“He’s not the laird,” Rona said hoarsely, reminding Brighid of what Colmac had said. He was likely in charge in the laird's absence, though. So despite what Rona said he would remain chieftain to Brighid's way of thinking.
Her aunt cocked her head. “Who’s not the laird?”
“Colmac,” she whispered, exasperated not to mention parched.
Her aunt waved away the details. “He might as well be with his kin off to war.”
“Kin that is actually laird to this castle,” Aaron reminded. “So ye may want to say things straight lest they think ye daft.”
Like an uncle to her, Aaron had watched over Rona all these years just like Brighid.
“Did ye just call me daft?” Her aunt’s hazel eyes widened at Aaron. “’Tis not daft to have a wee bit o’ foresight!”
“Och, the man saves our lass’s life, and ye put his kin in the ground already when ye call him laird!” Aaron shook his head, baffled. His brows shot up so high his forehead creased several times over. “’Tis poor that!”
Colmac had saved her?
“Please,” she rasped, eyeing the cup he had set down. While she wanted water, whatever that was would do. “So thirsty.”
Aaron sniffed it and grimaced. “’Tis foul smelling.”
Brighid snagged it from him and did the same. “Och, what did the witch concoct then?”
“Dinnae speak that way of Mistress Mórag,” Rona whispered. “She has a way with the herbs, and well ye know it.” She gestured weakly at it. “Please, Auntie. I need some.”
It just so happened, her aunt was not referring to the dark arts of witchcraft but Mórag’s unfortunate disposition. Mother to Bróccín and Colmac, she was once a stern, sharp-tongued woman. From what she had heard, though, that changed after sickness swept through the clan. Not only did it take her husband and youngest son but Mórag in a way too. She’d been left frail and weak, never leaving the castle.
Brighid sniffed the concoction again, took a small sip and flinched. “’Tis bloody awful!”
“Och, lass,” Aaron exclaimed. “’Tis meant for healing, not sampling!”
Evidently having faith enough in Mórag, he took it back and carefully tilted it to Rona’s lips. As forewarned, it tasted awful, but she managed several bitter swallows before exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she rested her head back.
“Is my horse all right?” she said. “And the men who were traveling with us?’
“Aye, lassie, everyone is just fine,” Brighid assured. “Now ‘tis time to rest.” She stroked Rona’s hair, soothing her. “I will stay close lest ye need me, aye?”
“Nay, ye should rest,” she murmured before everything faded away once more. When next she awoke, dim daylight filtered through the arrow-slit windows and her kin were gone.
Yet she was not alone.
Arms crossed over his chest, Colmac sat in the corner sound asleep. She had no recollection of him entering. Had he watched her sleep? Embarrassment warmed her cheeks at the thought.
Her gaze drifted to the small tapestry of a mighty pine tree hanging across from him. She’d begun weaving it after Bróccín died as a means to work through her grief. Located behind this very castle, she had sat beneath that tree many times with Bróccín and Colmac. Why was it hanging there, though? Obviously, someone took it out of her satchel and hung it.
Beyond a dull throb in her head, she felt considerably better but still thirsty. Thankfully, a cool glass of water sat on the bedside table…along with something else. Her name was written on a scroll tied with a festive red ribbon accentuated with a sprig of green holly.
Mayhap it was from Brighid telling her all was well and to join them in the great hall to break her fast? Unlikely. Her aunt would insist on walking her down there. She looked at Colmac. Mayhap it was from him then? She shook her head. Why would he leave her a letter when he could speak to her upon waking?
Fortunately, she, Colmac and Bróccín had all learned to read and write at MacLomain Castle in their youth. A privilege that few enjoyed. Done speculating, and beyond curious, she drank the water then carefully unraveled the scroll, shocked by what she discovered.
“Bróccín?” she whispered.
Without question, it was his handwriting.
She glanced at Colmac again. Had he left this for her? He must have. Bróccín had to have asked him to give it to her.
She read, and tears welled.
My Dearest Lass,
I cannae tell ye how much I longed to see yer bonny face again. To watch the sunlight ignite yer locks to pure fire as ye picked thistle. To feel the warmth of yer hand in mine. I dinnae think a lad could be any luckier than I was to have ye…To have known ye. Do ye remember the first time we met? What I showed ye? Might I show ye again?
Yers,
Bróccín
She wiped away a tear. Where was the rest of the message? Why did he leave off like that? She frowned and glanced at Colmac only to find his steady gaze on her.
“I dinnae ken,” she managed, her voice wobbly. “Did ye leave this?”
Surely, he must have. Bróccín certainly had not.
“Nay.” His words chilled her to the bone because he clearly spoke the truth. “And since yer kin left, nobody has been in this chamber but me.”
Chapter 2
“Who is it from?” Colmac was not only alarmed by the letter’s mysterious appearance—more specifically that someone had snuck in here without him being aware—but by the tears in Rona’s eyes. Though tempted to close the distance, he had long trained himself not to. “Tell me, lass.”
Rona’s gaze dropped to the letter, lingered then slowly rose to him again. It had been nearly seven winters since last he saw her, and she still stopped his poor heart with her beauty. Rich auburn hair fell in soft curls around her shoulders, and her soulful eyes were the color of amber sparkling in the sun. With delicate features and soft ivory skin that seemed aglow, her loveliness was unparalleled.
“’Tis from Bróccín.” Her slightly arched brows drew together. “But surely ye knew that.” She sat forward, insistent. “Surely, ye left this for me to find.”
Colmac shook his head and ended up closing the distance. He gestured at the letter. “Might I see it?”
“Aye.” She handed it over.
He read it and shook his head again. It was most certainly his brother’s handwriting. But when had he written such? And what, as the letter indicated, did he want to show her again?
“I will speak with ma.” Troubled, he handed it back to her. “Mayhap she kens how it got here.”
She must. There was no other explanation.
“Please do.” Rona rolled the scroll carefully and retied it. “Mayhap ye recognize the ribbon?”
“Nay.” He frowned, perplexed. “I havenae seen it before.”
“’Tis lovely,” she whispered, fingering it. She set aside the scroll and met his eyes.
Just like that, he was frozen in time again. Whisked back to the day his brother spoke about. The day they first met. After all, he had been there too.
“Do ye remember it then?” he said. “The day ye first met us?”
“Aye.” A soft smile curled her mouth. “I was but a bairn and ye saved me from a small boar. Bróccín lobbed it with many a rock but ‘twas ye that downed the foul beastie with several arrows.”
He remembered it well. She had been eleven winters old exploring the backside of the castle and came across the animal. Fortunately for her, he and Bróccín had been following the pretty lass visiting from MacLomain Castle. One way or another, they never stopped following her over the years until the day his brother told him he had fallen in love with her.
“I was thankful then for yer valor,” she went on. “And I am thankful now.” Her eyes never left his. “Thank ye for saving me when we were attacked.” She touched the back of her head, glanced at the window then looked at him again. “However long ago that was.”
“’Twas over a day ago.” He shook his head.
“’Tis a verra dangerous time to be traveling this way with so few men.”
Something he had already spoken with Aaron about at length. Yet the man was as stubborn as Rona, determined to see her home for Hogmanay. In memory of the vows she would have taken with Bróccín, she wished to attend MacLomain Castle’s yearly ritual of handfasting then marrying before midnight. Though typically handfasting meant being betrothed for a year and a day, the MacLomains had made it a more official exchange of vows years ago.
“What happened when we were attacked?” She peeked under the blanket at her shift, and a blush stained her cheeks. “And why did ye take off my dress when Aunt Brighid should have?”
“She did.” He had never felt such fear. People often did not wake from Rona’s sort of injury. “But help was needed and I wouldnae have ye jostled about too much with yer head injured.”
“I see,” she murmured.
While one might argue Aaron could have helped, in truth that would have been equally inappropriate. More familiar with battle wounds, best that Colmac assisted.
“I dinnae recall any of it,” she said. “What happened? How were ye there when we were attacked?”
“’Twas not all that far from the castle.” He tried to keep his gaze off the satiny flesh of her shoulder peeking through the shift. “Our scouts alerted us to yer presence, and we came straight away. There werenae many attacking ye but they were vicious enough.”
“Aye.” Her grateful eyes lingered on his face. “’Twould have been a bad outcome indeed had ye not come.”
He clenched his fists, not doubting that for a moment. All he could see was the miscreant with his blade to her throat. His leer while he dragged her backward.
“Ye werenae handled well, lass,” he said softly. “Are ye hurt anywhere else but yer head?”
“I dinnae think so.” Rona removed the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She rolled her shoulders and wiggled her toes, testing everything out. “Nay, all is well enough.”
He knew he should turn around and give her privacy, but he was once again frozen in place by the sight of her pebbled nipples through her shift. At the obvious contours of her well-rounded breasts against the material. When he had helped Brighid take off her dress, he’d seen nothing but his own fear at her injury.
Now, however, he saw clearly what he had missed.
“Ye should,” he stuttered before he managed to rip his gaze away. He cleared his throat and finally had the decency to turn around. “Ye should get beneath the blankets again, lass. I will send yer aunt to assist ye. Though ‘tis likely cold now, I had a basin of water brought up and yer belongings are in the corner.”
“I wasnae thinking,” Rona murmured, covering herself again by the sound of it. “I suppose I figured ye had already seen me so…och, ‘twas not right thinking that. All is well now.”
“’Tis fine, lass,” he assured, turning back. “By the looks of the sky ‘tis late morn, so I imagine they have cooked a thing or two below stairs. Would ye like something to eat?”
“Aye, but if ‘tis just the same I would like to eat in the great hall,” she replied. “Mayhap pay my respects to yer ma?”
“She would like that.” In truth, his mother seemed an empty shell of late. Adrift. So it was impossible to know if she desired to see anyone. “I will let her know ye’re asking after her.”
Rona nodded, peering at him. It seemed she wanted to say something more but was unsure.
“What is it, lass?”
She hesitated a moment longer. “I just wanted to say how sorry I am for yer loss. Not just yer clan members but yer kin…yer da and Bróccín.”
He nodded in thanks. While he meant to let the matter rest rather than dwell in misery, he found himself wanting to speak of it with her. Mayhap because she knew his kin so well and had loved his brother as much as him. Or perhaps simply because she had once been a close friend. Someone he spent countless hours talking to and confiding in.
“I wish I had been here to say goodbye.” He leaned against the wall and saw nothing but the past. “But as has been the case for many years, I was off fighting one skirmish or another against the bloody Sassenach.” He would never forget the scout who bore the bad news. “I had sustained an injury, so my laird insisted I return to the castle and be with ma. To watch over our clan until his return.”
“It must have been terrible,” she said softly. “Returning to so much loss.”
“It wasnae easy,” he confessed, sharing his thoughts with someone for the first time. He’d had to be strong for his ma and clan, leading them as his laird would have wanted him to. “But we MacLauchlins have been through worse.”
One way or another, his clan had not been very lucky over the centuries. In fact, at one point, when housing young King Robert the Bruce, they were ruthlessly attacked and nearly wiped out. The few who survived took sanctuary with the MacLomains and as the years wore on, eventually rebuilt. Now, rather than being further inland from their allies, they were across Loch Fynn and closer to the sea.
“Aye, yer clan has seen its fair share of hardship.” Rona glanced at his leg. “I am sorry ye were injured too.” Thankfulness lit her eyes. “But verra happy ye survived.”
For the first time in far too long, he was too.
If only for the chance to see her again.
“’Twas a blade cut to the calf.” Again he shared something he rarely spoke of. “It didnae heal right.”
Pain for him churned in her gaze. “Does it hurt ye now?”
“Nay, not overly much.” He shook his head. “’Tis just a minor hindrance that affects my gait.”
“What of when ye battle?”
“I havenae had to battle much.” He was not about to tell her it tended to seize up upon overexertion and hurt quite badly. “But when I fought to save ye, it served me just fine.”
In pain or not, he could have been down a few limbs and still found a way to slay any who dared harm her.
“Had I the gift of foresight, I never would have traveled at such a time and put ye in harm's way.” A frown tugged at her mouth. “For that matter, I was foolish to have asked my kin to bring me all this way, to begin with.” She shook her head. “’Twas verra foolish. I see that now.”
It was foolish, but he was never more grateful.
“Ye’re here now and safe,” he replied. “That is all that matters, lass.”
“Aye.” She looked to the window, her gaze a little lost. “Might I confess something, though?”
“Aye, anything.”
“I didnae want to be here,” she murmured. “I dreaded ever stepping foot in this castle again.”
“I ken, lass.” He truly did. “I felt the same way when I returned.”
“I imagine ye did.” Her sad gaze went to him. “Yet I think my homecoming is far better than yers. At least I’ve ye to greet me not the misery of a castle freshly haunted by loss.”
It had undoubtedly been that. Laughter no longer rang through the halls. Wee bairns no longer played. He had left one clan and returned to another. Things had gradually improved over the past year as more clansmen returned from battle, but it would take time to get back to what they once were.
As he had many times while sitting by her bedside last night, he looked to what now hung in his chamber. “Thank ye for the tapestry, lass. ‘Tis verra bonny…and comforting.”
More comforting than she would ever know. For he had thought of that tree many times when away warring. The good times he’d shared with his brother under it but more so those moments with her. How many times had he wanted to touch her cheek? Press his lips to hers? Too often to count.
But alas, it was not to be.
He offered her a small smile. “We had many a fond memory beneath that tree, aye?”
“Aye, we did.” She looked at it with as much sentiment. “I had hoped it would someday hang in this castle and bring ye good memories.” Curiosity lit her eyes. “Might I ask who hung it?”
“Yer aunt.” He suspected, however, Brighid had been presumptuous in the hanging of it. “Did ye want it hung there? Or mayhap somewhere else in the castle?”
“Nay.” Her gaze returned to him. “I like it hung here, and I think Bróccín would have as well. The tree was a place for all three of us, aye?”
“Aye,” he murmured, glad she felt that way.
“Might I see Bróccín's grave whilst I am here?” she said so softly he barely caught it. But then, by the way she gripped the bedding, she had braced herself for the asking.
“Of course.” He was tempted to go to her, soothe her, but held back out of habit. “’Tis in back of the castle.”
“Is it then?” she said, surprised.
“Aye, where Bróccín requested it be,” he said. “Verra close to where ye first met.”
“Oh,” she whispered, her gaze misty again. “He did cherish that area.”
“Aye.”
Just like Colmac did.
He recalled the many times Bróccín spoke of it. The love in his eyes. While it might have been torture for Colmac, she and his brother would have had a good life together. Bróccín would’ve doted on her endlessly. Such was clear by the way he’d left her gifts in their secret hideaway every time she visited.
As if his brother reached out to him from the grave, he realized that was precisely what Bróccín referred to in his letter. “’Twas the hideaway in the side of the castle. That must be what he is talking about.”
“Och, our hideaway! How could I have forgotten?” Her brows swept up. “Do ye think he hid something in there for me?”
He nodded, positive of it. Their hideaway was behind a rock in the castle’s foundation. He and his brother had exchanged many secret missives in it when bairns. What’s more? Rona, their fast friend from the start, was indeed shown the location the same day they met her.
Chapter 3
Hours later, having bathed and dressed, Rona sat while Brighid combed her hair. Since Colmac had left, her thoughts had been on him and Bróccín. On their many childhood memories together. Especially that first day. She knew Colmac had been wary of her being informed of their hideaway spot, but in the end, relented to appease his brother.
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