smooth mouth. The supple flesh warmed under his. He stayed like that, afraid if he shifted she would step away. Her feminine scent, floral and inviting, enveloped him. She parted her lips. His tongue touched hers. He groaned from the savory taste of her mouth and her arms slipping around his waist. She leaned into the kiss, fully trusting him. He cradled her close. The damn plaid blocked the feel of her.

  The kiss wasn’t enough. He yearned for her love and trust, to have it again, and this time, he would not soil it. Never would he lose her again.

  She broke off the kiss first. Desire hooded her eyes. Her face pinked and her supple lips were swollen.

  He placed a kiss upon her forehead. A teardrop landed on his forearm. Cupping her face, he lifted it. Tear tracks ran down and wetness pooled in her eyes, the corners drowning with the ones yet to fall.

&nb
sp; “Please, Brenna, do not cry. I never wished to pain you.”

  “Foolishness, nothing more,” she said, blinking and catching tears on her lashes.

  “All that we share is not foolishness. I have been the fool and disappointed you, but I vow I will never again.”

  She gave a shaky nod. “I believe you.”

  “I know,” he said, though the lack of conviction in her voice rocked him.

  Now came the time to show her. Secure their marriage, however, he must, and then she’d know for sure.

  “We must see to the games.”

  * * * *

  Manus ran to Caelen as he left the chamber. He flicked his head, motioning him to follow. They made their way to the battlements. Guards strolled about, watching the vista. Tents spread about the land, bright against the trees. The tenants were beginning to arrive but up here, all was silent. The games would soon begin.

  Manus rested his arms on the top of the wall. “The two riders returned. They are heading to the games. You think they will try to make contact with Laird Grant?”

  “At some point, I imagine. But if they rode back with him, they would not need to.”

  “They will before he departs.”

  “Three days hence,” Caelen said. “I want you to assign men to watch them at all times. Whatever they do, I want to know immediately.”

  “You think the laird will try something?”

  “He would be foolish to do so now, but he must be plotting something. I will try to keep him at my side and if not, you are to step up.”

  Manus grinned. “I shall. I can put men on the Grants.”

  He slumped against the wall. “Do that, but keep this between me and you. I want the man to feel welcome, and let him think he is free to roam about. I might take him to visit the Grants.”

  “You think that is the proper act?” Manus squinted up at him.

  “He may not reveal much, but I may learn more, not just about him and his plots, but these men on our land.”

  “You should bring Brenna.”

  Caelen gave him a sharp gaze. “I don’t want her involved in this.”

  “You should. She knows her father and her emotions and thoughts show on her face. You can learn something that way. There is also the chance to gain her support.”