Highland Brides 04 - Lion Heart (22 page)

The dog buried its wet nose in his ear. The shock of it startled him. The animal seemed to grin down at him, satisfied with his reaction.

“Willful hound!”

Elizabet stretched atop him, turning a beautiful smile on her belligerent dog. “What are you doing to Broc, silly dog?” she asked as though she expected an answer and then yawned prettily.

“She’s competing for your attention,” Broc said, grinning.

Elizabet reached up to kiss him sweetly upon the lips and his heart swelled with joy over the gesture.

Broc dumped her at his side and rolled atop her, caressing her brow, admiring the silky perfection of her face. She closed her eyes and her lashes lay thick upon her cheeks. He bent to kiss her reverently upon the lips, hardly believing the completeness he felt in her arms.

“Kiss me again,” she demanded sleepily, wrapping her arms about his neck.

Broc didn’t need to be asked twice.

With a growl of pleasure, he pressed his mouth to hers, and she responded by entwining her legs around his.

He made love to her then with all his heart and soul, knowing that far too soon it would be time for him to go.

“I
have something to show you,” Broc said, leading Elizabet along the moorland. It was early yet and he knew Piers and his men would be put off the search until the fire was well under control and they could better determined how it had begun. It bought him a small reprieve, and where he was taking her, there wasn’t much chance they would be discovered anyway.

He wanted to share something with Elizabet that he had never shared with another human being—not even his cousin Cameron.

Very near where he had buried his dog Merry, he had erected a cairn for his family—and upon it he had carved their names, marked with the year they had perished. Though their bones rested leagues away, this was his private monument to a life he had abandoned and a people whose line would perish with his own death… unless he brought into the world a son.

In this craggy country, there were countless cairns dotting the landscape, but most had not been built by the hands of seven-year old boy.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Harpy barked at their heels.

“A sacred place,” he said simply.

They reached the spot long before the noon day sun rose into the sky and the shadows cast along the hillside were long and thin. They came to stand beside the cairn, with its stones heaped one upon the other with loving care. Broc had taken great care not to rob the cairns of others, for to desecrate the tombs of the dead could never bode well for the living.

“What it is?” Elizabet asked.

For a moment, Broc simply stood there, unsure where to begin or why he had even brought her to this place to begin with. In some small way, this was much the same as bringing her home to meet his mother… except that his mother no longer had eyes to see or arms to embrace her.

“I built it when I was a wee lad,” he said. “I’ve come to think of it as the tomb of my fathers, but it lies empty.” He looked at her meaningfully. “I am the last of my tribe.”

“But I thought…”

He shook his head. “The MacKinnons took me in when I was but a boy, though in truth we share a bloodline that hails from the first King of Scotia.”

Her expression was one of marvel. “Good lord, you built this? How long did it take you?”

“Many years, every moment I could steal away from my chores.”

“And you never told anyone?”

Broc shook his head. “What’s one more cairn among so many.”

“But this one you built with the sweat off your back. Tell me … what is written there on the stone?”

Broc stepped forward to the big stone blocking the entrance, pleased to see that it remained undisturbed. “That is, Elsa, the name of my mother, and Fiona, the name of my sister. And that one,” he said, running his fingers reverently over the old carvings, “is the name of my da. He was called Kenneth after the first son of Alpin.”

Elizabet stretched her fingers over the deep etchings… marks that had taken Broc years to engrave. With a stone in hand, he had cut these names over long hours, shaping them with thoughts of vengeance until the faces of his family had long faded from his memory.

“And what of this?” she asked. “What does this say?”

Broc swallowed, unprepared for the assault of emotion he felt simply by being in this place—the deluge of feeling he had denied from the day he’d first wielded his father’s sword—the sword he still carried in his scabbard.

“Cnuic `is uillt `is Ailpeinich”

She peered up at him curiously. “What does it mean?”

“Hills and streams and MacAlpin—that is to say, not one existed without the other, and it is the MacAlpin blood that runs through the veins of all these hill tribes… someday mayhap through the veins of my sons.”

She couldn’t know how much this moment meant to him. “I never though to bring anyone here,” he admitted, giving her a meaningful glance. “Never thought to even have a son. I was too afeared to open my heart lest I die with grief to lose again.”

“And now?”

Broc swallowed. “I realize only now do I feel alive… with you…”

He hadn’t known her long, but it didn’t matter. He’d spent a lifetime without her and knew what he was feeling was unlike anything he’d ever known. He hadn’t met a woman in all his years who’d made him hope.

He wanted to protect her, love her and keep her.

“Be my wife, Elizabet,” he said, reaching out to grasp her by the hand. He suddenly wanted this more than life, and he wanted her to look into his eyes and know that he meant every word he spoke. “We needn’t say our vows before a priest to make them true and I will keep you safe and treat you well.”

She stood before him, looking beautifully bewildered, and he took her face into his hands and kissed her with all the feeling he could muster. He wanted her to feel his soul, wanted to bathe her in adoration.

“Marry me,” he insisted. “Let us breathe new life into the MacEanraig name—let our sons and daughters bury us here together when the sun sets on our last embrace.

Her lips parted to speak and he held his breath.

“Say yes,” he bade her, “and I will protect you and keep you always—and though I have no riches or great manor, you shall want for naught.”

Elizabet shuddered at the warmth of his breath against her face. She had expected for him to do as other men would—take her maidenhead and then forget his lovely promises.

Her dreams had been of freedom… but in his arms, the thought of matrimony no longer felt like a sentence, more like a beautiful promise.

“I gi’ ye my word to wed you properly later, and will do my best to make you happy.”

He hadn’t said he loved her, but love only existed in troubadours’ tales…

He waited for her to answer.

Clearly this place meant something to him and he had brought her here and laid bare his heart, offering more than she had dreamed any man ever would.

Her brother would think her mad, she knew.

And yet… if she was mad, indeed, then so be it. She couldn’t think of anything that would make her happier than to sleep every night in Broc’s arms.

She nodded, swallowing.

He took her hand in his, looking into her face, his blue eyes as sincere as any she’d ever beheld. “In the name of my blood, I pledge you my heart and swear to honor and cherish you till the day I die.”

Elizabet’s heart filled with his words, and her eyes with tears. The moment was far sweeter in its simplicity than any ceremony could possibly ever have been.

She swallowed, and said in return, “I pledge you my heart… and swear to honor and cherish you until the day I die.”

He bent to kiss her lips, whispering softly against them, “I… Broc Ceannfhionn … the last of the MacEanraig name… take you, Elizabet, as my wife from this day forward.”

She sighed. “And I, Elizabet, take you as my husband from this day forward.”

He smiled at her then, and they faced each other, feeling slightly awkward.

“What now?” Elizabet asked.

“Now,” he said with a grin, “I get to kiss my lovely bride!”

Seana urged Colin’s horse into a trot.

She was certain there was something amiss with Broc, and she was bound to discover what it was. If she could help, she surely would. She owed him much for all that he had done for her.

She’d left her husband rebuilding the barracks with his brothers and Piers. Together with their men, she had no doubt they would restore the building in little time. But the day would be long, and the search for Elizabet would be postponed until the morrow—which meant her brother would be buried without her. There was no way they could wait yet another day. But they might not have to, because she had a suspicion where the girl had gone.

It struck her as odd that Broc would come calling so late in the evening and then to ask her if she ever visited the hovel she’d shared with her da. Given the description of the girl’s captor, it didn’t take a genius to surmise that Broc had taken her there.

The question was
why
.

She didn’t believe for an instant that Broc would harm the poor girl. Nor did she believe Broc had killed Elizabet’s brother. Something was not right. Broc would never harm a soul, unless in self-defense. But something had happened, and Seana was going to ask him straight to his face before someone else was hurt.

She was almost certain that Colin suspected Broc was responsible for the girl’s abduction, and he was suffering enough to keep his silence. She knew her husband felt torn. He loved Broc as a brother, but he was bound to honor Meghan’s husband. She didn’t want to add to his burdens. It was best he not discover where she had gone.

She considered dismounting when she was far enough away but decided it was best not to. She needed all the time she could get. It wouldn’t be long before Colin came looking for her. If he chanced to go home and found her missing, he would know at once where she had gone.

And sweet lord, she didn’t wish to see his anger this soon in their marriage. The sooner she faced Broc and returned home, the better for everyone involved.

Somehow, Broc had to set things right.

He left the hovel and Elizabet with Harpy under the pretense of going to get food. With her belly grumbling, she hadn’t questioned him at all. He’d kissed her good-bye at the door and had left quickly, confident she would be safe there.

He realized they couldn’t continue as they were.

He didn’t kill John, but he didn’t know how to prove it at this point. His best course of action was to take Elizabet away from this place until he could think of a way to prove his innocence—if she would come with him. There was more at stake here than his relationship with Elizabet or even her life. The hard-won peace between the clans was in danger of being shattered.

He intended to speak with Iain to see what his laird advised. He respected Iain’s opinion and knew his laird would never guide him wrong. It was his last resort.

If he remained, and Tomas accused him, their clans would be divided. If he left, hopefully with Elizabet, he might somehow convince her that he wasn’t responsible for John’s death, and if she forgave him for lying to her, mayhap there was hope for happiness for the two of them. After their vows this morning, he knew where he would go. He would take her to where he was born, to where his mother and father had died. Mayhap even auld Alma was still alive.