Heart Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Yes, my lord,” Broderick agreed, glad he had heard the last part of what the man said. He was going over the plans already laid, and Broderick agreed with them.

  “Good.”

  Broderick could hear the man smiling and was sure he was aware of his distraction. Curse him!

  “My lord, I have a request.”

  “Yes?”

  “May I ask if Blaine will accompany me again? I found his presence helpful.”

  The man frowned. “I had thought to send our war-chieftain instead. Blaine MacNeil is... only seventeen years old.”

  Broderick nodded. “Eighteen, sir,” he corrected and then wanted to bite his tongue. He was not improving his case.

  “Oh? Well, then. Worse yet.”

  “Well…” Broderick cleared his throat. “The boy is young, I agree, my lord. But he is a quick study, and I feel we work well together.”

  “Well, then.” Lord Lochlann smiled thinly. “If you wish to ride with a handicap, I cannot stop you.”

  Broderick felt angry but he did not feel he had the status to contradict the older man. “If I considered him a handicap, I would not take him. I prefer to ride with men I know and whom I can trust.”

  The laird chuckled. “Well spoken. I see something has lit some fire under you after all.”

  Broderick flushed. He had to agree that it had. And he knew what it was.

  Amabel.

  His longing for her, to possess her, to hold her – was a fire. And he no matter how often he tried to shut it from his mind the worse it became, a furnace to consume his soul. But then again, the only thing that had dissolved his hunger was his thoughts of vengeance. Which was stronger in him he did not know. Thoughts of his wife, or thoughts of revenge. He was not yet sure which held sway.

  “Well, if you have no further suggestions,” Lord Lochlann said openly, “then I suggest we adjourn.”

  Broderick nodded. He could not leave that room too soon. He stood abruptly and pushed back his chair.

  “Thank you, my laird, for your support in my venture of vengeance. I will take this time to prepare before I begin training with the men.”

  “Good.” Lord Lochlann blinked. “Good afternoon, then.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  Broderick turned and walked stiffly from the room. His heart was on fire, his loins suffused with need. But the more he felt of it, the more he hated himself. He had made his bride dislike him – again. And all because he could not let himself love her.

  I cannot break my vow.

  He had vowed to love Aisling forever. And he did. To allow another woman to usurp her in his thoughts for so much of an instant seemed traitorous.

  But yet, ever since that day in the solar – no, if he were honest, ever since their first meeting – Amabel had captivated his soul. And, since that time, she had shown him such gentleness and understanding, such kindness, that had made him feel even more deeply.

  She even forgave you on her wedding night.

  He swallowed hard. He knew that what he had done had been thoughtless.

  Now I have a chance to make it up to her. He was decided. He would go and find her and let her know how he felt. He was not sure if he could make himself cross the barrier of memory but he would try.

  He needed to show her how he felt.

  “My lord?”

  He whipped around. He was in the corridor, heading downstairs with some half-formed plan to find Amabel. He found Blaine MacNeil at his elbow.

  “Yes?” he sighed. Of all the things he needed, company of a talented but irritating youth was probably lowest on his list.

  “Lord Lochlann said I should seek you out, sir. Said you wanted me to come with you on the raid?” The young man looked up, eyes round and earnest.

  “Aye, Blaine, that's right.”

  “I wanted tae tell ye. I had an idea.”

  “Mm?” Broderick raised a brow. He tried to sound interested, but he was finding it hard. All he wanted was to ride out into the woods and scream. Very loudly.

  “Ye told me about thinking, and how it can make you a better warrior, sir. So, I asked Father Padriag if he had any books about war, and he showed me one.”

  “You can read?” Broderick said before he had time to think about it. “Sorry. I shouldn't have said that.” He did not want to insult the youth by assuming he could not read, but then it was a natural assumption. Most men-at-arms could not – for that matter, most lords he knew could not. He was grateful to his father that he had received well-rounded tutoring, not just in warfare.

  Blaine flushed. “Yes, sir. I know it's not... what most warriors do. But me da... he kenned a priest. An' the priest taught me to read. For the sake of my soul, he said. Dunno if it helped.”

  Broderick grinned. “Anyhow. You were telling me about this book.”

  “I asked Chrissie to help me read it, an' she said it says how to besiege a town. With this thing.”

  Broderick's eyebrow shot up. He looked at the page Blaine was holding. On a scrap of parchment, clearly stolen from the monks, as it had been used for writing-practice, was a drawing.

  The drawing showed a complex structure of wood and string and levers.

  “What is it?” he asked, already getting a sense of what it was and feeling excited.

  “It was described by a feller called Julius Caesar, sir. Dunno who that was. Some clever bloke. Father Padriag said it was called a siege-engine. Sounds useful.”

  It did.

  Broderick ruffled the boy's hair. “Thank you, Blaine. You have been of great assistance.”

  Blaine flushed. “Thanks, sir. And thanks for saying I'd come along.”

  “I'm glad I did, Blaine MacNeil. I'm glad I did.”

  Because now he had a sense that perhaps his vengeance was within reach.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MEETING AND MISUNDERSTANDING

  MEETING AND MISUNDERSTANDING

  Amabel was walking in the courtyard. She came here whenever she was worried. There was a small garden around the side of the kitchen, a fragrant place where herbs grew in rows, lavender breathing out fragrance under the gentle sun. The place always soothed her soul and eased her thoughts. It was a place of tranquil, undemanding peace.

  Amabel sat on a stone bench and looked out over the garden, thinking.

  She knew she was in love with her husband. She was sure he could not love her back. She sighed and opened the little bag she carried, drawing out thread and needles – sewing always helped her to distract herself from cares. She was squinting at a piece of tapestry she was working on when she heard feet on gravel.

  “My lady?”

  Amabel stood up with such surprise that she almost stabbed herself with the bodkin. She laid aside her work, feeling flustered and nervous.

  “My lord?” Broderick wore a long dark-green cloak fastened with a silver brooch, long dark trousers and a dark tunic; he was gravely handsome. She felt her heart thump. Why was he here? For all her certain promise to herself that she would see him as a friend and not a lover, her body responded the moment she saw him.

  “My lady. Forgive my intrusion.” He looked at his hands. “I was in the colonnade and saw you sitting here. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “You did?” Amabel sat down on the bench again, reaching for her sewing. Her heart was thudding in her chest, and she tried to remain composed. What manner of thing could he have to say to her? He did not want her, it seemed, as a wife. So why seek out her company now? She looked up at him, squinting in the sunshine.

  He remained standing in front of her, looking serious.

  “Do sit, my lord,” Amabel smiled and waved him to the bench opposite. “There's no need to stand on such ceremony: it is permitted to sit.”

  Broderick looked a little hurt, almost as if he had expected her to invite him to sit beside her on the bench. She dismissed the thought as fanciful wishing. Why would he want to do that? She was his friend, not his lover. She was almost annoyed with him. He h
ad made matters clear to her last night! Had he not? Why was he confusing her so?

  He inclined his head and then he went to sit opposite and looked at her, dark eyes serious.

  “My lady…” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologize.”

  Amabel's brow shot up. Why would he do that? What was she supposed to think now? Even as she thought it, she noticed, suddenly, that something was different. His accent. He sounded more like her uncle, less like the roughened countrified lad who had come to them a few short weeks ago.

  “No, my lord! You have nothing for which to apologize. You have done me no wrong... of course, you haven't.” She laughed lightly and looked at her fabric, focused so that she would not have to see his face. If she had to look at him, she would not be able to feign such cool indifference.

  “My lady?” He sounded sad, and it was hard for her to resist the temptation to look at him, to relent just a little.

  “If you wished to tell me about the raid you will pursue in the next month, I am all ears,” she said distantly. “Will it be a long venture? Or a short operation?”

  She did not look up but she heard him clear his throat.

  “My lady... I had not planned to address the topic of the campaign. But thank you for your interest. It will be a shorter one. I envisage a fortnight at the longest. Assuming we can persuade their surrender.”

  “I am sure you will,” she laughed. “My uncle plans to send the whole guard?”

  Broderick blinked. “He had not said as much to me.”

  Amabel looked at him.

  “Well, I heard some talk of it from Fergall in the yard. Now he's the man you want on your side, my husband.”

  He was staring at her, fists clenched and a desperate look in his eye. She shook her head. Felt irritated. What is the matter with him. Is this not what he wants from me? To be a helpmate? A companion and ally in this revenge?

  “Fergall?” He wrinkled his brow. “He is the master-at-arms?”

  “Well, he's the armorer. An old soldier. Wise and experienced. Named for my grandfather, the last earl. He's been with us for a long while. And he knows more about our fighting capacity than any man in the castle. If you need any information, visit him first.”

  Broderick rested his elbows on his knees, thinking. “Thank you. I will. He's in the armory, yes?”

  “Yes.” Amabel came to the end of her linen thread and ended off the row, biting it off.

  He stood. Amabel assumed he was going to the armory and ignored him, but he did not walk back the way he had come.

  He lowered himself to the bench beside her and drew out a little dagger from his belt.

  “Here, my lady,” he said, passing her the knife. “Let me.”

  Amabel stared at him, thread poised at her lips. Then she chuckled. “I suppose the habits of the ladies' solar can be a little rough, occasionally.” She passed him the linen square, smiling ruefully. “I habitually bite off threads.” She felt a little embarrassed, like her ladylike dignity was dented by letting him see that.

  Broderick smiled. He took the tapestry-work from her and gently cut the thread that fixed the needle to it. He had a strangely wistful expression as he did it and Amabel wondered what he was thinking.

  He moved a little closer to her on the bench, and she felt her body wanting him. She wished he would sit just a little closer. Wished that he would kiss her or put his arm around her, his hand on her leg. Anything to show that he felt something. But he kept a careful distance between them.

  “What is it, my lord?” Her voice was squeaky and she hated that. She cleared her throat. “You wished to say something to me?”

  “Well, I should gift you this little knife. It can be most useful. And mayhap save your teeth hardship.”

  Amabel smiled. If it was a friendship offering, it was a good one.

  “Thank you, my lord.” She reached for the knife, and he moved to hold the blade, passing it to her with a careful deference. Amabel closed her eyes. Was she so repugnant that he would not even risk his fingers brushing her? She swallowed, fighting her desire to weep.

  “A pleasure.” He sat back, looking at her with those strangely-wistful eyes.

  Amabel sniffed.

  “You wished to say something?” she asked again.

  “I...” His fingers tapped his lips thoughtfully, and he looked like he marshaled thoughts, but then he sighed. “It was nothing, my lady. Truly. It was unfair of me to disturb your peace.” He stood. “I will leave you now.”

  Amabel looked up, heart aching. “My lord?” She could feel tears dangerously close and bit her lip – she would not cry.

  “Yes?”

  She stood to face him. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to lift her face to his and feel his mouth, hot and hard on hers. But she could not risk her dignity. She stood back. Instead, she laid a careful hand on his shoulder.

  “Stay safe, my lord? Raids are dangerous.”

  He looked into her eyes a little wildly. Then, gently, he reached out and stroked her chin. Stroked the pale red hair beside her face. He smiled.

  “Thank you, my lady. I shall.”

  He bowed and tenderly lifted her knuckles to his lips. She sighed to feel his breath, warm and wet, on her skin. Her whole body shivered with desire. She closed her eyes.

  “I shall see you at dinner?” Her voice was brittle. She did not want to cry. Not here before him.

  “I think so, my lady.” Broderick smiled. His dark eyes seemed to glow, regret and care mixed. She found it so hard to understand him! She was sure she never could.

  “Until dinnertime, then,” Amabel said with a little curtsey. She waited until she heard his footsteps retreating up the gravel path.

  Then she sat on the bench in the pale sunlight and wept.

  This was beyond her worst imaginings. She had always feared she would be wed to a man she found repugnant, but whom she would be forced to be a wife for, with all that entailed. She shuddered. That would be a dreadful fate. But this was just as bad. Loving a man, wanting a man, desiring him. And knowing that he could not feel the same way.

  She drew her handkerchief from its place under her kirtle. Blew her nose noisily into it. I cannot tell him how I feel. All I can do is be a friend. And his friendship will be enough for me... it will have to be.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  EVENING RIDE

  EVENING RIDE

  Broderick went to the armory. Fergall was busy mending swords. Broderick tried to talk over the hammering and the hiss of steam on metal, but after a few moments, he gave up.

  I'll come back tomorrow.

  He felt as if hornets were stinging him – the situation with Amabel made him miserable, and the more miserable, the more restless he felt. The more restless he was, the more he snapped at people and the more isolated he felt. It was a state that could only get worse.

  He went to the stables to go for a ride. When he got there, there were only a few horses remaining, and two sleepy stable hands. He remembered why – Duncan and Blaine and half the men-at-arms had gone out.

  Shite! He almost swore aloud, but the thought of the reaction of the stable boy stayed his tongue. Not that he would shock them. They probably swear worse than him, he thought ruefully. The castle manners had caught on fast, and he surprised himself with his genteel ways.

  “The men said when they would return?”

  “Lord?”

  “He want tae ken, when're they comin' back?” the other lad explained carefully.

  “Oh. They said late, milord.”

  “Oh.” Broderick bit his lip. He had hoped Duncan would be back soon. If anyone would know how to amend his situation, it would be him. Duncan might be younger, but he had a good heart and he was by far the more sensible of the two of them. At least, over the years and all the scrapes they had gotten into together, it had been Duncan who had made a plan to get them out of it each time.

  “Will milord be back before dark?”

  “Yes,” Broderi
ck said briefly. “Thanks.”

  The little boys stared at him as if they never heard the word before. Probably hadn't, Broderick thought sadly as he rode away. He decided to slip each of them a little something – a few coins, a slice of bread, anything really – when he returned, if they were still working. Those boys, for all their humble beginnings, could be tomorrow's knights.

  He dug his knees in and nudged his horse to a trot. Together, they rode out across the darkening landscape.

  The ride helped to clear his head. Clinging on and focusing on the ride, on the terrain, on avoiding the trees as they sped on into the woodlands, took his mind from his worries. He could smell the high, fresh air and his head slowly cleared, back slick with sweat.

  Eventually, he reached the end of the path. He considered going on ahead, but it was dangerous. He had never been in these woods, and he was not with Blaine or any of the local men who had been. He did not know the way. Forests were easy to get lost in.

  He turned around. He was riding along, slowing the pace, when he started to think about Amabel again. What did I do? He could not fathom it. He had failed her, he knew. But why did she find him so repulsive now?

  She didn't even want him to touch her. She went all stiff. Sat opposite. Hardly talked at all.

  He shook his head. He wished he could talk to Aisling about it. Aisling.

  As he remembered her, he remembered his revenge. He was here for that. And soon they would ride. They would take the fortress. Disarm them.

  The Bradley family would never raid again.

  He would take revenge.

  He rode back to the castle, feeling his head clearer than it had been all day.

  As he rode, he heard the sound of horses approaching. No. One horse. He tensed. A lone rider? In these woods?

  He listened. The rider, whoever it was, was riding a lighter horse. A hunting-stallion, perhaps, not one of the big Clydesdale horse the troops rode, or the massively-strong destriers of the knights.

  He waited. The rider came closer. As they came closer, he heard them talking.