Her Highland Protector (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 2)

by Emilia Ferguson

  She felt him tense and draw back.

  “Milady,” he whispered. He looked into her eyes. His face was desperate. “Forgive me…”

  “Shh,” she said, and touched his hair gently. “There is nothing to forgive. Good night.”

  As she heard him whisper in return, she opened the door and went swiftly inside, shutting it behind her again. Then, exhausted, she sat down on the bed and closed her eyes.

  A thousand thoughts ran through her weary brain as she lay there. First, that the last time she’d been in this very building, she’d been accompanied by Clovis, part of his way of introducing his people to her, and her to the estate. Second, that she would never have to be afraid of him again.

  Her third thought, as she stood to rinse her face in the dish of water on the night stand, was that Brogan was just outside, sleeping at the threshold of her bedroom.

  She wished that she could be there, or he in here. It was not really a wish – more a yearning that started within her tummy and spread like fire from her belly to her toes and to her face, making her blush.

  Her skin tingled with a strange mix of sensations – shame, mingled with confusion, mingling with excitement. Her last thought, as she dropped slowly off to sleep, was that he must look quite defenseless when he slept. That she wanted to see as well.

  She fell into a deeper, more restful sleep than she’d known in years and woke next morning to the sound of birds and a low, gray sky promising rain.

  A GATHERING IS HELD

  Brogan woke the next morning feeling cramped and cold. He sat up and leaned against the wooden door behind him. His side ached from where he’d slept on the floor and his head was sore and felt like it was filled with mist. He shook it to try and clear his thoughts and smiled.

  Somewhere, in that room, was Irmengarde.

  He closed his eyes, straining to hear some sign of life through the door. He thought he heard a thud, as if somebody put something on a table. He smiled. He was full of fancies.

  I wonder if she slept in her dress?

  He felt his cheeks go bright red. Not only was she his employer, more or less, but she was staying here, seeking sanctuary in a holy place! He looked around, cheeks hot with shame.

  He stretched and got unsteadily to his feet. The sun was shining, though dense clouds made the light filtered, the hallway gray and shadow filled. He glanced along to the colonnade. The monks must have been up and about a while.

  He felt his thoughts go back, dwelling on the previous night and on the supper with Irmengarde.

  He looked around, distracting himself from the sweet memories of that. If he listened carefully, he could hear somebody mumbling a prayer, the slap of sandal clad feet on stone paving as monks went down the hall and attended to daily tasks. He stretched and rubbed his eyes, trying to figure out how late it was. He guessed it to be perhaps eight o’ clock already. He drew in a deep breath, and found, somewhat disappointingly, that he couldn’t smell baked bread.

  Either the monks had already eaten, or no baking was happening today.

  He stepped off the slight slope leading up to the door and got ready to head to the kitchens, planning that he could at least be useful and find them some bread for breakfast. As he took a step, the door opened.

  “Milady!”

  “Oh!”

  They looked at each other. She looked surprised, her mouth framing a small “o”. He looked down, acutely aware that his body was responding to her presence already.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I had no idea you were right outside. Have you dined?”

  “I said I’d stay here,” he said. He felt a little hurt. Had she expected he’d fail her?

  “I know,” she said softly. She reached out to him and he took her hand, second nature now. “I just thought you’d have eaten something now.”

  “Not yet,” he said. He realized he was holding her hand, which, should any of the monks see it, would be an unforgivable breach. He ran his finger tenderly across the skin of her palm, and let it go, frowning worriedly.

  “Milady. Your hand is hurt.”

  “Blisters.” She shrugged. “It’ll mend itself.”

  “We should ask if the monks have something for it,” he insisted.

  She smiled. “Oh, Brogan…you do cosset me so.”

  He grinned. “I don’t know, milady. I don’t know the word.”

  She smiled. “It means you fuss, Brogan. Which you do. Eternally.”

  He laughed. “I reckon I fuss about all precious things, milady.”

  She held his gaze and he felt his heart soaring like a lark, as if it had escaped his body and floated somewhere, high above the monastery walls.

  “I don’t know if there’ll be any breakfast left for us,” she commented lightly, as they headed down the hallway toward the kitchens.

  “I cannot smell any,” he murmured.

  She laughed. “I’m sure they’ll have some leftovers. They bake twice a week. If I’m right, they baked those bannocks on Tuesday, and that means they’ll bake again tomorrow.”

  “Hope so,” he nodded.

  Irmengarde grinned at him over her shoulder. “They’re stale.”

  He roared with mirth, covering up his grin as a monk whirled round, glaring at him most crossly. He bit his cheeks and followed her tall, poised body into the kitchen.

  “Brother? Good morning,” Irmengarde whispered. The monk was sleeping on the table, head between spread hands.

  He shot upright when he heard her voice, looked round wildly, then stood.

  “Milady!” he straightened his posture, and Brogan wanted to smile, seeing her receive the level of respect she was due, at least. “The bread’s in the box. The cheese is on the side. We have milk...”

  “Thank you,” she nodded. “That’d be very nice.”

  Brogan felt a flare of pride as she drew out a chair and sat down, gesturing for him to take one opposite. He pulled one out, feeling awkward. It was one thing, when they ate together the night before.

  We were exhausted then, worn out with riding.

  Now, in the morning, alert and awake, with her sitting opposite him, fresh faced and serenely lovely, he felt more intimidated than he could have put into words, even with Irmengarde’s bewildering list of them.

  “Bread…cheese…milk,” the monk said, placing plates on the table before them with a click. Brogan looked up gratefully.

  “Thanks, Brother.”

  The monk shuffled off to the garden, leaving them alone.

  Brogan looked across the table, swallowing hard, unable to quite believe the amazing fact that he was here with her, alone. He felt awkward. More, even than that, however, he felt happy.

  * * *

  Irmengarde reached for bread, looking into Brogan’s gently smiling face across the roughly cut table from her. She felt her heart thump, wild beats that made her feel as lighthearted as a young girl once more.

  I need to be more sensible than this, to think more maturely.

  She helped herself to the milk, which was delicate and foamy, fresh from the dairy. She drank it with her eyes shut, and tried to make plans. She had a future to think of.

  “I reckon the horses are well-tended,” Brogan said, his voice low. She nodded, keeping her eyes shut. If she just sat here, she could imagine that there was no future, and no past. Only the endless present, with her in a small, cozy kitchen with Brogan.

  I wish that could be all I knew, all I had ever had cause to know.

  She felt at peace here.

  Out there, the world was full of conflict. She had known that since she was a child. The daughter of a baron, she had felt from an early age that she was made for the sort of advantageous marriage that brought peace. She had never truly known simple contentment. All her life had been marred by fighting, or the threat of fighting.

  Her mind flashed back to when she was perhaps twelve years old, standing on the stairs that led to the turret where the bedchambers were. She was dressed in a long gown of br
ocade, the sleeves covering her hands. Her father was standing in front of her.

  “Remember, your marriage will be such that it is to serve our family first, yourself second. Your future is ours, and ours yours.” His stern face looked into hers, white beard neatly trimmed below hard eyes.

  “Yes, Papa,” she’d whispered then. She’d felt her stomach twist with fear, but she’d straightened her back and nodded. It all seemed so reasonable, so inevitable, when he said it.

  Now, though, she had to plan for the future – her own future, without having to consider how she could best be used to advantage her family. She opened her eyes.

  “It looks like rain, later,” she began slowly.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “I think so, too. Probably round noon.”

  “We should go,” she said carefully.

  “Go?” he frowned.

  During the night, and more so in the early morning, while she fixed her hair, Irmengarde had been making plans. She couldn’t stay here. Not indefinitely – and so she had to find another place to go, somewhere Clovis would never think of looking for her.

  He has the power to cut off the supply of alms and destroy this whole sanctuary.

  That wasn’t something she wished to risk. No, if she was going to be safe anywhere, it had best be somewhere Clovis knew nothing about.

  That was why she’d come up with the thought of Addie.

  Adelberta McMurrie was an ex-servant whom she’d met a few months previous, on the run from the English King. Irmengarde had helped her, and she had never forgotten that, it seemed. She had settled with her freedom fighting husband in the woods nearby. It might take a day’s ride to find them, but there she would escape Clovis’ wrath. She knew instinctively that Addie would help her.

  “I know where I want to go,” she said. “Back northeast.”

  Of all the reactions she might have expected, she had not expected the one she got. Brogan went pale.

  “No, milady!” Brogan looked horrified. “If I take you back to…”

  “Not to Tysdale,” she snapped. “Sorry,” she added, surprised by how crestfallen he looked. “I mean, I don’t mean to go there, not directly. I know somebody who settled nearby. Someone who would give us shelter, in return for a deed I did her.”

  “Her?”

  “Yes,” Irmengarde said, feeling a little irritable. “Lasses can also be useful, you know.”

  “Och, milady! I know that. Strong, too. And brave. Braver than lads, sometimes.”

  “You really think that?” she asked skeptically.

  “You reckon men would give birth?”

  They both laughed. Irmengarde felt a smile of sheer wonderment tighten her lips. She had never imagined, as a daughter raised by an authoritarian man, married to a cruel one, that anybody male would choose to think like that.

  “You’re a rare one.”

  He grinned. “Thanks, milady.”

  “Now,” she said, reaching purposefully for another slice of bread. “I suggest we eat well, and ask for more provisions for the journey into the bargain. We have a long ride ahead of us. And it’s going to be dangerous, because this time we might be being hunted after.”

  He went pale, but nodded. “Yes, milady.”

  She nodded back and ate her bread and wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like if he could kiss her, here and now, without any fear of rebuke. His lips were so strong and soft, and when they touched hers, she felt like her body was melting, joining with his in a sweet union that was so, so different from anything she’d felt before.

  She wasn’t going to let herself think of it. If she spent time thinking about it, and how his lips felt, so gentle, on hers…she shook her head, annoyed at herself. Where were her thoughts this morning? They were as unschooled as a yard’s worth of colts!

  “We’re ready to go?” he asked.

  She nodded. She’d eaten four slices of bread and some cheese, and, with the milk, she felt strengthened and ready to ride again. There were enough provisions to pack some for a brief lunch, if they added them to their own.

  “Yes. We’re ready.”

  They said a grateful farewell to the abbot, and headed out to the stables.

  Setting out was something fearful. Irmengarde held her breath, half-expecting that the hunt was still ongoing. Her back was aching from the long hours in the saddle the day before, her knees chafed. She flinched at a sound from the monastery courtyard, but it was only one of the monks, dropping something on the stone. She felt her horse shy at the head of the path and realized she was communicating all of her fears to her.

  “Easy, lass,” she whispered, patting her neck in encouragement. She strode down the path, sure-footed. Just that alone was enough to make Irmengarde wonder at her husband’s mad plan of getting Brogan to train her horse. She wondered, with a sick horror in the pit of her belly, if he would truly have been cruel enough to kill her horse, just to make her miserable.

  I know I am not wrong in leaving this man.

  Brogan followed on Snowstorm, and then the path widened enough for them to ride side-by-side again.

  “I feel worried,” he admitted. “I can’t rest for thinking somebody is still riding around, looking for you.”

  “Me too.” Irmengarde nodded.

  “We’d have heard them by now,” he said, trying to sound lighthearted.

  “I also think so,” Irmengarde replied. She was tense and couldn’t help it. If they caught him, there would be no consequences for him. He had done nothing, save for setting out on a long unplanned ride on a borrowed horse. She, on the other hand, had run away from her husband.

  Thoughts of rumors she had heard in circulation came back to her. Women branded on the face for adultery, women with their ears cut off. Women killed. She shuddered.

  Clovis would ensure I was handed the highest penalty, whatever that happened to be.

  She set her knees to her horse, setting her off at a swift canter.

  The day brightened. The clouds moved and sunlight filtered in between the trees. They stopped, once or twice, to check the map. It seemed like they were headed in the right direction.

  The second time they stopped, they heard hoof beats, crunching on the leaf mold.

  Irmengarde’s head shot up. She laid a hand on Brogan’s arm. It felt hard under her touch.

  “We should hide,” he nodded.

  They took the horses, withdrawing into a dense bushy patch. It was by no means perfect – any more than a cursory glance from a passing rider would show two horses, standing in the thick brush – but it might keep them off the scent for a few minutes.

  “Ahead! Ride!”

  Irmengarde shut her eyes as the shouts went up, and the patter of hooves turned into a rolling thunder. She was grateful only for the fact that, as yet, she’d heard no dogs.

  As a rider thundered along the path, she looked up. Her eyes showed her auburn hair and broad shoulders. It was Clovis.

  Irmengarde shut her eyes again, and felt herself start to sway. If the patrol didn’t pass soon, she might pass out. She felt a hand take her wrist.

  “Easy, lass. One more rider, that’s all.”

  His gentle voice fed strength into her. She nodded and stood firm. The sound of hooves slowly ebbed away.

  They stayed concealed for a minute longer as the forest settled down to silence again. A bird called, high and sweet, overhead. Then there was only the sound of a wind somewhere, high in the trees.

  Irmengarde felt her legs buckle as she tried to take a step forward. Brogan reached for her wrists.

  “Easy, lass,” he said again. She didn’t bother to enforce her higher status – in this moment, being called “lass” was strangely soothing, and exactly what she needed to hear.

  They rejoined the road.

  “Not much further, eh? About a mile.”

  Irmengarde nodded, trying to find her voice. “Aye,” she said. “And Clovis isn’t here today.”

  “No,” he agreed.

/>   Irmengarde used a tree trunk to help herself mount, then wheeled to join Brogan. As they rejoined the road, she found herself thinking about Clovis. Seeing him there, so intent on the hunt, terrified her.

  I know that I made the right choice.

  She couldn’t possibly stay with such a creature. Not with a man who saw her only as a possession – something to be disparaged, but to be kept at all costs.

  “We should go left as soon as possible?”

  “Yes. Or risk riding straight back to the fort.”

  Brogan nodded crisply and they went left as soon as they found a turning off the main path. The road led steeply up, and Irmengarde felt her heart start to pound. Addie was to be found near a second settlement – this one, with more agricultural settlers, many of them from the yeomanry, meaning that they owned the land they worked.

  “There!” she pointed upwards. Through a chink in the trees, they could just see a settlement on the hilltop – some gray walls. Irmengarde felt herself instinctively quicken their pace.

  As she neared the cottages, she kept her eyes open, looking for a wiry young woman with red hair. She spotted her carrying a pail from a big stone farmhouse. She dismounted and ran ahead.

  “Addie!” she called. “Addie?”

  The woman stopped. Her eyes focused on Irmengarde and widened, her face a picture of delight.

  “Milady! It’s you! You’re here!”

  Irmengarde nodded, her heart too full of emotion to speak. “Yes,” she said. “It’s me. Addie…I have need of your help.”

  The woman had taken her hands in hers and she stared into her eyes, then nodded.

  “Of course, milady. This calls for a celebration!”

  Irmengarde swallowed hard. “Addie…my presence here is a secret.”

  Addie chuckled. “Och, aye, milady. But that doesn’t mean us countrified sorts can’t throw a feast and get the piper tae play a measure. Come inside! My Alexander will be sorely glad to see you.”

  Irmengarde felt her legs go weak. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Oh, thank you so much.”