Highland Velvet

by Jude Deveraux

  Bronwyn took her hand from Miles’s grasp, and only reluctantly did her eyes leave him. There was something extraordinarily intriguing about the young man. She gave her hand to Gavin, then turned toward the other brother. “And you must be Raine. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

  “Any of it good?” Raine asked, taking her hand, smiling so his dimples were quite deep.

  “Very little of it,” she answered honestly. “One of my men, Tam, a great oak of a man, was Stephen’s trainer in Scotland. For weeks on end I heard your name used as a cry to goad Stephen whenever he tried to get away from Tam’s rather strenuous demands.”

  Raine laughed loudly. “It must have worked, for he beat me in a short wrestle this morning.” He eyed Stephen. “Though of course he has yet to accept my challenge to a longer match.”

  Bronwyn widened her eyes and studied the massiveness of Raine’s wide shoulders and thick chest. “It seems to me that the first time would be the only necessary time to beat a man.”

  Raine grabbed her by the shoulders and exuberantly kissed her cheek. “Stephen, you should keep this one,” he laughed.

  “I am trying,” he said as he took her hand just before Miles reached for it again. “Dinner is laid, shall we go?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

  She smiled at him sweetly, as if they’d never had a quarrel. “Yes, please,” she said demurely.

  It was while they sat at dinner, as course after course of food was brought, that Bronwyn realized how different these people were from the English people she’d met before. This laughing, happy family bore no resemblance to the men she’d met at Sir Thomas Crichton’s. Judith had gone to great expense and trouble to make her welcome. Stephen’s brothers accepted her, did not make sneering remarks because she was the laird of a clan.

  Suddenly everything seemed to be spinning around and around. She’d grown up hating the MacGregors and the English. Now she was godmother to a MacGregor, and she found herself loving this warm, close English family. Yet the MacGregors had killed the MacArrans for centuries. The English had killed her father. How could she love people she should hate?

  “Lady Bronwyn?” Gavin asked. “Is the wine too strong for you?”

  “No,” she smiled. “Everything is very nearly perfect. And that, I’m afraid, is my problem.”

  He studied her for a moment. “I want you to know that we’re your family too. If you need any of us at any time, we’ll be here.”

  “Thank you,” she answered seriously. She knew he meant his words.

  After dinner Judith took Bronwyn on a tour of the area inside the castle walls. There were two sections to the castle, the outer one where the castle retainers lived and worked, and the more protected inner circle for the family. Bronwyn listened and asked hundreds of questions about the incredibly efficient and well-organized castle complex. The acres of land inside the tall, thick walls were almost self-sustaining.

  Stephen stopped them as they were speaking to the blacksmith and Judith was showing her a new forging technique.

  “Bronwyn,” Stephen said, “may I speak to you?”

  She knew he had something serious to say, so she followed him outside where they could be private.

  “Gavin and I are returning to Larenston to get Chris’s body.”

  “Tam will have buried him by now.”

  He nodded. “I know, but I feel we owe it to Chris’s family. They don’t even know yet that he’s dead. It will help some if he can be buried in his own land.”

  She nodded in agreement. “Chris didn’t like Scotland,” she said solemnly.

  He ran his knuckles along her cheek. “It’s the first time we’ve been apart since we were married. I’d like to think—” He stopped and dropped his hand.

  “Stephen—” she began.

  Suddenly he took her into his arms and held her close to him. “I wish we could go back to the time we spent with Kirsty and Donald. You seemed happy there.”

  She clung to him. In spite of the danger they’d been in, she too remembered the time as happy.

  “You’ve come to mean so much to me,” he whispered. “I hate to leave when you’re so…cold to me.”

  When she laughed, he pushed her away, frowning. “Do I amuse you?” he asked angrily.

  “I was thinking that I feel far from cold right now. Tell me, how long do you have before you leave?”

  “Minutes,” he said in such a tone of regret that she laughed again.

  “And how long before you return?”

  He put his fingers under her chin. “Three long, long days, at least. Knowing Gavin, we’ll ride hard.” He smiled. “We won’t stop every few hours as you and I did.”

  She slipped her arms up around his neck. “You will not forget me while you are gone?” she whispered, her lips against his.

  “As easily as I could forget a thunderstorm,” he said evenly, chuckling when she tried to move away. “Come here, wench,” he commanded.

  His mouth took possession of hers in such a way that she forgot all thoughts of honor and respect. She remembered only their romps on the Highlands moors. His hand moved her head to slant against his mouth, and she opened her lips under his, drinking in the sweetness of the tip of his tongue. She pressed her body closer to his and tightened her arms.

  “Stephen—” she began.

  He put two fingers on her lips. “We have much to talk of when I return. Are you willing?”

  She smiled happily. “Yes, I am very willing.”

  He kissed her once again, with longing and promises of what was to come. When he turned away, it was with obvious reluctance.

  It was at night that Bronwyn realized how much she missed Stephen. The big bed in the lovely tiled bedchamber seemed cold and unbearable. She thought of Stephen riding back into Scotland without so much as a night’s rest. She cursed herself for not insisting she’d return with him.

  The more she thought, the more restless she became. She tossed the covers aside and walked quickly across the cold floor to a chest in the corner. She withdrew her Highlands clothes, and within minutes she was fastening her plaid to her shoulder. She thought perhaps a walk in the cold courtyard below would help her sleep.

  As soon as she was outside, the clatter of horses’ hoofs on the bricked yard echoed against the buildings. “Stephen!” she gasped and began to run forward. She knew that only family would be allowed to enter at night.

  “Lady Mary,” someone said quietly. “It’s good to see you again. Was your trip pleasant?”

  “As good as I could wish, James,” came a gentle, soft voice.

  “Shall I fetch Lady Judith?”

  “No, don’t bother her. She needs her rest. I can find my own way.”

  Bronwyn stood in the shadows and watched as one of the castle retainers helped Lady Mary dismount. She remembered how Stephen had compared his sister to the Madonna, said she was the peacemaker and that she lived in a convent near the Montgomery estates.

  “We expected you earlier,” James said. “I hope nothing was wrong.”

  “One of the children was sick. I stayed to tend the child.”

  “You’re too kind-hearted, Lady Mary. You shouldn’t take in them beggars’ children. Some of them have murderers for fathers. And mothers too if the truth be known.”

  Mary started to speak, then stopped and whirled to face Bronwyn. She smiled. “I had the oddest feeling I was being watched.” She stepped forward. “You must be Stephen’s Bronwyn.”

  The courtyard was very dim with only the moonlight and one lantern for light. Mary was short and plump with a perfectly oval face. It was a face anyone would trust.

  “How did you know?” Bronwyn smiled. “I haven’t been able to fool any of the Montgomerys.”

  “I’ve heard of the heartiness of the Scots. And to withstand this wind when there is no need, it would take a great deal of stamina.”

  Bronwyn laughed. “Come inside to the winter parlor, and I’ll have a roaring-hot fire for you in minutes.�
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  “It sounds heavenly,” Mary said, keeping her hands under her plain dark wool mantle.

  Mary followed her sister-in-law into the large, paneled room, then stood quietly by as Bronwyn did indeed stoke and load the fire herself. She smiled, pleased that a lady of Bronwyn’s rank felt secure enough to do humble work.

  Bronwyn turned. “You must be tired. Perhaps you’d rather have the fire lit in your room.”

  Mary sat down in a cushioned chair and put her hands toward the fire. “I am tired, too tired to go to sleep. I’d just like to sit here a moment and get warm.”

  Bronwyn paused a moment before returning the iron fire tool to its holder. Mary did indeed look like the Madonna. Her oval face had a high, clear forehead above soft, expressive brown eyes. Her mouth was small, tender, delicate, and there was a dimple in one cheek. Raine’s dimples, Bronwyn thought.

  “It’s good to be home again,” Mary sighed, then looked back at Bronwyn. “Why are you awake?” she asked sharply. “Has Stephen…?”

  Bronwyn laughed and took a chair beside Mary. “He and Gavin have returned to Scotland to…bring home the body of a friend.”

  “Christopher,” Mary said and sighed as she leaned back in the chair.

  “You know about him?” Bronwyn asked almost fearfully.

  “Yes. Stephen wrote me about his death.”

  Bronwyn was very quiet. “Did he say how I was the one who caused Chris’s death?”

  “No! And you shouldn’t even think that. He said that Chris’s own arrogance caused his death. He said that all Englishmen were committing suicide when they entered the Highlands.”

  “The English have killed many Highlanders!” Bronwyn said fiercely, then turned and looked quickly at Mary. “I apologize. I forget—”

  “That we are English? That’s a compliment, I’m sure.” She studied Bronwyn in the soft glow of the firelight. “Stephen wrote me of your beauty, but he didn’t tell me half of it.”

  Bronwyn grimaced. “He sets too much store by a woman’s looks.”

  Mary laughed. “You’ve discovered what Judith has also. My brothers think all women are like me, without spirit or passion.”

  Bronwyn looked at her. “But surely—”

  Mary put her hand up. “But surely a woman with brothers as passionate as mine must have some of her own? Is that what you meant to say?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “No, I’m afraid I tend to run away from life. Women like Judith—and you if I guess correctly from Stephen’s letters—grab life with both hands.”

  Bronwyn didn’t know what to say. She thought about what an odd conversation they were having. They were talking as if they’d known each other for years instead of a few minutes. But somehow the quietness of the room, and the way the light of the fire seemed to isolate them from the dark corners, made everything seem quite ordinary.

  “Tell me, are you lonely?” Mary asked. “Do you miss your Scots ways? What of your family and friends?”

  It was a while before Bronwyn spoke. “Aye, I miss my friends.” She thought of Tam and Douglas and all her people. “Yes, I miss them very much.”

  “And now it seems that Stephen is gone also. Perhaps tomorrow we could ride together. I’d like to hear some about Scotland.”

  Bronwyn smiled and leaned back in the chair. She’d very much like to spend the day with this woman. There was something quiet and peaceful about her, something Bronwyn felt she needed right now.

  Bronwyn spent the next two days with Lady Mary, and it didn’t take long to grow to love the woman. While Judith was busy with the account books and the worries of managing her own vast estates, as well as Gavin’s, Mary and Bronwyn discovered their mutual love of people. Bronwyn had never been able to interest herself in numbers on paper, but she could tell more about the prosperity of a place by talking with the people than any other way. She and Mary rode across the acres and acres of land and talked with everyone. The serfs were timid at first, but they soon responded to Bronwyn’s openness. She was used to speaking to underlings as equals, and one by one Mary saw the men and women straighten their shoulders in pride. Bronwyn sent people who were ill to bed. She asked for, and was happily given, extra supplies for some families’ children.

  But she wasn’t always generous with her bounty. She considered the serfs people and so did not look at them with pity. She found several men who were stealing from their masters, and she saw that they were punished. Some quiet, hardworking, loyal families were put in places of responsibility and position.

  On the evening of the first day Judith and Bronwyn spent hours together, Judith listening with admiration to all Bronwyn had to say. Judith realized her sister-in-law’s wisdom immediately and took all her advice.

  On the other hand Bronwyn learned a great deal about organization and efficiency, all of which knowledge she planned to take back to Larenston. She studied Judith’s designs for buildings, her garden plans. Judith promised to send a wagonload of bedding plants to Larenston in the spring.

  And Judith was a wonder with the breeding of animals. Bronwyn was fascinated by the way Judith had bred and cross-bred her sheep and cattle until she produced more meat, milk, and wool.

  When Bronwyn retired for the night, she was too tired to stay awake. Charts and numbers swam before her eyes. A hundred faces and names floated through her dreams.

  In the morning she was up early and in the stables before most of the castlefolk were awake. She wore her Highlands dress again, since she found the people responded enthusiastically to the simple clothes.

  She swung a light saddle onto the back of a strawberry mare.

  “My lady,” came a strong young voice from beside her. “Allow me.”

  She turned to see a short, handsome blond man, one of Miles’s men, who’d accompanied her and Mary the day before. “Thank you, Richard.”

  His eyes, a dark green, warmed as he looked at her. “I had no idea you knew my name. It is an honor for me.”

  She laughed. “Nonsense! In Scotland I know all my men’s names, and they call me by mine.”

  He bent to fasten the cinch. “I’ve been talking to some of Lord Stephen’s men who were with him in Scotland. They said you often traveled at night, alone, with your men.”

  “True,” she said slowly. “I am the MacArran, and I am the leader of my men.”

  He smiled in a slow, provocative way. “May I say that I envy your Highlanders? In England we are seldom led by a woman and never one so beautiful.”

  She frowned and reached for the reins of her horse. “Thank you,” she said stiffly and led the animal from the stables.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” snapped a man behind Richard.

  Richard glanced at the door Bronwyn had used before turning to the man behind him. “Nothing that would interest you, George,” he said, shoving his way past the knight.

  George grabbed Richard’s arm. “I saw you talking to her, and I want to know what you said.”

  “Why?” Richard snapped. “So you can have her all to yourself? I heard what you and the rest of Stephen’s men said about her.”

  “Lord Stephen to you!”

  “You’re a hypocrite! You call her Bronwyn and talk to her as if she were your little sister, yet let someone else speak to her and you want to draw a sword. Let me tell you that I for one don’t mean to treat her like anything but the Scots whore she is. No lady would talk to the men and the serfs like she does unless she was after what they carry between their legs. And I—”

  George’s fist smashed into Richard’s mouth before he could say another word. “I’ll kill you for that!” George yelled as he went for Richard’s throat.

  Richard was able to sidestep the second blow. He clasped his hands together and brought them down across the back of George’s neck. George went sprawling forward, face first into the straw.

  “What’s going on here?” Bronwyn demanded from the doorway.

  George sat up and rubbed his neck. Richard’s nose was bleed
ing, and he wiped the blood away with the back of his hand.

  “I asked a question,” Bronwyn said quietly, watching the two men. “I will not ask the cause of your quarrel, as that is personal, but I want to know who struck the first blow.”

  Richard looked at George pointedly.

  “I did, my lady,” George said as he started to rise.

  “You, George? But—” Bronwyn stopped herself. There must have been a good reason from someone of George’s quiet, steady nature to strike a first blow. She didn’t like Richard and she didn’t trust him. Yesterday he’d too often leered at the young serf girls. But she couldn’t leave George and Richard alone together, and she couldn’t take George with her because he was the one who started the quarrel. It was better to keep Richard with her and protect Stephen’s man.

  “Richard,” she said quietly, “you may go with Lady Mary and me today.” She gave one look of regret to George and left the stables.

  “Hot for me, the woman is,” Richard laughed as he left the stables before George could attack him again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  MARY SWUNG INTO THE SADDLE AND GAVE HER SISTER-IN-LAW a sleepy look. She wondered if cold or exhaustion were words Bronwyn knew. They’d ridden all day yesterday until even the guards who followed them were tired. Then Bronwyn had sat with Judith, eagerly talking and asking questions until after midnight.

  Mary stretched and yawned, then smiled. No wonder Stephen wrote that he had to work hard to keep up with his wife. She suddenly wondered if Stephen ever told Bronwyn how much he admired her. Stephen’s letters were full of praise for his new people and his new life, and especially his courageous wife.

  Mary urged her horse forward to catch Bronwyn. Already the Scotswoman was stopping at a serf’s hut.

  It was late morning when they finally stopped on the side of a hill for a moment’s rest. The men stretched out on the grass, breathing deeply, eating hungrily of bread, wine, and cheese.