by Starla Kaye
Furious that he couldn’t get it, he stood and swore viciously. He was tired of this not knowing himself, his past, his people, his family…anything. His thoughts turned to Annabel and how frustrated she was, too. The cryptic note she had found: Braden…Ala…vow to kill Anna.
Braden! Braden MacKay! He knew the powerful Scottish laird, head of the MacKay clan in the northern Highlands! Now that his mind had freed up that knowledge, he could even picture him. The MacKay was a big man, every bit as large as himself, with a thick head of dark brown hair and amber eyes. At least that’s what the man looked like the last time Brodie had seen him here at Urquhart. Braden MacKay had been one his father’s friends.
Brodie stopped in front of one of his windows to look outside. But it wasn’t the bailey below that he saw, no, he was seeing the sadness that had always been on The MacKay’s face, lurking in the depths of his eyes.
His head ached again as something else stirred from those long ago memories. MacKay had lost a daughter. Nay! His wee baby lass had been stolen and never found. His clansmen had searched frantically for her, even watched for her years after her disappearance. Brodie’s own father had helped in the search.
Why was he remembering this now?
Then it hit him. Annabel. She had The MacKay’s hair, his eyes. And if Brodie remembered her right, his wife was a small woman, delicate, though Brodie had only seen her once.
My God, could Annabel really be The MacKay’s firstborn daughter? The hair, the eyes, her build, even her age fit. Then there were Annabel’s da’s dying words: his being sorry—For what? Stealing a babe? She had told him that her da had started insisting she wear boy’s braies and shirts, that she cut her hair. Henderson had said it was to protect her—From what? From who?
Brodie wanted to go find her, wake her, question her about all of this. But he couldn’t. What if he was wrong? Annabel had loved the people who had raised her, that much was obvious. He couldn’t hurt her by mentioning any of this. Nay. He had to check it out first. Contact The MacKay. True, he could bring much pain to the laird by bringing this matter up. But if Brodie were in the man’s position and faced the possibility of seeing his long-lost daughter again, Brodie would want that chance.
Filled with determination of finally doing something helpful for someone, he dressed and hurried down the stairs to find messengers to send to Braden MacKay. This was the first of his memories to return. It gave him great hope. If he had to lose Annabel, he would much prefer it would be to The MacKay. Not to Angus Gordon.
Chapter Six
“I believe it is time new tapestries were made to hang in here,” Lady Agatha Stonewall said. “The ones that presently hang over the fireplace and along the side wall are becoming far too dingy, my laird. Do you not agree?”
Brodie sat next to her at the laird’s table in the great hall trying to break his fast in peace. Had it only been a week since Agatha arrived? God’s teeth, it felt like so much longer. He concentrated on eating one of Cook’s date pastries. She had been babbling about this and that non-stop ever since she sat down next to him. His ears hurt. His head hurt. She was making his stomach hurt as well.
She didn’t give up easily. She tapped his forearm. “Have you been listening to me at all, Lord Urquhart?”
When he reluctantly looked in her direction, he found her thin face pinched in annoyance and her stormy blue eyes looking even stormier. It took him a second to recall what she had been talking about. When he actually remembered her mentioning replacing the tapestries in here, he frowned. “Nay, you may make new tapestries to hang with these, but the ones here already will remain.”
“But look at them closely. They are discolored and shabby.” She motioned to the nearly ten foot square tapestry of a battle scene over the enormous fireplace. “A disgrace to your fine home.”
He ground his teeth, calling upon his thinning patience to not lash out in anger.
Annabel, sitting on his other side, said gently, “Mayhap you did not tell Lady Stonewall that your mother and your sister made these tapestries years ago.” She smiled at him—the first smile she’d given him in a week. “As someone who has never had a real home, I agree with Lady Stonewall that Urquhart is indeed a ‘fine home.’ But I must disagree with her opinion of the tapestries. They are magnificent, some of the finest I have seen in my years of traveling from one castle to another.”
Her mentioning that she’d never had a real home reminded him of the secret he kept from her. He had sent word to Braden MacKay nearly a week ago, sent with two of his hardiest, fastest riders. He’d felt a sense of urgency to get a message to the man. And with each passing day, he grew more anxious for a return message. Mayhap MacKay had ignored the note, thought it foolish. Mayhap he’d been angered by Brodie even bringing up such a sad matter. Mayhap…
Agatha’s hand was still on his forearm and she squeezed it as she interrupted his musings. “You should have told me of their importance. I feel like such a fool. And what you must think of me now.”
“Annabel is right in that I should have told ye aboot them.” He lightly patted her hand and casually removed it from his arm. “In truth, I have no memories of the tapestries. It was Cook—who had been very close to my ma—who told me their history one day after I returned from Tunis.” He looked toward the fireplace wall’s tapestry and sadness curled through him. “I hope to someday truly remember them…and to remember my ma as well.” His father, older brother, and Maggie, too.
He heard a quiet sniff and had a feeling tenderhearted Annabel was tearing up at what he’d said. But he couldn’t turn to see for sure. As it was, it became harder each day to sit beside her, to see her flitting here or there around the castle’s grounds, to run into her in the keep. They had hardly spoken, even during the meals. Tension sizzled between them and he prayed no one else noticed it.
“Well, at least the tapestries can be taken down and cleaned.” Agatha wrinkled her nose. “And the servants need to be instructed to change the rushes on the floor more often. Add sprinklings of heather to them. Sometimes the smell in here is quite unpleasant.”
He supposed she might be right about that, though he tended to overlook much of that kind of thing. “There are many matters for the staff to see to, but ye may speak to them about the rushes.”
Agatha gave him a pleased look. “I just want the hall to be as presentable as possible when we have the wedding feast.”
The wedding feast. Brodie inwardly sighed. Time was passing all too quickly. The fortnight he had insisted upon before saying their vows would be up before he knew it. Had a man ever looked less forward to a wedding? Probably. It wasn’t that Agatha was uncomely, he found her attractive enough. But his body did not react with a fierce need for her in the way it did for Annabel. It wasn’t that she was a simpering woman, which he couldn’t have lived with. But she talked a great deal about the importance of making regular appearances at Edward’s court, of forming stronger bonds with influential lords, of wanting them to entertain their neighbors, their clansmen here with traveling troupes and minstrels. She never understood when he explained that wasn’t the kind of life here in the Highlands. She didn’t listen when he said he would not go to Edward’s court unless summoned.
Before he could respond—though he didn’t know what to say, Annabel pushed back her chair and stood. “If you will excuse me, Lord Urquhart, I have matters to attend to.”
“What matters?” He sensed Agatha’s resentment at being ignored, at his focus on Annabel. It couldn’t be helped. He would be concerned about Annabel and what she did until she left Urquhart…and probably after she left. “Why wear ye braies this day?”
She blew out a breath of annoyance. “As I told you yesterday, Tavis and Sir Douglas have agreed to instruct me on using a knife properly. A small sword as well.” When he started to object, she raised her stubborn chin. “I need to know how better to defend myself. You, yourself, mentioned it one day. And you agreed to this instruction already.”
&nb
sp; Brodie gave a curt nod. He recalled a brief discussion about the matter yesterday. “I could—”
Sir Douglas walked over from where he’d been breaking his fast nearby. “Nay, my laird, ye have other matters to see to this day. There are several freemen wishing to speak with ye about some disagreements they’re having with neighboring serfs. And ye are meeting with two new knights who wish to pledge allegiance here. Now that Angus has left.”
Annabel gave him a disgruntled glance at the mention of Angus Gordon. While she had admitted the surly knight made her uncomfortable, she had been displeased when Brodie told her that he’d dismissed him. She believed it was because he was jealous of the man. Brodie wouldn’t deny it—not that he’d told her, but it was his first and a number of his men who had come to him with complaints that had made his final decision. Gordon was disliked and distrusted. And he’d been furious at being told to leave. Angry enough that he’d left Urquhart an enemy, and had been escorted from the castle grounds and off Urquhart land.
“Ye’ll be verra careful, Douglas,” Brodie warned, resigned to the training. If she suffered so much as a small cut, he would have both their heads.
With a nod of agreement, Douglas walked away with Annabel, leaving Brodie to endure more time with Agatha. Oh, how he wished he could help with the weapons training, or that the freemen and serfs would show up soon.
* * *
“Have we an agreement then?” Angus Gordon asked determinedly. He stood next to the tinker’s wagon he’d been lucky enough to come upon while heading back to meet up with Alastair Sutherland’s men. “Ye’ll gain the trust of Annabel Henderson. Convince her to leave with ye, bringing her own wagon along…if ye canna destroy it.”
Callum Campbell, a wiry, balding man about half the size of Angus grinned. “Me wife will make her feel like our own daughter. Right, Sarahbeth?”
Sarabeth beamed, staring lovingly at the packet of coins Angus had given them in partial payment. “Aye, Callum. Fer these coins and the promise of more, Annabel will become me beloved daughter.”
“Until ye deliver her to me.” His demand drew their full attention. “If ye dinna deliver her to me within two weeks, I will send men fer ye. Ye willna like them, trust me on that.”
Fortunately he’d run across a greedy pair of traders. People who would probably sell their own flesh and blood for the sum he’d promised them. They barely acknowledged his threat. “We will be here in two weeks time.”
Angus walked back to his horse, mounted and rode off to the nearest village. Fury seethed inside him. His offer to marry her refused by Annabel Henderson. Dismissed by The Great Scottish Devil. Escorted from Urquhart land by armed men who had been anxious for an excuse to kill him. They would all pay, especially the fair Annabel and the almighty Brodie Durward.
* * *
Even though it was only mid-morn, the late August day had proven to be sweltering hot. A clear blue sky offered no relief from the sun beating down on all gathered in the upper bailey. Annabel was sweating something awful beneath the chainmail hauberk Douglas had insisted she wear over her shirt. And her feet were hurting in the too-big boots Tavis had loaned her, claiming she couldn’t slide around the dirt ground in her slippers.
“Watch yer stomach, lass!” Douglas yelled in warning as Tavis lunged at her with his wooden sword.
She dodged away in the nick of time, grinning. It pleased her that after already being jabbed at least a dozen times, she’d finally missed one. She lunged back and managed to almost hit him this time. “I am getting closer. Soon, you devil of a foe, I will cut you.” Her giggle ruined the seriousness of the decree.
He rolled his eyes and his mouth twitched at her foolishness.
A crowd of soldiers more interested in watching this training session than in their own work out stood in a ring around them. Villagers passing through the castle’s grounds had stopped to watch as well. And Annabel was fairly certain there weren’t many servants left inside the keep. The amount of interest they’d drawn had surprised her, until she realized this was the most entertainment these people had had in a long time. There had been such sadness and uncertainty here ever since Brodie had returned here without his memories and something of a broken man. They needed a bit of fun. She didn’t care that it came at her expense. What bruises she got would be worth it.
“I’ll have yer wagon and all its wares,” Tavis demanded, lunging at her once more.
Several in the crowd booed and hissed, others cheered him on. Again, it pleased her to provide them all this distraction. She easily sidestepped Tavis’ attack and attempted to spin about—as she’d seen him do—to offer a counterattack. Her boots slid and she went down with a hard Thud! on her tender bottom.
Now the crowd laughed, a few taunted her good-heartedly.
Tavis made the mistake of offering her a hand to get up. She gave him a devilish look and pulled him down beside her. She scrambled atop him and pulled her sheathed dagger from her boot and held it to his neck. “I will slit your throat before I let you have my wagon and its wares.”
The crowd grew silent but she barely noticed it in the fun she was having at besting Tavis. Then she sensed trouble behind her, real trouble. In the next instant, a muscled forearm reached to grab her dagger and throw it aside. That same arm swept around her body and tugged her off a wide-eyed Tavis.
Annabel hung in the air, her feet at least a foot off the ground. Her heart raced, but not in fear. She recognized the muscled body holding her. She knew the familiar scent of the man.
“If there be two attackers, lass, ye’d be dead by now,” Brodie stated grimly.
Silence continued around them, uncertainly. She refused to allow him to spoil the mood, the fun all had enjoyed until he showed up to ruin it. She wriggled in his hold, kicked back at his shin and made him growl. “Put me down, you big oaf.”
“Big oaf?” he questioned in shock. “Ye dare to kick yer laird?”
Finally squirming free, she faced him, grinning in challenge. “I thought you were a second attacker. As such, I would fight you however I could. Kicking your shin.” She hesitated, glancing down his body. “Or kicking…” She didn’t finish, but enjoyed the way his eyes widened.
Then, surprising them all—maybe even himself—Brodie threw back his head and laughed. A rusty sound, but filled with amusement. And the others began laughing as well; although some cautiously watched him to be sure it was all right.
After a minute, when he’d regained his composure and breath, Brodie looked at her. “Yer da teach ye that, Anna? Aboot where to kick a mon?”
She bobbed her head. Her throat suddenly clogged with emotion. Her father hadn’t taught her how to use a knife or a sword, although she’d secretly taught herself a little bit. But he had taught her how to hit a man, or where to kick a man in order to defend herself in some manner.
Brodie must have sensed her distress for he began waving the others to go on their way. He stood in front of her, not touching her, but she felt his tender gaze as if it were a touch. “I do no’ like the idea of ye needing to defend yerself, but I am no’ a fool. There could come a time when ye might have to do so. Especially with what that note ye found said.”
“I try not to think about it.” She shivered in unease. “But I do.”
“As do I.”
They locked gazes for several long, awkward seconds. “You know I must leave here, soon. I have already stayed longer than I should have.”
His forehead furrowed. “I willna discuss it.”
She heaved a sigh, wanting to shake the stubborn man. “I do not belong here. Agatha does not want me here. And you do not need another problem in your already complicated life.”
His shoulders slumped and she hated seeing the sadness in his tired eyes. She hated knowing the turmoil she caused him. His feelings for her were strong, nearly as strong as hers were for him. But there was no future for them being together. He knew it, too, and it was causing him great pain. She couldn’t stand that.
>
“There is an older man in the village that would travel with me at least to my next stop. Abram Munro. He has clansmen not far from here that he would like to see.”
“Abram Munro must be as old as dirt!” Brodie protested. “He can barely walk. He is all but blind, can hardly hear. Nay! Ye canna leave Urquhart with him. I forbid it.”
Disgusted, Annabel turned to pick up her discarded dagger and practice sword. She noticed how a number of people not far from them had looked worriedly at her after Brodie’s outburst. She smiled at them in reassurance before facing him once again.
“We will talk no more about it this day. You have laird’s business to deal with and I am going into the village for a while.” She needed to get away from him, as much as he would allow.
“The matter is settled.”
She pinned him with her most determined glare. “Nay, it is not.”
Annabel walked away, feeling the heat of his anger on her back. Lately she’d begun wondering if she shouldn’t just leave one night when he was sleeping. She was friendly enough with his men that surely she could talk the guard of whatever night to let her leave. She was getting desperate.
* * *
“Both of ye, go to yer bedchambers!” Brodie gritted out, glowering furiously from Annabel to Agatha. They stood nose-to-nose in front of the fireplace, arguing at the top of their lungs about cleaning the great hall. He’d been up in his solar dealing with the last of the serf’s problems when Sir Douglas had come to him in frustration. He first had tried to separate the two women and had no success. Brodie had finally reached the limits of his patience with them.
Agatha turned on him, looking irate with pieces of rushes clinging to her intricately braided hair. Her eyes flashed with fire. She pointed at Annabel, her finger shaking in her anger. “She…”
“I do no’ want to hear it, Lady Stonewall. Everyone in this hall has already heard enough of the two of ye arguing. Go. To. Yer. Bedchamber!” He grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the stairs. “Now!”
