Highland Brides 04 - Lion Heart (23 page)

Getting Elizabet to go was another matter entirely. She was too perceptive to allow him to keep putting her off. Sooner or later, she was going to march into Piers’ hall and demand all the answers he wasn’t giving her.

And he suddenly had so much to lose.

He had Elizabet.

Iain would know what to do, he hoped. At least he would advise Broc honestly, with the clan’s interests foremost in his heart.

Deep in his heart, Broc didn’t believe Colin would betray him, but their friendship had been sorely strained, he sensed, simply by his appearance at Colin’s home. It had been made clear to Broc that night that though Colin felt a loyalty to Broc, his family—Seana and Meghan—was his greatest priority.

If only there was some way to prove Tomas had the money pouch still and that he intended to keep it. If only Broc could prove Tomas was willing to kill for it.

But Broc couldn’t prove anything at all.

He had to rely solely on the authority of his word. He had to trust in the simple fact that his friends and kinsmen knew him well and knew he was no liar. God’s truth, he had never lied a day in his life.

Until now.

The disgusting truth was that if he confronted the bastard outright, Tomas would need only say he was holding the pouch until Elizabet was found. After all, if Elizabet were found dead, the monies would be returned to her father, not to Piers. It was that whoreson’s word against his own.

And at the heart of it all was the simple fear that Elizabet would not believe him.

And why should she?

He had lied to her.

He prayed to God Iain would know what to do, because his choices were few, and he didn’t want to lose her now when he’d only just found her.

He would do anything to keep her safe.

Anything.

She was his priority.

She was his wife.

Nothing took precedence over her—not even his loyalty to Iain MacKinnon. He had bound himself to Elizabet, and whether she chose to believe in him or nay, he would honor the vows they had spoken until the day he last closed his eyes.

He hadn’t worn his new tunic, but Elizabet knew it probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do. If Tomas spied Broc wearing the rich, red fabric, he would know at once how to find her.

She folded the tunic neatly and placed it upon the table, lovingly smoothing the wrinkles from the garment. When they wed again in the sight of men, he could wear it then.

She smiled at the ridiculousness of her situation. She was as happy as a woman could be, considering that she was being stalked by a cold-hearted murderer and stuck in a dirty hovel—but she was, indeed, happy.

Broc would fix everything, she was certain.

Sighing, she turned to lean on the table and stare at the pallet they had shared. He had touched her body so wickedly, but his tender kisses had made everything seem so right and so pure.

And his vows had been so romantic. Certainly she had never imagined it would happen to her—and not with the seemingly most practical man she had ever met. But her wedding was surely the sort of thing of which dreams and legends were made.

She didn’t need to wed him before an altar. Their communion had been one of the heart. And their witness had been the only witness that truly mattered…

A wry smile turned her lips.

She must remember to thank Tomas for trying to kill her. If it hadn’t been for him, Broc would never have taken her, and she wouldn’t be so blessedly happy right now. She was quite certain that hadn’t been his intention.

The first thing she was going to do was tell her father and if Margaret had any knowledge of her brother’s actions, Elizabet hoped her father would strangle her in his bed. If he was so weak that he still could not see her black heart, then so be it. Elizabet didn’t need him. He hadn’t taken any part in her childhood, and she didn’t need him to be a part of her life now. The best thing he had done for her was to send her away with her dowry intact, and for that alone she was grateful.

She glanced down at the floor, spying a bundle under the chair, and bent to retrieve it. It had to belong to Broc, because it hadn’t been there yesterday. He must have dropped it.

She set it down upon the table, wondering about its contents, and then, curious, she picked it up once more and unwrapped it.

The smile left her face as she opened the napkin and examined its contents. Food. Hard cheese. Bread. Nothing that would have spoiled. She cast a glance at the door, wondering if he’d forgotten that he’d brought it. Why would he go if he already had something they could share? It wasn’t a feast, by far, but it would certainly have gotten them through the morning.

She supposed he’d forgotten he had it.

She heard a sound outside the door and thought mayhap he’d remembered, after all. She set the napkin down and hurried to the door, halting in her step as it opened to reveal a young woman. Elizabet started at the sight of her.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, so stunned were they at the sight of the other.

And then the woman smiled. “My name is Seana.”

Elizabet nodded.

“I used to live here.”

The infamous Seana.

She was quite lovely, and Elizabet felt a terrible jolt of jealousy, despite that she realized it was silly.

The woman’s kind green eyes studied her.

And it occurred to Elizabet to be concerned. The last thing she needed was for Seana to go back to her husband and reveal their hiding place.

She took a deep breath and said, “My name is Elizabet.”

The woman’s brows lifted only slightly, and she nodded, as though she wasn’t entirely surprised by the revelation. She peered in, looking about the room, as though expecting to find someone else, and then her gaze returned to Elizabet.

“I hope you will forgive us for using your home,” Elizabet offered.

Seana’s brows lifted higher. “Us?”

Elizabet nodded. “Broc… and I.”

“Is he here?” she asked somewhat hesitantly.

“Not at the moment,” Elizabet replied. “He went to get… food.”

Seana nodded. “And you are alone?”

Elizabet smiled. “Not entirely… I have my dog.”

“I see.” But her face screwed with obvious confusion. “So you aren’t being held against your will?” she asked Elizabet.

“Nay! Of course not!”

There was silence.

“Broc has been kind enough to help me,” Elizabet assured her, not liking the expression on Seana’s face. It left her feeling uneasy and somehow defensive of Broc.

Seana nodded. “That would indeed be our Broc.”

“’Tis a long story,” Elizabet said, “though I suppose we owe you an explanation, since we are using your home.”

Seana said nothing, merely looked at her, and Elizabet felt compelled to tell her about Tomas, his attempt to kill her, her need to hide from him until the truth could be discovered. By the time Elizabet had finished her tale, they were both seated at the little table.

Seana reached out to grasp her hand, startling her with the gesture. “And what of your brother?” she asked Elizabet.

Elizabet shrugged. “He doesn’t know where I am yet. Broc hasn’t had the opportunity to speak with him, though he did speak to Piers’ wife.”

Seana frowned. “Meghan?”

“Aye. Do you not like her?”

Seana smiled and assured her without pause, “Nay, I love her.”

Elizabet returned the smile, feeling as though mayhap she had found a friend.

“I take it she doesn’t know you are here, either?”

“Broc thought it best he speak directly with Piers, and Piers, as yet, has not returned.”

Seana suddenly lifted her hand to her forehead, as though she was distressed by Elizabet’s tale. Her expression when she looked up once more was a mixture of confusion and anger.

The anger Elizabet didn’t quite understand.

“Who told you Piers was gone?” she asked then, sounding suddenly vexed.

“Broc, of course. Meghan told him Piers had gone to Edinburgh but that he would return soon.”

Seana’s voice was toneless when she responded, “Did she?”

Elizabet’s brows knit with confusion. “Aye.”

Sweet Jesu, she hadn’t the first clue to what she had said to invoke the woman’s sudden ire. Seana’s tone had shifted from one of concern to petulance, and she decided the woman was moody.

Well, she could be petulant all she wished. All that mattered to Elizabet was that she keep her confidence. “You won’t tell anyone where we are, will you?”

Seana didn’t reply for a moment, and then she shook her head. “I won’t tell.”

Elizabet breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you!”

Seana’s brow remained furrowed. “Dinna mention it,” she said snappishly, and her tone of voice was disconcerting.

Was there more to their friendship than Broc had declared? She was obviously displeased with Elizabet, and Elizabet hadn’t a single notion what she had done.

She was on the verge of asking, but the door burst opened, and Broc entered. Elizabet was so glad to see him that she leaped up from the table and ran to him, throwing her arms about his neck.

He hugged her, then pushed her gently away before turning his gaze toward Seana.

Elizabet felt her gut chum at the look they shared.

T
he sand had run out of his glass.

Seana rose from the table, her chin lifting in challenge. She gave Broc a look unlike any she’d ever given him before—as though she suddenly thought him no better than a worm.

Broc said nothing in his defense.

What could he say?

“I would like to speak to you alone,” Seana requested, her tone filled with outrage.

Elizabet tilted him a look. He took a deep breath and begged her to excuse them and then motioned for Seana to join him outside the hovel. Elizabet released him, obviously confused by the request, stepping away. He turned to the door, opening it for Seana, and then cast a single backward glance at Elizabet before closing it behind him.

Her face was filled with turmoil.

“What are you doing?” Seana said, when they were alone and far enough away from the door that Elizabet could not hear them.

Broc frowned, his chest heavy with torment. “I take it you know everything.”

“Aye!” Seana shrieked. “She told me everything! And you lied to that poor lass!”

He nodded, without excuse.

“Why?” she demanded of him. “That is hardly the Broc I know and love! I have never known you to lie to anyone in all our acquaintance!”

Broc shrugged, peering down at the ground.

“Why did you lie to her?”

He knew precisely what it was she was talking about. He shook his head, looking up into her eyes, his own eyes stinging with tears he refused to shed. “I dunno,” he confessed. “At first it wasn’t a lie. I didn’t kill him, Seana.”

Her eyes told him she wanted to believe him, but she didn’t know what to believe.

“I didn’t kill him,” Broc repeated more firmly. “I didn’t kill him, and if you dinna believe me, then who the hell will?” It was as close to begging as Broc could come.

“I believe you,” she conceded. “But you still lied to her, Broc, and she deserves to know her brother is dead. She deserves to attend his burial.”

He shook his head. “I can’t let her go.”

Seana narrowed her eyes at him. “Do ye love her, Broc?”

There was no doubt in his mind. “I do.”

“Then ye listen to me well, Broc Ceannfhionn. If ye dinna tell her the truth, you will surely lose her!” She pointed irately at the hovel. “If it were me in there and you couldna be honest with me and speak the truth, I swear to God above I would leave you and never look back!”

He knew she was advising him well, but he couldn’t place Elizabet in danger—no matter what it meant for him. He couldn’t allow Tomas to harm her. “If I let her go,” he reasoned, trying to make her understand, “then I will place her at risk!”

“Trust in your friends,” she said.

She wasn’t being reasonable. “And if I had told Colin about this, what do ye think he would have done?”

She glared at him, straightening her shoulders, refusing to give in to him. “I’ve no idea, in truth,” she admitted, “but I know he would never betray you. You saved his life, Broc. He would never let harm come to you—and certainly not at the word of some conniving Englishman!”