The Outcast Highlander (18 page)

Broccin couldn’t speak; his heart was in his throat. He just stared, incredulously, at his sister and tried to decide whether he wanted to continue listening. Part of him said he should get up, but part of him was so convicted by what she said, he couldn’t move.

“I watched you all those years before you left, torturing yourself over Elizabeth. I watched you, day in and day out, forcing yourself to keep quiet because of Andrew and because of your devotion to him. I also watched you leave and never come back because of one disagreement with Da.” She stopped, tears beginning to come to her eyes. “It was so hard to be away from you all those years, but you were doing what you thought was best for you. You thought you would be the only one to suffer. But you were wrong. And I do not want you to ease into martyrdom that way with Kensey.”

Finally finding his tongue, he looked up at Brigid. “What do you mean, with Kensey?”

“I can see you love her.”

“And what if I do?” He dropped his eyes in resignation.

“Can you not see the way she looks at you and the way her eyes light up when you come into the room?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Do you not realize that she goes to you for everything, and you just push her away? What are you trying to do to the lass?”

“If you want to know the truth, sister,” he began. “I keep away from her because of Duncan.”

“Duncan?” wondered Brigid. “What about Duncan?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You think she’s in love with Duncan?”

“Aye. She is.”

“You are sorely mistaken there, brother.” She didn’t realize the gravity those words carried for him. And the ease with which she said them almost floored him.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“I said you are sorely mistaken. She does not love Duncan anymore than she did Malcolm,” she stopped. “Actually, I believe I should say she isn’t in love with Duncan anymore than she is with Malcolm. Nor Duncan with her.”

“But how do you know this?”

“Kensey is like a book, Broccin. You can read her if you just open her up. The way she talks about Duncan and Malcolm, well, it’s just not the same way she speaks of you.”

“She was just taking care of me,” he argued. “It’s in her heart to be generous and compassionate.”

“Aye, it is that,” agreed Brigid. “But that was not all of it. She loves you, Broccin. It’s as plain as day to look at her. Besides, she knows that Duncan is in love with Fiona.”

“Fiona?”

Brigid stared her brother down, dumbfounded. “You don’t know who Fiona is?” When Broccin shook his head, she laughed. “No wonder you are so off the mark.” She told him a story of Duncan and the daughter of a neighboring lord, and when she finished, Broccin felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“So that was the reason for the ride to Balconie?”

Brigid nodded. “You’ve been silent all this time because you thought she belonged to Duncan. Brother, you are a Sinclair after all.”

Something about those words buoyed him. He knew where his blood came from, but he needed to be reminded that he also belonged. He needed to remind himself. Because if he was honest, he had planned to leave again once Duncan announced his intentions for Kensey. He couldn’t subject himself to that.

Yet now, the entirety of his future had a different look. Perhaps nothing would be the same again.

Suddenly, the side door to the kitchen opened and Robert came tearing through the room with Kensey after him. Neither of them even spared a glance for Brigid and Broccin at the table. They tore through the doors and up the stairs, Robert wailing. Standing at the door, his mouth ajar, was Duncan.

Brigid stood and looked down at Broccin. “I need to get up to my Alec.” She smiled brightly. “He’s likely to think I’ve fallen or taken ill.” She walked around the table and placed a loving hand on Broccin’s shoulder. “Just say what’s in your heart, brother.” With that, she left through the doors and Duncan plopped down where she’d been sitting.

“That lad will be hurting for some time now,” Duncan observed, taking a full trencher from the tray that sat in front of him. “I just wish there was something to be done about it.”

“What happened?” Broccin asked, taking a mouthful of food.

“Kensey received word that her father has been executed,” Duncan stared after them and picked a carrot out of the soup. “When she told him, I feared Robert would cough up his insides, he cried so hard. Then, he just took off running.”

“Best that he knows,” Broccin said, taking a gulp from his cup. “Better to find out when he can grieve.”

“Better than the way you heard, is that what you’re saying?”

“Aye,” Broccin said. He allowed himself to look at his brother with a careful eye. Duncan was honestly concerned about the lass, and her brother. And he couldn’t help himself wondering whether there were feelings developing on Duncan’s side. Perhaps, given what sounded like a lost cause with his first woman, he would begin to look at Kensey with an eye toward marriage. He almost dared himself to ask. “But that was my own fault. Not yours,” he offered.

Duncan shifted uneasily and looked around the room. “Truth be told, we’ve had another letter.” From the belt of his tunic, he produced a folded piece of parchment. “I wanted to wait until you’d been well to tell you, but I’ve decided that we need to let you make your own decisions.

Broc’s breathing faltered. He hadn’t anticipated being searched out, but Duncan made it sound as though there were consequences to this finding. He took the parchment.

“The seal is broken.” He held the letter up to his brother. “Why is the seal broken?”

“I wasn’t sure I could trust the bearer.” Duncan crossed his arms. “I only read the very beginning.”

Broc closed his hands around the letter’s edges. It was in Elizabeth’s hand.

My Lord Sinclair, News has reached our ears that you have been reinstated to the lairdship of your clan and plan to stay in Caithness for the foreseeable future. While Andrew may have encouraged you to visit your family, I’m afraid he is loathed to remind you of how they have treated you in the past. We both hope that these rumors are indeed false and that instead of remaining with a family who does not appreciate you, you will instead be returning to Moray to be with us, and to continue to aid in this fight. We have received word that there is another group of freedom fighters amassing in the West under the leadership of a landowner near Lennox. Andrew wishes to seek out this man and offer to join forces, but he needs someone to remain here in Moray to continue the raids on English strongholds. We pray that your family affairs will be closed and you will join us here in the fight for our nation. With humble prayers, Elizabeth de Moray
.

Without a thought, Broc crumpled the letter and handed it back to Duncan. A stunned look crossed his brother’s face.

“You’re not going to consider her request?”

Broc shrugged. “She doesn’t speak for Andrew in this letter, or he would have written it himself. He knows why I came back here and if he’s received word that I’m going to be the new laird, he would never ask me to return.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because he was the one who encouraged me to come back and take my rightful place among my family.” Broc glanced up, trying to remember his friend’s exact words. “There is no country without family and there is no family without duty.”

“So that’s what we are to you? A duty?”

Broccin shook his head, frustration building inside. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Then say what you mean.”

“I am not leaving to help Andrew fight a war. There are plenty of men there to take my place.”

Duncan’s dark eyes narrowed on him. “Only yesterday, I had to convince you to stay.”

Broc turned back to his food, not wanting Duncan to see the emotion on his face. “You convinced me.”

“What should I do with this letter?”

“Burn it.”

Elizabeth would expect a reply to her letter and perhaps he would write one, when he felt more up to sitting at a desk for hours. But for now, it was enough to know that, when given the choice, he chose family. Elizabeth had always told him he was a warrior and when he’d loved her, he’d wanted to be only that.

But truth be told, Elizabeth didn’t know his heart any better than he did. It took hearing the invitation to know for certain that he had no desire for the glory a man could win for himself. He only wanted to make up for lost time. With everyone he could.

Duncan ate another carrot and blew on the hot contents of his trencher. “Now, I may take my life into my hands as I ask this, but I want to know what your intentions are.”

Broccin coughed, trying to recover his wits after the challenge caught him off-guard. “My intentions? Concerning?”

“I mean about the lass herself. And her brother.”

“Aye?”

“She has no home now,” explained Duncan. “With her father and mother dead, she could be forced to return so that the council could find her a husband. As the daughter of a nobleman, she could be the property of the council. Even if you claim Robert as your ward.”

“I realize Kensey has nowhere to go,” Broccin said. “But what can I do about it? She cannot stay here if her family wish to have her returned to them.”

“Well, you could marry the lass,” Duncan offered.

“I cannot do that,” were Broccin’s next words.

“And why not? Is there someone else? Are you still pining for Elizabeth?”

“You do not understand, Duncan. And why does everyone think I’m pining for Elizabeth?”

“Because that was the last we heard from you when you’d gone with de Moray. And you haven’t exactly been forthcoming with information.”

“I do not pine for… it matters not.” Broccin chewed the end of a piece of bread and considered his options. Duncan practically ordered him, as the Laird, to marry the girl. Malcolm had promised, before his disgrace, that her mother gave family approval.

“I think she’ll say yes, Broccin.”

“Oh, do you now?”

“Aye, I think you should ask her.”

“Well, I cannot ask her today. Not after the news of her father. That wouldn’t be right.”

Duncan put down his cup and sighed. “You have to ask her soon, Broccin, or she will have to return. In fact, if Buckingham knows she’s here, we can expect the steward to arrive as early as tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Broccin growled. “Och, the English.” He couldn’t think. He’d just been encouraged to ask for Kensey’s hand, and by the very man he’d thought laid prior claim to her. He felt like he should be shouting in the hallways. But he was nervous, almost scared. For he wasn’t sure she would feel the same way he did, no matter what Brigid thought.

Kensey suddenly burst into the room. “Broc, you must come upstairs with me. Robert is asking for you.”

Duncan gave his brother a knowing look and inclined his head toward the door. “Go ahead, Broc.” Broccin rose and followed Kensey to the stairs. For the first time in eleven years, when he noticed the sway of her hips, he didn’t berate himself. Or look away.

Chapter Sixteen

Robert was inconsolable and it took the better part of the day and night for Broccin to calm the boy and convince him that sleep would make at least today’s ache less difficult to bear. Broc knew all too well that it would still hurt in the morning, but sleep would at least bring some form of peace.

The boy wouldn’t speak to Kensey, or to Duncan. Malcolm had disappeared with his horse, and Peter was too afraid to enter Robert’s room. But Morainn was a blessing straight from heaven. She came and sat with Broccin, silent as a ghost, and required nothing.

When Robert calmed enough to head toward sleep, Morainn sat at his bedside and held his hand fearlessly. She didn’t speak to him, and the lack of requirement almost made up for Robert’s extreme distress.

The two children fell asleep holding hands. Robert curled into his covers and Morainn sprawled across the edge of the bed, still trying to keep her chair, holding on to his hand even in sleep.

Once Robert’s breath was even, Broc went to check on Kensey. When Robert sent her away, Broc hadn’t seen her for the rest of the day and in the back of his mind, Duncan’s admonition weighed on him.

He needed to find a way to protect her, formally. Legally.

When he reached her door, he knocked quietly and within moments, she answered. Her eyes bleary and red from crying, she should have induced pity, but Broc couldn’t believe how beautiful she could be, even slobbery and sobbing. She covered her white shift in a surcoat that buttoned at the chest and provided enough decency, his imagination didn’t run away with him.

“I wanted to tell you that Robert finally went to sleep.” Broc put his hand on her door and she stood in the tiny opening, half of her body visible. The long red sleeve of her surcoat trailed against the door as she grasped it.

“Thank you.”

“And is there anything I can do for you?” Broc almost smacked his head when the words were delivered. Fool. Bring her father back. End the war. There are many things you could yet do for her.

She sniffed and shook her head. “We can’t ask anything more of you, Broccin. You have been so generous to us.”

Broc smoothed at the rough wood with the palm of his hand as though it were her back. “You could ask anything of me, Kensey. And if I could make it happen, I would. If I could bring back your father, or your mother, even if it cost my own life. If I could return you to your home. Even if all you needed was to be left alone. I would do it if I could.”

Her eyes rounded for a moment, and then filled with tears. She sagged against the door and it swung away from him. Broc reached for and caught her, hauling her against him as she wept.

The feel of her curled up against his body was intoxicating. And even in her despair, she was beautiful. He wanted to console her. But mostly, he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she forgot all the hardships in her life.

“I’ve feared for weeks that this would happen.” Her voice came out in a hiccough every other word, but he found he could understand her. “And I knew there was nothing we could do. But to be so truly helpless. And to have him just taken from us.”