Colmac had always done that, hadn’t he? Given in to Bróccín’s wishes? But then he had taken his role of big brother quite seriously. Not surprising considering Bróccín had been sickly in his youth and Colmac often watched over him. She imagined had their roles been reversed, he still would have been overprotective, though. It was just in his nature.
“Ye’ve a look in yer eyes I havenae seen in a verra long time, lassie,” Brighid murmured.
“Aye,” she acknowledged. “’Tis being in this castle close to Bróccín’s memory…our memories together.”
“’Tis some of that to be sure,” her aunt agreed.
She frowned. “’Tis all of that.”
“In part.”
Rona frowned at Brighid, unsure what she implied. “In all.”
“Aye, then,” her aunt relented on a sigh. “In all.”
Brighid repositioned Rona’s head and kept combing. Yet her aunt knew blasted well she had piqued her interest. “Pray tell, what is the other part then, Auntie?”
“Since ye asked,” Brighid replied fully aware she'd baited her niece, “the other brother.”
“I dinnae ken what ye speak of,” Rona fibbed.
“Aye, ye do, lassie,” her aunt said. “What ye seem to have forgotten, but my long memory doesnae, is that yer look now is one ye once wore.”
“Of course it is,” she said. “I loved Bróccín.”
“Aye,” Brighid agreed. “But never in the same way ye love the other one.”
“Auntie!” She spun on Brighid with wide eyes. “How can ye speak such of me? How can ye speak such of the dead?”
“I speak just fine of the dead,” Brighid cut back. “And speak nothing less than the truth about ye.” Before she could reply, her aunt went on. “I remember well the way ye gazed at the older brother there for a time. Yer heart was in yer eyes. Yer cheeks rosy with the same blush ye have now every time he crossed yer path.”
“Aye, there was a time I fancied him some,” she admitted. “But ‘twas Bróccín who held my heart in the end. My love for him was verra true.”
“I didnae say it wasnae.” Brighid set aside the comb, urged Rona to stand then looked her over, adjusting her MacLomain plaid around her dress. “Ye loved yer Bróccín well and true but ‘twas a different sort of love than what ye felt for Colmac.” Her gaze rose to Rona’s face. “Had he not loved his brother so much and turned his eye, things might have gone verra differently indeed.”
What was she talking about? Impossible. It could not be.
Rona stepped away and shook her head. “Ye dinnae know of what ye speak, Auntie. Ye cannae possibly be implying that Colmac felt anything for me beyond friendship.” She widened her eyes. “And even that was questionable in the end. He wanted nothing to do with me! Then he left without a backward glance.” She shook her head, recalling with crushing clarity the moment she learned he was gone. “He never even said goodbye.”
“Aye, and mayhap ye should look at that again,” Brighid said. “Mayhap ye should look at everything with fresh eyes.” She gestured at the pine tapestry Rona had weaved. “Because there was certainly something in his eyes when I presented that to him.”
“Speaking of which, ye didnae have permission to do that.”
“But ‘twas for him.”
“’Twas for the castle.”
“Dinnae fool yerself, lass.” Brighid shook her head. “Ye always meant to give that to Colmac to bring him comfort.”
“Aye, but still, ‘twas not yer place.”
“Nay, its place is where it hangs.” Brighid nodded firmly. “If ye had seen the way Colmac looked at it ye would ken.” She snorted. “Then again, ye likely wouldnae have seen what was right in front of yer face anyway.”
“I see things just fine.” Or did she? Either way, now certainly wasn’t the time to dwell upon it. Yet she could tell by the stubborn determination in her aunt’s eyes the best way around this conversation was to redirect it. “I see things better than ye, I might add. Much better when it comes to knowing when one person fancies another.”
“Do ye then?” Brighid planted her fists on her hips and cocked her head. “What precisely have ye seen that makes ye such an expert?”
“I think mayhap ye should ask Aaron that question.” She smirked. “’Tis safe to say ye two are in far more denial than I ever could be.”
“Well, I…I,” Brighid stuttered, her face red against her white streaked brown hair.
“I...I, what?” Rona cocked a brow. “Love Aaron and just dinnae know how to tell him?” She shrugged. “I’ll tell ye how, just come out with it already!”
“By the bloody rood, ye’ve a tongue on ye, lassie!” Brighid ushered her out the door. “And an imagination that could get ye in trouble.”
“’Tis an imagination that sees ye happy, Auntie,” Rona persisted. They started down the hall. “I see the way ye’ve looked at each other all these long years, but ye’re both too stubborn and pig-headed to take what’s right in front of ye.”
“Ye need food,” Brighid stated bluntly. Chin up, seemingly of the mind to ignore the obvious, she nodded once. “Ye need nourishment to clear yer head. ‘Twill do away with yer fantasies.”
“Yet ye werenae there with food when I awoke earlier,” she pointed out. “Where were ye anyway? ‘Twas awkward waking up to a man in my chamber.”
“’Tis his chamber,” Brighid reminded.
Oh, she knew that all too well. She could still smell Colmac's spicy masculine scent all around her. As if she had not been beneath his blanket but wrapped up in his arms. Against his hard body. Shocked by the direction of her thoughts, she barely caught what her aunt said.
“Colmac was determined to watch over ye.” Brighid shrugged, her tone a wee bit too sly and definitely not truthful. “So I rested as ye requested.”
They made their way down the barren hallway. Naught but a threadbare tapestry or two hung about.
“I did request ye rest,” Rona conceded. “But that would not normally sway ye when ye’re set in yer ways.” She narrowed her eyes at her aunt. “What really happened? Because ye never would have left my bedside.”
“I trusted Laird Colmac to watch over ye,” Brighid finally relented, still lying through her teeth about something. “And I really was verra tired.” Her brows flew up. She fluttered her fingers over her chest as if still caught in the trauma of battle. “The fighting was quite terrifying!”
“Colmac isnae laird,” she reminded. “And enough of this. Tell me the truth. Why did ye really leave?” When her aunt remained silent, reluctant, Rona urged her on. “Just tell me already!”
“All right, all right.” Brighid shrugged a nonchalant shoulder. “I may have suffered a wee bit from yer potion.”
“My potion?”
“Aye, ye know.” She nudged Rona’s shoulder and whispered, “The one concocted by the witch.” Shoulders back, she nodded once, clearly the heroine in her own story. “I took a sip to make sure ‘twas safe for ye.” Her eyes rounded. “The next thing I knew, I was swept off my feet then sleeping soundly.”
Rona stopped and stared at Brighid, truly curious. “Swept off yer feet by whom?”
“It doesnae matter now.” Her aunt waved it away. “What matters is that I was safely tucked in bed until the potion wore off.” She nodded again and relented. “I must admit ‘twas a good rest.”
“I imagine ‘twas,” Rona said. “Mistress Mórag has a way with herbs.” She tilted her head in question, anxious to get to the root of things. “And it verra much matters who swept ye up when ye…what? Swooned?”
“I grew sleepy.”
Liar. The truth of it was in Brighid's less-than-direct gaze. “Och, nay, ye swooned!”
Brighid looked anywhere but at her. “I might have teetered a wee bit.”
“Teetered?” Aaron admonished appearing at the threshold of a nearby door. “Ye flat out fell, lass. Lucky for ye, I am as sprite as ever in my old age and got to ye in time.”
He cut a fine sight in his MacLomain colors, his typically unruly hair combed back neatly. In fact, if Rona did not know better, she would say he and Brighid looked a smidge more done up than usual. But then, that made sense considering what had happened.
Could it be romance was finally getting around to blossoming properly?
“Ah, so ye were my aunt’s dashing hero!” She gave her aunt a cheeky grin and winked. “Thank goodness Aaron was there and carried ye off to bed so readily.”
“I did do that.” Aaron puffed up some before he sensed more to their exchange and narrowed his eyes. “Where I then left her of course.”
“After a time,” came a soft, knowing voice from ahead. “But ‘twas good of ye to sit by her bedside and watch over her as ye did.”
Rona kept her expression well-schooled when Mórag appeared out of a dark room ahead. She had always been a slight woman, but her proud disposition once made her seem taller. Now it was clear that illness and the loss of so many had taken its toll. While still beautiful, her blonde locks were prematurely white and her fragile bones near skeletal on her sunken frame.
“Mistress Mórag, ‘tis so nice to see ye again.” Rona curtsied. “Thank ye for yer hospitality and for yer concoction. It verra much helped.”
Upon the death of Laird Keenan MacLauchlin’s mother, his aunt Mórag rose in station and became the castle’s matriarch. Until such time, of course, that Colmac married or Keenan returned and took a wife.
“Welcome, Rona.” Mórag’s steady, offsetting gaze remained on her. “My son is glad to see ye again.”
Not her, then? Just Colmac? Mórag had always been different. Haughty because she was the former chieftain’s sister but also a touch withdrawn. Now she just seemed haunted. Not entirely present. As if she still stood at death’s door, her last breath but a moment away.
“I am glad to see Colmac as well.” Rona lowered her head in respect. “And so verra sorry for the loss of yer good husband and my dear friend and betrothed, Bróccín.”
“Aye,” Mórag whispered, her eyes suddenly vacant where moments ago they were lit with wisdom. “He misses ye, lass.” Her gaze drifted. “They missed ye something fierce.” She blinked several times then gestured down the hall. “Go, be amongst my people. For the Hogmanay comes soon and with it, a final farewell.”
Then, just like that, she vanished back into her chamber.
Rona, Brighid, and Aaron glanced at each other and frowned before Aaron ushered them along.
“What did she mean by that?” she whispered to Brighid. They started down a wide stone spiral staircase rimmed on one side with arrow slit windows. “Did it not sound as if she means to harm herself?”
“It didnae sound promising.” Her aunt cast a look over her shoulder at Aaron. “What think ye? Should we tell the laird?”
Rona sighed and shook her head rather than correct her aunt about Colmac’s status yet again.
“I think we should mind our own business for now,” Aaron replied. “Fear naught. Colmac keeps a close eye on his ma.”
“Does he then?” Rona asked.
“Aye.” Aaron nodded, clearly impressed. “He’s a good lad seeing not just to his ma’s needs but the clan’s. Trying to return things to normal when ‘tis clear he’s suffered as much as the lot of ‘em.”
He truly had. She’d seen it on his face when they spoke earlier. She got the feeling he rarely confided in anyone, so she was glad he felt comfortable enough to share what he had been through. The awful road he’d been down since the illness. She had wanted to comfort him. Wrap her arms around him. But she saw the hesitation in his eyes. His need to keep his distance even as he sought the friendship that was once theirs.
Surely, only ever friendship, right? He had never expressed any deeper feelings.
Except, that is, for what she had glimpsed that one time years ago.
Yet based on his behavior afterward, she assumed it must have been her youthful and very hopeful heart at work. The same heart that sped up now at the thought it might not have been her imagination that night.
Had he truly gazed at her as she swore he had? Dare she hope?
Naturally, guilt swiftly followed. How could she entertain such thoughts while home to say goodbye to her beloved? To the man, she had intended to marry? He’d been gone a year now but still.
“Aye, Colmac's good to his ma and is a true hero,” Brighid gushed, her eyes wide with excitement. She issued a mock sword thrust. “Ye should have seen the way he cut down the man who pulled ye off yer horse, Rona. ‘Twas a mighty sight!” She glanced at Aaron. “Tell her then. Tell her how the Devil himself possessed Colmac when our fair lass was in trouble!”
“Aye, the berserker spirit possessed him good and true.” Aaron nodded. “’Tis rare to see a lad grow so passionate in battle.”
“’Twas ragin’ hatred mixed with stark fear,” Brighid added her eyes wider still as she linked arms with Rona.
“Why would he fear?” She frowned. “He’s a warrior, is he not?”
“Fear for ye, I’d imagine,” Brighid said.
“Aye,” Aaron agreed. “Fear that he was going to lose ye, lass.”
She nodded, understanding that. “’Tis understandable as he’s lost many.”
“Aye, but not ye, lass.” Aaron's tone grew somber. “Something tells me ye would have been an especially hard loss for him indeed.”
“Aye.” Brighid winked at her, clearly reverting back to their earlier conversation. “As I said, ‘twas a different kind of love.”
But how could that be? It was not. Simple as that. They were mistaken. The two of them were obviously caught up in their own romantic inclinations toward one another, therefore, seeing things that were not there.
She offered no response as they made their way into the great hall. Much like the hallway upstairs, it spoke to the current state of the clan. Most clans, actually. Except for her MacLomains. They always sustained even during the toughest of times. Some said magic must surely be afoot, but she’d never seen such evidence. They were just a strong unit well-fortified and soldiered.
The poor MacLauchlin’s, however, were never so favored by Fate, seen clearly in the faded nautical tapestries and scarce furnishings. Yet still, the people were kind and the hall decorated for the holiday with spruce and worn ribbons. A fire crackled invitingly on a hearth she had sat in front of many times while laughing and chatting with Colmac and Bróccín.
She greeted the Sinclairs and the men who had traveled with her, making sure all was well then joined the MacLauchlins. Her breath caught at the sight of Colmac in his plaid. He truly was a handsome man, towering over her in a way that made her feel safe and protected. His gaze lingered on her, and her heart pounded. While Bróccín had always looked at her with adoration, Colmac’s gaze had eventually grown cold and turned from her.
Not right now, though.
Not nearly.
Rather she spied masculine interest that caught her off guard.
Or at least she thought she did before it was gone.
She must be seeing things. Blasted all, she had let her kin get inside her head. Or so she surmised until Colmac stepped close and murmured in her ear.
Chapter 4
“We will see where things lead, lass.”
Two things occurred to Colmac while murmuring in Rona’s ear. His words sounded misleading, and his proximity was far too close. His breath fanned her delicate neck, and he could smell her sweet scent. Feel the heat of her body. Her green, woolen dress might be simple, but she looked stunning. Tempting. Like in her youth, the firelight ignited both her silky hair and thickly lashed eyes.
When he’d imagined Rona walking into the MacLauchlin great hall once again, she had stepped into his brother’s arms. Now no embrace awaited her. It saddened him to know his brother was lost to her. That the two of them shared this reunion under such circumstances.
Yet he was conflicted.
Though sad for Rona and his brother, he felt more alive
than he had in a very long time. How many times had he glanced at the door, hoping she would walk through it? How often had he envisioned her sitting beside him in front of this very hearth catching up on old times? Laughing like they once did?
Mayhap even rediscovering the love lost to them?
Rona stilled, and her startled eyes met his as she responded to what he had murmured in her ear. “Where things lead?”
Did he imagine a flicker of hope in her gaze? A longing to match his?
“After we eat if ye like.” Though loathe to step away from her, he pulled out her chair at the head table then gestured at a door that led to a small hallway. “I will take ye to visit Bróccín’s grave so ye can pay yer respects and then we shall see if he left something in the hideaway.”
“Of course that is what ye meant,” she murmured while she sat. “Aye, I would like that verra much.”
He was about to pull out a chair for Brighid as well, but Aaron beat him to it. So Colmac sat at the head of the table with Rona to his right and set to eating. They enjoyed oatcakes for now, but the evening’s fare would be more substantial. Roasted boar, vegetable stew, biscuit bread, and haggis. Not only in honor of the holiday but because of Rona's arrival. As it were, she should have married his kin, strengthening the alliance between their clans.
While the MacLomains would stand by their side regardless, Rona and Bróccín’s nuptials would have benefitted the MacLauchlins. She came with a substantial dowry, and the good Lord knew they could use it.
“Rona, lass, ‘tis bloody good to see ye!”
“Stuart!” Rona stood and embraced his first-in-command and closest friend when he joined them. “I thought ye must be off fighting still!”
“Nay, more and more return every day.” Stuart assisted Rona in sitting again then sat across from her, admiring her as readily as every other lad in the hall. “Ye are as bonnie as ever, lass. Truly.” He nodded, solemn. “I am sorry for the loss of yer betrothed. He was a good man.”
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