by Aubrey Wynne
Brodie’s eyes widened as his grandfather’s closed. He looked at his sister who had begun to smile, hope shining in her eyes. He bit into the dessert and chewed, then took another bite.
“Oh gracious,” exclaimed Peigi, “these are wonderful.”
His sister beamed. Was that a tear glistening in her eye? Could she be that happy over a tart? Or was it because she had bested her brother? He hated to admit defeat, but the pastry was delicious. He’d gladly have two.
“It’s light and buttery,” his mother said around a mouthful.
“The outer shell is just the right crispness and the apples are baked to perfection,” agreed his grandmother.
Brigid plopped down next to him, beaming. “Brodie?”
He nodded. “Ye’ve won, little sister.”
“Now ye have to ask Kirsty to marry ye,” she said.
Brodie was surprised. Not a hint of smugness in her tone. He opened his mouth to announce he’d already done so, when she leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“She’s my best friend in the world, and I’ve helped to make her the happiest woman in the glen.” She studied the table and traced the wood grain with a finger, pink staining her cheeks as she admitted, “Kirsty is the sister I’ve always wanted. That’s why I never gave up. Ye’ve made both our dreams come true.”
Brodie studied his sister. She wasn’t the sentimental type, and a confession like this would have been difficult for her. Brigid may have a tough outer shell, but she was more fragile on the inside than she would ever admit. How could he belittle her effort by telling her it had been unnecessary? That he had already proposed? He blew out a loud breath, knowing it would be misinterpreted.
“Aye, ye minx. Consider us betrothed.” He smiled. “And I’m proud of ye. And Enid, for letting ye back into her kitchen.”
“Weel, about that,” she said with a grin. “I may no’ be so welcome again.”
“It seems congratulations are in order for both my grandchildren,” boomed Calum. “Fetch the decanter, Brodie. We’ll drink to Brigid’s accomplishment and Brodie’s future betrothal.”
A disturbance in the courtyard interrupted their celebration. Lissie looked out the paned glass. “Someone has arrived on horseback. The beastie is sweating as if the devil had chased them.”
A muffled yell from below and an answering voice, and soon the panting man stood before them. He held an envelope in their hand.
“Jason, ye’ve come from the mill?” asked his grandfather.
The man nodded.
“Och, mon, dinna just stand there. What is it?” coaxed Calum in a quiet but firm voice.
But the hairs rose on the back of Brodie’s neck. The villager worked for them in Glasgow. There was no good reason he would be racing pell-mell to MacNaughton Castle.
Jason opened his mouth, but no words came out. Brodie saw the pain in the man’s brown eyes. Instead, the man walked forward and handed his chief the envelope.
Brodie admired his grandfather’s composure as he calmly cracked the seal and opened the letter. As he watched Calum’s face, his own heart cracked. Tears sprang to Calum’s eyes, and he swallowed once, then twice as he tried to form words. Silently, he handed the paper to Glynnis and Peigi, their heads bent together as they read.
“What?” Brodie couldn’t stand it.
Lissie shook her head, her eyes shining. “Ian’s coming home, isn’t he?”
Calum stood abruptly, his chair tumbling backwards and clattering against the floor. His face turned up to the ceiling, his fists above his head, he let out a heart-wrenching roar. Peigi rushed to his side while Glynnis clung to Lissie. Brigid clutched Brodie’s hand, her nails digging into his flesh as she reached for the letter.
Brodie sat in shock, hearing bits and pieces as Brigid’s tremulous voice read the news.
“Demonstration… Manchester… Ian killed… Lachlan and Colin bringing him home…”
“Oh, Brodie,” cried Brigid.
He turned to his sister, wrapped his arms around her, and prayed this was a bad dream.
Chapter Thirteen
The Parting Glass
Crack! Kirstine and her mother both jumped when the door banged against the wall. Her father stood, blocking out the meager light of early dusk. “It’s a tragedy,” he said in a cracked voice.
A chill snaked down Kirstine’s spine, waiting for the rest.
“Ian MacNaughton is dead. Killed at St. Peter’s field during a political gathering. Women and children dead too. The newspapers called it a massacre.
“Oh, sweet Jesu!” Her mother’s hands flew to her chest, then reached out for Kirstine.
“Ian? Are ye sure?” It couldn’t be true. She’d just seen him a month or so ago. “I didna say goodbye when he left. He canna be gone.”
“They’re having a terrible time at the castle. The news crushed Calum. He clutched at his chest, Enid said, and fell to the floor. It was like a great tree toppling to the ground.” Her father beckoned them both. “Fetch yer satchel. Ye’re needed. Brodie has sent off messengers to inform the chieftains, and I’ve been tasked with collecting both of ye.”
“Brodie,” Kirstine gasped. “My poor Brodie.”
“He’s standing strong, Kirsty. Took over as if he’d always been chief, giving orders and seeing to the women.” He cleared his throat. “I was proud to do his bidding.”
Kirstine swallowed the lump in her throat.
“No time for sentiment, Daughter.” The women scrambled into action while Mr. MacDunn came around with the wagon.
“I’ll drive,” said her mother. “Saddle up yer horse, in case I need ye to fetch something for me.” With a steady hand, she cracked the whip, and they rumbled down the lane. “When we arrive, I’ll go straight to Calum and Peigi. Ye tend to the younger lasses, give laudanum to Lissie, and then find yer mon. He’ll need comforting.”
Kirstine nodded. She was used to people scurrying about the grounds, but the place was almost empty.
An eerie quiet hovered over the courtyard. A redheaded stableboy ran up and held the harness. “Are they all inside?” asked Mrs. MacDunn.
He nodded, his mouth trembling. “The MacNaughton, he… the sound that came from the castle made my skin crawl. It was horrible.” The boy swiped at his tear-streaked face, then led the horse and wagon away.
The women gazed up at the windows of the round tower. A faint moan carried on the breeze. Her mother gathered her skirts in one hand and gripped the satchel in the other. “Take a deep breath and remember: no crying. We’re healers, and we’re needed now.”
*
Kirstine shivered as she entered the dim great hall. The evening chill seeped through the open windows and soaked into the cold stone walls. No matter the time of year, evenings in the Highlands had a bite to them. Especially in these old, drafty castles.
The flame from a single lamp lit Brodie’s face, lines of exhaustion deepened by the flitting shadows. He’d aged in the last hours; the responsibilities of family and clan weighed heavy on his tired shoulders. Brodie had stood in for Calum, meeting with clan heads to answer questions and accept condolences as the news spread. He hadn’t wept yet, according to her father; there’d been no time to grieve.
He was slumped in a wingback chair, swirling an amber liquid with one hand, the other dangling near the floor. He tipped back his head to drain the glass. His rumpled shirt had been pulled from his kilt, which was in disarray and left his knees bare. He was a sorry sight, and Kirstine’s eyes burned with her own unshed tears. Sorrow for the loss of a brother, a son, a grandson, a husband, a friend. Ian’s death left a massive void in the hearts of his family and clan.
“Do ye care for some company?”
He didn’t answer but gave a curt nod.
She knelt in front of the hearth, added peat, and started a small fire. What could she say? Nothing would ease the pain. When she turned to face him, he set his glass on the small table next to him and opened his arms to her. Kirstine settled on his
lap and pulled his head to her chest. She rocked back and forth as his grip tightened about her waist. No, she realized, words weren’t necessary. He needed her love, her strength. She stroked his hair and held him tight.
His tears were silent at first, soaking her bodice, until he sucked in a shaky breath and released a long, mournful sob. She soothed him, stroking his hair and his back. The peat was only embers when Brodie leaned his head back against the chair.
“What would I do without ye?” he rasped. He scrubbed his face with one hand, the unshaven jaws scratching beneath his palm as he closed his bloodshot eyes. “I keep hoping this is just a night terror. If I go to sleep, I’ll wake up to see Ian walk through the door.”
“What can I do for ye? Have ye eaten?” She wondered how much he’d drank of the half-empty decanter.
“I’m no’ hungry.”
“That’s no’ the question.”
He snorted and opened his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Sweet Mary, how I love ye, Kirsty.”
“And I love ye too, but ye’ll be no help to Calum if ye drink yer supper.” She stood and held out her hands. “Let’s go see Enid and get some food in yer belly.”
“I’ll follow yer lead, love.”
Enid had been busy. Her puffy eyes belied the smile she gave them. “It will be a small army in and out, paying their respects over the next week. I thought I’d get started with the food,” she told Kirsty as she set a plate of cold fowl, cheese, and fresh bread on the trestle table. “How is the MacNaughton?”
“Doing well and insisting it was no’ apoplexy but a bit of dough he choked on.” Kirstine remembered his gray pallor when she’d first seen him.
“Ye canna blame a mon after such a shock. Especially at his age,” added the cook.
“Dinna let him hear ye say that,” said Brodie. He picked at the hunk of cheese.
“And how are ye, lad? I heard ye did a fine job in yer grandfather’s stead.” Enid squeezed his shoulder. “Calum will be proud.”
He nodded. “He’d expect nothing less, and we must all do our part.”
Kirstine picked up the conversation. “Aye, his color is already improving. Ma says he should rest a couple days, but she doubts he’ll listen.”
“Ye’ll no’ keep Grandda in bed for long. He’ll want to be up to meet Ian when…”
Enid and Kirstine shared a concerned glance. “And Lissie?” asked the cook.
“I gave her something to sleep. Brigid and Glynnis are with her. Even in their grief, they’re strong and worried about others.”
“They’re MacNaughtons,” Enid agreed.
Kirstine heard a loud sniff as the portly woman resumed her work.
“Will ye be leaving soon?” Brodie tucked her hand in his. “Ye must be tired too.”
It occurred to her, in that moment, how thoughtful he’d become.
“I believe my mother is giving last-minute instructions to Peigi about now, then she’ll check on Brigid and Glynnis once more. Da said he’d let me know when he would bring the wagon up.”
“And I’m here to do just that,” Mr. MacDunn said behind her. “I’m going now.” Brodie stood when the older man held out his hand. “I’m sorry for it, son. We all loved Ian, and he’ll be sorely missed.”
“Thank ye… for everything,” Brodie said hoarsely. “The women’s skill… all yer support today, it’s greatly appreciated. Yer family is indispensable to this clan.”
Her father ducked his head, and Kirstine realized he was embarrassed. Brodie stepped forward, and the two men hugged, thumping each other on the back.
“Whatever ye need, we’re here for ye,” her father said.
Kirstine watched him leave, pain etched on his weathered face. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Ma told him we’re betrothed. He knows we’ve lost a family member too.
Brodie touched her arm. “I need some fresh air. Can I walk ye out?”
“I’d like that.” She went to Enid, and the two hugged.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she told the cook. “I’m happy to lend a hand.”
“Dinna tell her, but I’ll miss Lissie poking around.” Enid smiled and sniffed again. “She’s a help to me, and I’ve become a wee spoiled.”
Brodie took Kirstine’s hand and led her from the kitchen. They made their way outside to the back of the castle. They ambled through the herb garden and turned toward the courtyard. He laced his fingers through hers and sucked in a deep breath of the night air. She wanted to hold him and absorb his pain. Instead, she would be his rock, support him in any way she could. Be strong for him when he faltered with the anguish of losing a brother.
Just before they reached the courtyard, he stopped in the shadows and pulled her close. “I’ll need to lean on ye to get through this, Kirsty.”
His breath ruffled her hair, and she tightened her arms around his waist. She could feel the soft beat of his heart against her cheek. Reaching up, she cupped his face. “I’m here for ye, Brodie. As I always am.”
He enfolded her wrists, turned over her hands, and placed a kiss on each palm. Then his lips lingered against hers. A soft, sad, gentle kiss that twisted her heart. “I was the most fortunate of men when I left ye earlier today. How quickly life can change.”
She nodded, breathing in his familiar musky scent. How could a day begin with so much hope and end in such misery?
“Did ye tell yer folks about our betrothal?”
She nodded again, chewing on her bottom lip. Regret clouded his blue eyes.
“I didna have time, I’m afraid,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“It can wait, Brodie. Now is no’ the time to share such joyful news.”
He sighed and gave her an apologetic smile, wrapping her close and sinking his face in her hair. “We’ll make the announcement in a week or two. When we both decide the time is right. I’m sorry, Kirsty. For the love of saints, I wish—”
“Shhh,” she soothed when his voice broke. “I’m here, we’re together. We canna ask for more now. Let’s be thankful we have each other.”
“Ye’re right. We need to count our blessings in times like these.” He stepped back and laced his fingers through hers, leading her back to the path. “Ye’re sure Grandda will recover?”
“Ma thinks he gave his heart a scare, but it wasna a terrible spasm for the pain stayed in his chest. He has a strong beat again and his color is back.” Kirstin grimaced. “When James Weir died last year, she remembers his pain spread through his arm. He was weak and barely conscious. She said the foxglove helped for a while. When she listened to Calum’s chest, he had a strong beat again and didn’t need the tincture. He’s a resilient mon.”
“He’s a stubborn mon,” chuckled Brodie.
“I’d be surprised if he was still in bed tomorrow, regardless of what my mother or Peigi orders. We’ll have to keep an eye on him. He’ll tire more easily for a spell.”
Wagon wheels crunched on the courtyard stones. Women’s voices floated from the receiving hall, and they could hear Mrs. MacDunn and Glynnis discussing the laudanum. Kirstine wished she could stay but tamped down her anxiety.
“I’ll be fine, love,” he whispered in her ear as if reading her mind, “but promise ye’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Nothing could keep me away.”
Her father tied his horse to the back of the wagon and helped both women onto the bench. They waved goodbye and rode in silence until they were out of sight of the castle. The tears threatened now that she had a respite from her obligations. Kirstine laid her head on her mother’s shoulder. Her eyes began to droop when she remembered.
“Och, did ye mention the betrothal to anyone?” she asked.
They both shook their heads. “Of course no’,” her mother said. “It would be improper. Why?”
“Brodie had no time to tell his family before they received the news about Ian.” She blinked, her eyes burning again. “We canna announce it now.”
“What matters is that he aske
d, and he loves ye. It’s all I ever wanted for ye, Kirsty.” Her mother patted Kirstine’s cheek. “A few weeks are a wee inconvenience for a lifetime of happiness. It’s but a storm cloud that will hover and dissipate.”
She nodded as tears streaked down her cheek. And then she was wrapped in a maternal hug, rocked and soothed as she had for Brodie.
“Love and loss have equal parts in the cycle. We learn to embrace one and accept the other. Without the loss, ye dinna appreciate the life.”
With a sob, Kirstine let her anguish soak her mother’s chest.
“There, there, my sweet lass. It’s been a long night, and ye can let it out now. Unburden yerself so ye’ll have the strength to do it again tomorrow.” She kissed the top of her daughter’s head and brushed back the wet strands clinging to her face. “Yer grandmother always said tears cleansed us and helped us to heal what ailed us on the inside.”
If that were true, Kirstine thought, they’d need to fill a loch to rinse away the pain and sorrow of the days to come.
*
One week later
“Ye’ve no’ told yer brother about yer gooolden angel?”
They were in the formal parlor where Ian had been placed. It was a large room and easily held a large group paying their respects during the week-long wake. It was Colin’s turn to watch over Ian’s body. Lachlan and Brodie had joined him in the formal parlor, and they passed the time as most single men did. They’d drank and shared stories of their women, past and present. Brodie tried again to learn about the female who had taken Lachlan’s fancy. His brother remained tightlipped.
“I was unconscious and out of my wits, Cousin, after dealing with those agitators on the dock,” Lachlan said with gritted teeth. “I might have escaped the knot on my head if ye’d joined us in a timely fashion.”
Brodie snorted at the murder in his brother’s eyes. This would be a story to remember, if only because Lachlan was so desperate for it not to be told.
“Ye can make all the excuses ye want,” Colin said. He slapped Lachlan on the shoulder. “I dinna ken why ye’d keep it quiet. She’s a bonny lass.”
