Claiming the Highlander (22 page)

“I am departing.”

“Farewell,” Caelen said.

“Father, I ask you to cease with treating us as enemies.”

He paused. “I will do what I must for the clan even if that means I lose my daughter.”

Brenna angled her head in a noble angle, and in the most even tone said, “Farewell.” She swept away.

“While she is wed to you, you will care and protect her.” He fixed his stern gaze on Caelen.

“I shall.”

Grant parted without a glance. Caelen remained inside, not seeing him off and knowing guards would escort them to the land’s boundaries.

He went off to search for Brenna. Turning to the rear door, he found her squeezed in the corner.

“I tried to stay.” She pushed off from the wall. “Oh, I just wish the king gave him the position and let it be.”

“If anyone could convince the king, it would be you.”

Slowly, her eyes brightened. “I could.”

Caelen aimed a finger at her. “You will not petition the king.”

“Do you think I could convince the king to grant it to my father when others have failed? I have duties to see to and you do as well. Will you gather everyone?”

“Nay,”

“But you had said—”

“They do not need to know what happened. I am the leader of this clan. He can climb to apex of Ben Nevis and scream his tale. Highlanders will scoff at him and make him look a fool. If I ever share what happen, it will be my choice. Break your fast, and see to your duties.”

Brenna claimed her chair. She ripped the high table bread in half. With her dirk, she stabbed a hunk of cheese.

The top of Finian’s head shined from the thin coating of sweat. He kept on smacking his lips as if he had a foul taste in his mouth. Gilroy’s usually bushy beard was limp and his eyes were red.

No one spoke, mindfully taking bites of their bread and cheese. That pleased Caelen. Tavish approached the dais, his sword at his side.

“Do ye prepare for another raid?” Gilroy asked.

“I am departing frae the castle.”

“Wat do ye mean?” Finian craned his neck to look at Caelen. “My Lord?”

“Ask him about his betrayal,” Caelen said.

Tavish narrowed his eyes. He twisted his hand about the grip of his sword.

“Explain, you should not be ashamed of your actions,” Caelen said.

Gilroy shot his gaze between Caelen and a silent Tavish. Finian wore a confused expression. Tavish drew in a deep breath and began. Caelen sat back, watching the play of disbelief and anger spread across the two men’s faces.

Finian slammed his hand down on the table, setting bowls and platters to shake. “Ye ha’e disgraced this clan. Yer son is dead. Men die in battle.”

“He soldna ha’e gaen in the first place. Ye pushed him, Tavish.”

“Dairmad was just as skilled as he.” He pointed at Caelen.

“He mae ha’e had skill, but he lacked sharpness.” Finian shook his head.

“Lies—he died because he was runnin’.”

“I did not run.”

At Caelen’s low voice, a stillness fell over everyone. They were too afraid to move and halted at Caelen’s telling.

Years later, he could still smell the blood and the horses of that night. “Dairmad broke off from the group, failing to follow orders, as he did. I went to find him.” He felt the spongy ground beneath his feet. “He had killed an old man and boy. He was violating a lass. I pulled him off and from behind him, she came and buried his own blade in his back. I did nothing to stop it, aye, but that was what he deserved.”

“Lair!” Tavish drew his sword. The point aimed at Caelen.

He sprung to his feet. The chair slammed to the ground. Gilroy and Finian chased after Tavish.

“My son wod ne’er. Ne’er.” Spittle flew from the corners of his mouth.

Guards ran forward and disarmed Tavish. The man crumpled in their arms. He turned ashen, letting out dry heaves. “He sod ne’er gaen along. He wanted ta gae because ye were ‘ere frae MacLean’s. Diarmad told me, he had missed the night before and wodna again. He ne’er followed on ither raids.”

“Why did ye not tell us this before?”

“I did not want Tavish to know. He deserved a better memory of his son.”

Gilroy whispered to one of the guards. Caelen had no care what he said. He watched the guards drag the defeated man away.

Caelen stormed away to the demands of where he was going. He accelerated as he left the castle and halted at the tip of the isle. He was sure he knew what was right and could bring Dairmad along, keep him under control. Caelen had MacLean men—more boys than men—under his command.

He hadn’t kept him under control, though, and because of his pride, a family laid deep within the ground, Dairmad was dead, and Caelen had banished himself.

What would Father Murray say? Confession is good for the soul. All Caelen felt was exposed. He had borne than secret as his own hair shirt, propelling himself to be better, and with the truth revealed, he didn’t know the man he was.

“My lord, my lord,” Coinneach called out as he ran toward him. He pumped his arms so it looked as if he was punching himself in the head. He skidded to a stop. “I’m ready to train.”

Raemon and his men appeared, carrying training weapons and their targes.

“Grab a sword and a targe. I want to see your sword work. You—” he pointed to Coinneach, “—will be learning how to handle a sword.”

A child’s sword rested among the cluster of weapons. Caelen had one of these. His father had taken the other one and fought with him, even letting him win. When Caelen stabbed him, Father would groan and fall to the ground.

“This is your weapon.”

Coinneach clasped the grip. His round eyes grew. His mouth gaped.

“Let’s start.” Caelen held up his own. The child’s sword looked ridiculous in his hand. It was the length of his forearm, and his hand was too large for the handle.

“Me an’ ye?”

“You will train with the other boys soon enough.”

“Once I beat the commander,” he said, positive of his triumph.

Caelen sparred with the boy, correcting his stance and form. Coinneach turned out to be a dedicated student.

“You have some strength.”

“Carin’ fae the horses. Ye ha’e to be strong to do the chores too.”

“I want to improve that. Each day, I want you to run about the isle. You can start now.”

Red-faced, he took off. He didn’t put down his sword.

Caelen turned his attention to the men. He had trained men before, turning out skilled warriors. That had held importance for him. He expected these men to obey, but be able to think on their own. Recklessness was a trait he did not except in his men. Diarmaid taught him that.

Neacal appeared at the top of the hill and watched from a distance. He drifted closer, and then marched forward. “My lord, I ha’e cam to offer ye my assistance.”

Caelen waved the men to continue with their drills. “How?”

The thud of training sword lessened.

“The same as I did wit yer father.”

As Caelen stared at the man, his conviction sharpened his face and steeled his eyes. “I want these men faster, and not listening when they ought to be training.”

Coinneach came running from the castle. “My lord, ye’re needed.”

* * * *

The three days passed since the laird was buried, and Brenna now had a mountainous task. She had to replenish the stores. Carts had been arriving. The wine merchant departed very pleased and without any goods. The fishermen were soon to arrive, bearing their catch and bringing the smell. Men were out seeking more meat. Grain was arriving. The day was a whirlwind. There was much more that required her attention.

She was entering the number of eggs when the lairdess came in. “The stores are not as bare.”

She glanced about the dim room where half of the stores were still empty. “It should be replenished in another day or so.”

“Still more to do?” she asked, looking over Brenna’s shoulder to the household rolls.

“Aye, you can help if you wish.”

“If I wish.” She straightened.

Brenna looked up sharply.

“I can do anything I wish. This is still my home.” She flapped a hand about.

“Most certainly,” Brenna said in a small voice.

“My husband may be dead but I have run this household for more years than you have lived. It has thrived under my care. I do not need your pity.” She stormed out.

Brenna stared at the empty threshold. When she gathered her wits, she started after her. Coming up from the stores, she ran into Father Murray.

“We need you, my lady.”

“I must—”

“We cannot wait. You must come along.”

“If I must,” She said.

Father Murray, lost in thought, hurried a few steps ahead of her. His head was down and he milled over a thought. Gilroy rose to his feet as he rubbed in the ointment for his hands.

“We have some questions of ye, my lady.”

She slid into the chair. “Perhaps, I have some answers.”

“We hope you do. We truly hope.” Father Murray settled into his chair. “Caelen told us about the MacBeth marriage, do you know any more than what you shared?”

“Nay, my grandmother’s aunt, a Bisset, wed Chief MacBeth. They had seven children. That could be the bloodline. My mother was a Bisset.”

The two men hung their heads. “I’m surprised my father isn’t petitioning the king for a divorce. After all, he abandoned me.”

“Aye. However, you were children, so that argument is not as damning,” Father Murray explained.

“We were small children. The previous King had granted us a dispensation because of our age.”

“Good God, lass. Do not do their argument.”

“Perhaps, if I speak to the king…” She slid to the edge of her seat as if the king waited in another room.

“That is why I am here, my lady. I have been sent to report to the king, as you know.”

She bit the inside of her mouth. “What will you report?”

Father Murray shook his head. “I shouldn’t say, but I have seen a happy marriage.”

“I am sure there is more.”

His eyes softened. “That I cannot share with you. I shall be traveling to court soon, though, so this mess does not linger.”

“Ah, Stirling Castle, aye,” she asked.

Father Murray nodded.

“When will you start your journey?” She leaned forward.

“In a fortnight.”

“Then I shall prepare something for your journey. If that is all?” At their nods, she rose to her feet.

“That is kind of you, my lady.”

She returned to the stores to finish the task. She had traveled here so sure she could solve the problems before her. Instead, it appeared that everything was more muddled than she knew. All would be lost, but worse, she would lose her husband.

* * * *

There were certain duties a man of his station shouldn’t have to deal with. The first one was the castle and all the happenings that occurred within its thick, stone walls, and next was planning the meals. He listened as his mother listed all the chores Brenna had seen to.

Once again, he had been called to see his mother. This time, he had been in the Great Hall instead of training his men. He had been scanning the rolls when the summons came.

He entered Rowen’s chamber to find his mother pacing about the room. He leaned against the door to stay out of her way.

“She had your father’s chamber cleaned.” She spun toward him. “I had not entered there since…do you plan to move in?”

“Nay,” he replied.

“She is trying to push me out. I have nothing to do in my own home. I have become useless. She asked me if I wished to help her,
help her
as if I were a servant. Am I no longer wanted?” She buried her face in her hands.

Caelen held her close. She collapsed against his chest. Her face burrowed in the drape of his plaid. She shrugged off his hold and scrubbed her hands across her face.

“You should be in the laird’s chamber. I should go to a cottar. His belongings should be put away.” She swept away. She clung to the bed curtains. “I am no longer needed in my own home. He has left me.” She crumbled in a heap on the floor.

Caelen rushed to her side and gathered her close. He rocked her. He had nothing to say to ease her suffering. Her trembling body stabbed and weakened him. His skill with a claymore held no importance here. He could do nothing as she wailed. She clutched fistfuls of his leine as her tears dampened the linen.

She slid against him until she seemed to curl up into herself. She made gagging sounds as she struggled to control her breathing. She pulled away, drawing herself together. Red botches marred her skin. Her eyes were swollen. Her lips rattled. She pressed her hands over her heart as if she could push back her pain.

She climbed to her knees. Caelen hurried to his feet and helped her stand. She held his hand, and then drew it away.

With measured steps, she crossed to the bowl and splashed water upon her face. She remained quiet, as if he were not even in the chamber. She dried her face and stared out the window to the loch.

Caelen closed the door behind him. “Where is her ladyship?”

The servant jumped at his brisk tone. “Yer chamber, my lord.”

He stormed inside. The door slammed against the wall and closed on its own. She spun toward him, clutching her chest. Her face paled. From across the room, he saw the deep, brown depths of her eyes. He sucked in a few calming breathes, seeing her face wearing an expression of fear tore at him. She had the power to disarm him, weaken him. If not for her, he would have done some things much differently. He would have shown Laird Grant his power on the battlefield. He would have banished the Grants to lands unknown to him, but for her, he tried a different tactic. He wasn’t planning on changing that course, even now.

“Brenna. You have overstepped your bounds.”

Her arched brows lowered, pinching the smooth skin between them. “Meaning?”

“You have been seeing to the castle duties too well.”

She frowned. “I am confused.”

“You have taken over the castle duties and have left my mother with nothing to fill her days. She feels useless.”

“Oh, I only wished to ease them. I did not mean to hurt her.” She crumbled on to the stool. “What chores should I see to?”