“Tell her good-bye for me, please. I will not go back in there and face her with lies.”
He peered up at her, stubbornly keeping his silence, but knowing deep down that she was telling him the truth. He knew she believed it with all her heart.
“She’s bonny and sweet and seems to adore you. If you tell her the truth, she just might forgive ye.”
He was afraid to hope for that.
“But if ye dinna, Broc, I promise you will lose her.”
And with that last admonition she left him to consider her words.
Chapter 23
Seana was right.
He was in danger of losing Elizabet, and heaven help him, she had become the most important thing in the world to him. Without her, nothing else mattered.
His only chance to keep her was to go to Piers and reveal to him all that had happened. He had to count on Piers to protect her. He didn’t care what happened to himself afterward, as long as Elizabet forgave him. Pride be had no place here anymore, he would throw himself on her mercy and pray she could find it within her heart to forgive him for his lies.
He loved her.
She hadn’t asked him, as yet, what it was he and Seana had spoken of, and he was glad, because he wasn’t quite ready to tell her. He could face men in battle, but he cowered at the thought of her enmity.
He lifted up the tunic she had set upon the table and shook it out, examining her handiwork. It was beautiful, the stitches neat and precise. She’d used the gold ribbon from her hair to trim the arms, neckline and hem. It was far finer than anything he’d ever owned before.
He only hoped it would fit him, because he loathed to disappoint her any more than he was going to already. He set the tunic down and turned to look at her. She stood by the door, peering out.
Another hour to go before the sun set.
Only one more hour before everything would change.
She looked so lovely standing there, with her long, shiny hair streaming down her back, that it momentarily took his breath away.
This could possibly be the last time he was ever alone with her. He prayed otherwise, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that once she discovered his deception, she might never forgive him for it.
His heart wrenching with torment, he walked to where she stood and placed his arms about her waist. He laid his head upon hers, adoring the feel of her in his arms.
She peered back at him, touching her face to his cheek.
“You seem distressed,” she said, her expression full of concern—and mayhap a little hurt that he hadn’t confided in her. But she would know everything soon enough.
“’Tis naught, lass,” he lied one last time.
But it would be his last.
And he was going to kiss her one last time and hope that she would see into his heart—that she would feel his heart beating against her own and know it beat for her.
He pulled her into the hovel, letting the door close behind them. She turned in his embrace, and he bent to kiss her, desperate for her lips. He turned her face up to his.
“Kiss me,” he pleaded.
* * *
Elizabet peered up at him, her heart flipping painfully against her breast. She touched his face reverently, caressing him, loving him. “You never have to ask.”
Didn’t he realize?
Couldn’t he tell?
He had been distant and brooding since Seana’s appearance, and she had been afeared that he regretted their vows. There was something between the two of them, she suspected, but he had remained with her and that is all that mattered.
Her breath quickened as he bent to kiss her lips, and her heart jolted excitedly as his arms enfolded her. His warm, big hands caressed her back. With one last squeeze, he hugged her tightly as though it would be their last.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry... I’m sorry...”
She thought he meant he was sorry for hurting her, but he hadn’t hurt her at all. “’Tis alright,” she whispered, stroking the hair from his face. “Everything is going to be alright.”
* * *
Nothing was going to be alright.
Broc dressed himself in the tunic Elizabet had fashioned for him. He wrapped himself afterward in his plaid, praying she would believe him.
“Bring the hound,” he directed, his heart squeezing painfully.
“Where are we going?” she asked when he took her by the hand and led her out of the hut.
“To speak with Piers,” he replied, his tone dull. He tried to make his mouth say the rest, but he couldn’t get the words past his lips.
The expression on her face was one of surprise. “He’s returned from Edinburgh?”
“Aye,” he answered simply and fell into silence beside her, holding her hand. Harpy, tail wagging, kept pace at her side.
“I see,” she said low and must have sensed his turmoil, because she suddenly looked distressed. He thought she might be afeared, as well.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised. “Dinna be afraid, Elizabet.”
She nodded, and he gently squeezed her hand in reassurance.
He prayed to God to help him; he didn’t know how to say it.
There seemed no good time. He’d never intended to wait until they reached Piers’ manor before breaking the news to her, but in the contemplative silence, the walk seemed far too short, and before he realized, they had arrived.
It was near dark now, and the burned remains of the stable sat like an open wound upon the land. He led her toward the sound of the reed in the distance, its song melancholy.
Everyone had gathered in the field near the little chapel.
“It looks like a funeral,” she remarked, peering up at him.
His heart pounding painfully, he pulled her toward the gathering, never daring to look at her.
They reached the church before the gathering. Before it sat a simple white cross wrapped in Brodie plaid.
This instant, he almost wished it were himself being laid in the ground.
How was he going to face her after?
With every step he took, his stout legs seemed as though they would falter.
“Forgive me,” he begged her.
Elizabet was beginning to get the most terrible feeling.
Broc’s face was pale, his expression full of regret. Confusion embraced her.
She stopped and turned to face him. “Forgive you... for what?”
He wouldn’t look at her. He tried but couldn’t meet her gaze. He turned away to peer at the gathering of people in the distance, his throat bobbing.
He shook his head and said only one word, “John.”
Clarity returned with that single utterance.
She turned toward the crowd in the distance, comprehension dawning.
“No!” she exclaimed, her heart thumping against her ribs. He remained silent, and she tore her hand from his. “Tell me it isn’t so!” she demanded of him.
He didn’t speak, wouldn’t look at her.
She flew at him, pounding him on the chest. Harpy began to bark.
“No!” she screamed.
She turned from him and began to run toward the gathering, shouting her brother’s name.
Harpy ran after her, barking at her heels. In the distance, the music ended, and she ran blindly toward the gathered crowd, which turned to face her, watching her approach. She felt as though her legs would give beneath her.
It couldn’t be so.
“Please tell me it isn’t so!” she demanded, and began to cry. He couldn’t be dead.
But he was.
Tomas noticed her first and came striding toward her, the look in his eyes dark and frightening, but she wasn’t afraid. He wouldn’t dare touch her in front of so many people.
“Elizabet!” he called out, sounding relieved to see her. “Where have you been?”
She ran past him, pushing his arms away from her as she stumbled through the crowd, meeting Seana’s familiar gaze. The
woman’s expression was filled with pity, and Elizabet cried out in grief at what she was beginning to comprehend.
Tears blurred her vision.
Faces began to melt before her eyes.
“Elizabet!” shouted one of her father’s men. She recognized his voice but didn’t see his face.
She stumbled to her knees beside the gaping hole in the ground. Beside her, some man stood frozen at his task, dirt piled high upon his shovel, ready to throw it down into the open grave. Blind anger surged up from the depths of her, and she shoved him away.
“John!” she sobbed, staring down into the black hole. He was already half covered with soil.
Someone came forward and tried to comfort her. Someone else came and dragged her to her feet.
She felt suddenly dizzy. Everything faded as though it were naught but a terrible dream.
The last thing she remembered before blackness fell over her was Broc’s face as he came toward her.
Chapter 24
Elizabet sat weeping at Montgomerie’s table.
Seana and Meghan stood at her back, both trying to soothe her.
“If she wishes to go home, ’tis her right,” Tomas said in her defense.
Piers remained unyielding. “Her father sent her to me, and I’ll not turn her about and send her home in her time of distress.”
Piers sat across from her, watching Tomas pace angrily before the table, but she was weeping too hard to express her wishes.
What a fool she had been.
How could she have believed in Broc? What was wrong with her that she would throw herself at the first man who showed her any affection.
Colin and his brothers had dragged Broc away, shouting and cursing at them to let him go. They’d had to pin him down and speak to him in low tones. Elizabet was told that he had agreed to leave, only if Piers promised that Elizabet would not be left alone in Tomas’s care.
But it wasn’t his right to request such a thing. She repudiated him as her husband. Their vows had not been spoken before God.
It didn’t matter that in her heart she had felt every last word. She would always bear the painful memory of their brief time together. She had wanted so very much to believe in him.
“You don’t believe that idiot Scot?” Tomas shouted in anger.
“I don’t know what to believe,” Piers said.
Tomas must have stamped his foot in protest.
Elizabet glanced up to find his face mottled with anger.
“You have two witnesses who swear they saw that savage kill John before their very eyes. Will you call them both liars, Montgomerie?”
Piers’ expression turned cold. “I have called no man a liar,” he said tonelessly, tapping his fingers restlessly upon the table.
“Aye, but you have!” Tomas argued.
Piers stood.
“Piers,” Meghan said at her back.
He glanced at his wife, his eyes dark with anger, his temper barely restrained.
“If you would believe that Scot devil rather than two of your God-fearing countrymen, then you have named them liars.”
Piers cast his head back, obviously trying to control himself, but Elizabet wanted Tomas to win this argument. He was right. How could they believe Broc, when two witnesses saw him murder her brother in cold blood?
Broc had lied to her.
To her very face he had lied to her.
She wanted to go home.
If her father would not allow her to remain in his house, then she would take her dowry and place herself in a nunnery. There she would spend the remainder of her life.
She didn’t ever wish to open her heart again. She didn’t want ever to wed anyone else. She didn’t want to believe in any man’s lies.
Nor did she appreciate these two pompous men discussing her as though she weren’t even present. Didn’t her wishes count for anything?
“I want to go home,” she said softly. Both men turned to look at her, and she sat straight in the chair.
“Elizabet,” Seana protested.
Elizabet shrugged away from her, casting her a wounded glance. Seana hadn’t precisely lied to her, but she had allowed Elizabet to continue to believe something that wasn’t true. She might have spoken up and kept Elizabet from making a fool of herself.
What a fool Seana must have thought her.
The very thought of it stung her eyes once more. Her heart wrenched painfully.
She never ever wanted to set eyes upon that man again. The sooner she left this place, the better she would feel.
She stood, facing Piers squarely. “I wish to go home,” she repeated adamantly.
He shook his head, stubbornly refusing her. “I cannot allow that, Elizabet.”
Elizabet squared her shoulders, challenging him. She didn’t care who he was. He had no right to make decisions for her.
“You cannot allow it?”
His expression remained unyielding. He said nothing, refusing to be baited, but Elizabet wasn’t going to accept his decree so easily.
This was her life.
“Are your loyalties so twisted, my lord, that you would keep your promise to a liar over your obligation to your own flesh and blood?”
“You are out of line, Elizabet,” he told her, though his tone was gentle.
“Nay, my lord! You are out of line!” she countered, unwilling to cede to him. “This is my life, and my decision to make, and I wish to go home!”
Tears streamed from her eyes. She couldn’t stop them.
His eyes slanted with compassion.
“If you do not allow her to return with me,” Tomas interjected, his lip curving into a smirk, “I will be certain to tell Geoffrey you took the word of a Scots beast over that of his daughter and two witnesses. That man murdered his son, and you refuse even to punish him for his crime. The least you can do is let this poor girl go home to her father. She has been abused more than enough.”
Piers sighed, relenting. It was clear he didn’t wish to let her go, but Elizabet was determined. He ignored Tomas’s ultimatum and said to her, “Are you certain ‘tis your wish to go, Elizabet?”
Elizabet nodded, grateful that he would consider her request. “I cannot stay here,” she assured him and began to sob. “I cannot stay,” she cried out and left the table.
If she didn’t leave their presence at once, she was going to disgrace herself with tears. She ran to the staircase, weeping, desperate to be away from so many pairs of eyes.
“We will leave in one hour,” she heard Tomas say to Piers as she raced up the stairs. “Ready yourself, Elizabet!” he shouted after her.
Broc sat in Colin’s hall, surrounded by the three brothers. They’d convinced him to leave Elizabet in Piers’ care, but he was afraid they would let her go with Tomas.
He buried his face in his hands, trying to block the image of Elizabet’s accusing face from his memory. His heart felt near to bursting with grief. And he kept seeing the pain in her expression as she’d turned from her brother’s grave to face him. She’d swooned then, and he’d lifted her up at once and carried her to Piers’ hall.
Tomas, the serpent, had demanded his immediate arrest, and they’d rent her out of his arms.
As long as he lived, he would never forget that look of betrayal upon her face.
He’d promised not to let her down, and he had done far worse than that. He’d lied to her and more... he’d left her in Tomas’s hands.
He’d recognized the man at once as the bowman in the woods. There was no doubt in Broc’s mind that Tomas intended her ill. But he hadn’t been able to convince anyone else of that fact, not when Tomas and his lackeys all pointed their fingers at him in accusation.
He was going to kill the snake with his bare hands!
He stood up, ready to do battle. “I have to go back!” he told them. “I canna leave her with him! Dinna ye understand?”
All three of them stood in his way: Leith, Colin and Gavin, ready to stop him if they must.
&
nbsp; “We believe you,” Leith assured him, “but ’tis the word of three against one, Broc. What would you have had me do?”
“If you return there, you will force Piers’ hand,” Gavin explained.
“Be patient,” Colin said. “Piers gave his word he would not allow Elizabet to leave, and he willna betray his word. Sassenach he may be, but he is an honorable man.”
Broc slammed his fist upon the table. “Do ye honestly believe he will go against his own kin and countrymen to keep his word to me?”
Leith reasoned with him. “I know only this, Broc, if ye return against his wishes, we canna defend ye any longer.”
“Listen to Leith,” Colin demanded of him.
They had him trapped behind the long table and surrounded on all sides. He felt like a caged lion, savage and angry, desperate to be at Elizabet’s side.
What good did it do him if his friends believed him yet he couldn’t protect the woman he loved?
Fury boiled up inside him, turning his vision black. No one was going to keep him from what he knew he must do. “She’s my wife!” he roared, and kicked the table before him with all his might. Its massive weight toppled from the dais, leaving the way clear for him to go.
He ran toward the door.
Only Colin was quick enough to block his exit.
“If ye know what’s good for ye,” he told Colin, “you’ll move out of my way!” His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
Colin drew himself up to do battle with him, though Broc was far bigger than he.
Leith and Gavin were there at once at his side.
Broc looked his best friend square in the eyes and said simply, “What if it were Seana?”
They stared at each other, deadlocked, and for an instant, Colin didn’t reply. His jaw clenched with indecision. He blinked then and put up his hands for Leith and Gavin to back off.
“I canna stand at your back,” he told Broc, his tone vehement.
“I willna ask ye to,” Broc countered, ready to barrel his way through the door if need be, but he wanted no quarrel with Colin.
“Know that if you leave here you put me and my brothers at risk,” he told Broc, and then, without another word, he stepped out of Broc’s way, eyeing his brothers in a warning not to interfere, making his position clear.
Elizabet Page 16
