Brogan's Promise: Book Three of The Mackintoshes and McLarens

by Suzan Tisdale

  “Do no’ fash yerself over it,” he told her. “All that be behind us now.”

  Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Why be I in a different room now?”

  Lord above, he did not wish to recount to her what had happened three days ago. But he had made a promise to always be honest with her. “I broke me word, to ye,” he began. “Ye were doin’ well enough that I thought ’twas safe to leave ye with Tilda. I left long enough to wash up and change.” He had to clear the knot that was trying to lodge itself in his throat. He explained what had happened in his absence, of Hargatha’s wicked tisane. He could not bring himself to tell her all the ugly truth of it. “Ye became verra upset. ’Twas as if the tisane made ye—” he searched for words other than mad, delusional, or insane. “Verra upset and angry. Martha had to give ye a potion to counteract what was in Hargatha’s tisane. Ye have been asleep for almost three days.”

  He eyes grew wide with horror. “Three days?” she exclaimed, as she struggled to sit up.

  “I be so verra sorry, lass, for lettin’ ye down. Fer breakin’ me word to ye.”

  Able to think clearly for the first time in a very long while, Mairghread looked into Brogan’s green eyes. The guilt she saw in their depths, nearly brought tears to her own. “Ye did no’ break yer word to me Brogan,” she told him. “Ye fought fer me when I could no’ fight fer meself.”

  “But I promised I’d no leave ye,” he countered.

  “Ye left to wash up and change yer clothes, Brogan. ’Tis no’ as if ye went hiein’ off to Edinburgh,” she said with a soft chuckle. “Nay, Brogan, ye kept yer word.”

  As far as she was concerned, he had done everything he had said he would. “Ye can no’ take the blame fer somethin’ ye did no’ do. Did ye ask Hargatha to give me the foul tisane?”

  “Nay!” he exclaimed with a furrowed brow.

  “Then ye have naught to fash yerself over,” she told him. “Pray tell me though, where is Hargatha?”

  As much as he did want to hang the auld woman, he did not feel ’twas his place to do so. “We have her locked away, in a room on the first floor of the keep,” he told her.

  “With the other servants?” she asked.

  “Nay, lass, she has her own chamber. But she is not allowed to leave, nor is anyone allowed to visit.”

  Happy with his answer, she lay back against the pillows again. When she thought on her atrocious behavior the past fortnight, she felt ashamed. How could she have treated these people so poorly? ’Twas beyond poor, ’twas unforgivable. Suddenly, the need for a glass of wine began to grow strong. But ’twas not the same gut-aching, visceral need she’d been feeling for three years. Still, ’twas enough to make her feel ashamed.

  “Mairghread?” Brogan spoke in a low, soft tone. “Be ye well?”

  Unable to look at him for her shame was so great, she simply nodded her head.

  The sound of the door opening made her open her eyes.

  ’Twas Martha. “Och! Ye be awake,” she said with a smile.

  “She woke a few moments ago,” Brogan told her as he got to his feet. “I have told her what happened,” he said as he approached her. Mairghread saw him whisper something in Martha’s ear. Martha nodded, then came to sit beside her.

  “How fare ye?” she asked with a warm, sincere smile.

  “Like I have been trampled by horses,” she replied. “Verra angry horses.”

  Martha giggled softly. “I imagine so. Now, let me take a look at ye.”

  She took the time looking into each eye, then pressed her ear to Mairghread’s chest. Once she was done with that, she lifted her hands to look at her wrists. That was the first time Mairghread noticed the bandages.

  With furrowed brows, she asked, “What happened to me wrists?” The sudden thought that she might have tried to harm herself was overwhelming.

  “The tisane Hargatha gave ye made ye verra upset. We had to restrain ye, Mairghread,” Brogan answered.

  Relief washed over her, thankful that she hadn’t tried to cut her own wrists, as she had often thought of doing in the past. Upset. She must have been mightily upset if they had to restrain her.

  “Ye’re healin’ nicely,” Martha told her. “The salve I applied worked verra well.”

  Mairghread whispered her thanks. Although she was relieved, she was still worried. Would this nightmare never end?

  Martha next looked at the wounds on her ankles. Shame continued to build. She hated not being able to remember. Those blank moments in time, hours or days, were more than worrisome.

  “I think ’twill be safe fer ye to bathe now, and even move into yer real chamber,” Martha said as she patted her hand.

  That should have been good news. She should have rejoiced in it. Instead, more worry began to settle in. What if I can no’ stay sober outside this room?

  “I must leave ye now,” Martha said. “Joan Mactavish’s pains started this morn. I can help ye to bathe, but heaven only knows how long this bairn will take.”

  Brogan stepped forward. “I will help her.”

  The thought of Brogan helping her bathe made her skin burn with humiliation. They were not yet husband and wife in the truest sense of the word. Bone tired and weary, however, she did not have the strength to argue. Besides, she could smell herself. A bath was much needed and wanted.

  Before Martha left, Brogan asked her to send Evelyn up with soap, drying clothes and such. He’d also taken a moment to speak to Liam, but what about, she couldn’t hear.

  They were each silent while they waited for Evelyn. ’Twas the kind of awkward silence where one would be tempted to speak, if only to break it. From his spot by the window, Brogan finally broke the silence. “’Tis a verra nice day.”

  She wanted to remark that ’twas usually nice this time of year, but decided against it. There were other far more important things to discuss than the weather. Unfortunately, she did not yet feel brave enough.

  Brogan finally turned away from the window. “I must tell you that we have made some recent changes to buildin’ the wall.”

  The wall? Her mind was blank for a moment until she remembered. “’Tis good that we are finally rebuildin’ it,” she said. And she was sincerely grateful that he was seeing to the construction.

  “Much happened in the past few days,” he said as he took the chair and sat next to her.

  She could see he was fighting with something, but what that something was, she didn’t think she wanted to know.

  “I have decided that a stone wall will take far too long to build,” he began. “So I have the men fellin’ trees. We shall build a wall from wood first.”

  “Because it be much faster?” she asked sleepily.

  “Aye, ’twill be much faster.”

  Her bones were beginning to ache, leaving her feeling tired. The last thing she wanted however, was to sleep away another day. “’Tis good, then,” she replied with a yawn. “If ye’re lookin’ fer me approval, ye have it.”

  “Do ye want to ken why?”

  She shook her head and yawned once more. “Nay. Whatever yer reasons, I be certain they are sound.” She did, however, wonder why he looked and sounded so utterly serious at the moment. Or mayhap, ’twas only her cloudy mind and aching muscles that made her think such.

  “I am feelin’ tired again,” she told him. “Will this ever pass?”

  He chuckled and said, “Aye, it will.”

  Her eyelids felt heavy, but she refused to keep them closed. What she needed was a good scrubbing in a hot tub, and maybe something to eat. Something more than broth and bread. She was just about to tell him so when the flutter of something caught her attention. Her eyes flew open, wide with sincere horror. Good lord, I be hallucinatin’ again! She screamed silently as her fingers began to tremble.

  Two little birds, storm petrals they are called, had flown in through the open window. Reaching out, she clung tightly to Brogan’s hand. Seeing her distress, he followed her line of vision.

 
“Och!” Brogan said as he stood up. “Shoo!” he said as he began to wave his hands in the air. The little black and white birds fluttered around in the room, chittering angrily.

  “Ye see them too?” she asked with a good measure of surprise.

  He turned to look at her, with his arms still in the air. “What?”

  “Ye see them too?” she repeated the question with wide eyes and a profound tremor in her voice.

  It dawned on him then to what she referred. The worms and snakes she had hallucinated over days ago. She was terrified she was hallucinating once again.

  He threw his head back and laughed. Och! The sound of his laughter booming through the room must have terrified the petrals, for they flew back out the same way they’d come in.

  But to Mairghread? His laughter was infectious, and she soon found herself joining in.

  ’Twas the first good, hearty laugh she had had in years. She laughed until her stomach ached and tears streamed down her face. She felt light and happy as well as much relieved. Relieved that she was not hallucinating again. Relieved that Brogan laughed easily.

  Evelyn walked into the room then with a bundle of blankets, towels, washing clothes and soap in her arms. She look perplexed when she saw them laughing so heartily. Her expression made them begin laughing all over again.

  Carefully, she set the items on the foot of Mairghread’s bed, bobbed a curtsy and all but fled the room.

  “I think ye scared her,” Mairghread declared once she got her laughter under control.

  “Me?” he asked, feigning injury.

  “Aye, ye,” she said. “Look at ye. A big, braw Highlander, with all that ginger hair, standin’ in the middle of a small room, laughin’ like a mad man.”

  She was teasing, of course, and he knew it. “Ye think me braw?” he teased, waggling his brows.

  She knew she was blushing like a young maid, so she turned away, so that he couldn’t see her. And she refused to answer his question.

  Thankfully, he did not push for one.

  “Come, let us get ye to the loch.”

  “The loch?” she asked, aghast at the notion.

  Brogan cleared his throat once before answering. “Aye, lass, the loch. I fear ‘twould take ten tubs of hot water to get ye clean. We shall start in the loch, to get most of the last ten days off of ye. Then, ye shall soak in a hot bath until yer skin wrinkles if ye’d like. But the loch, first, aye?”

  The promise of a hot bath was too alluring, therefore she did not argue. “Verra well,” she said as she threw back the covers. Brogan was beside her in an instant, helping her to her feet. With one arm around her waist, the other holding her hand, he waited until she was steady enough to stand on her own.

  “If I look half as bad as I feel, I fear I shall frighten the children, mayhap even small animals.”

  He chuckled again as he grabbed one of the thick, heavy blankets and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I have ordered the courtyard cleared, and no one is allowed near the loch,” he told her.

  She didn’t know if she should be insulted or grateful. Therefore she erred on the side of caution, assuming ’twas nothing but kindness that made him do such a thing. “I thank ye.”

  He scooped up the linens, handed her the soap to hold, then carefully guided her out of the room. “I be glad we’ be walkin’ down all these flights of stairs. I fear me legs would no’ be strong enough to walk up them.”

  “If ye get too tired, I shall carry ye,” he said as he gave her a gentle hug around her waist.

  There was no doubt in her mind that he would do just that.

  ’Twas slow going, but they finally made their way out of the keep, across the yard, and down to the loch. By the time they reached it, she felt as though she’d just run all the way from Inverness. Her bones ached; her muscles were tired from too many days of nonuse.

  The loch was located near a small copse of trees. Several large boulders, some as tall as two men, lined its western banks. On the other, tall grass grew and swayed in the breeze.

  Brogan placed the drying and washing cloths on the bank. “Do ye need help?” he asked, his tone thoughtful and warm.

  She felt the blush come to her cheeks and couldn’t find the wherewithal to answer.

  For whatever reason, he blushed right along with her. “Mayhap, I will just help ye into the water,” he said as he took her hand in his.

  All she could do was nod. ’Twas not as if they weren’t married. And she certainly was not some innocent, virginal maid. But somehow, the thought of him seeing her unclothed, did not feel right.

  “And ye can leave yer night rail on, lass,” he suggested. “Take it off when ye get in.”

  Why she felt such a sense of relief at the suggestion, she did not rightly know. But relieved and glad she was. Using her toes, she removed her slippers and left them on the bank.

  He held her hand and led her into the loch. “It be no’ too bad,” he told her with a grin as he put one foot in, then another.

  “God’s teeth!” she cried as soon as her feet touched the water. “This water be cold!”

  She immediately began to shiver. “Ye lied,” she said, biting back a curse.

  He kept leading her into the water. “Would ye have gotten in if I told ye it was cold?” he asked with a grin and a quirked brow.

  She refused to answer.

  Soon, she was up to her waist in frigid water. “Why be ye no’ shiverin’?” she asked curtly.

  He chuckled. “I be a warrior. I be used to such conditions.”

  The truth was, he had been enjoying their newly found camaraderie a little too much. Although she was filthy, with her hair matted to her scalp, and smelled as bad as anything he’d ever smelled before, he found himself strongly attracted to her. ’Twas her wit. He knew that immediately. The fact that he also knew what she looked like when she was clean and dressed, did not help matters much. The frigid water was exactly what he needed to cool his burgeoning desire.

  “I shall turn away,” he said. “If ye’d like to toss yer night rail to the bank.” He winked once, before turning his back to her.

  “Hold this,” she said. He turned halfway around to see she was handing him the jar of soap. He took it and waited.

  He could hear her struggling to remove the night dress. Playfully, he said, “Do ye need help?”

  She grunted once before replying. “Can ye do it with yer eyes closed?”

  He had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out I can do many things with me eyes closed, but I prefer them open when a lass be near me and naked. Clearing his throat, he said, “Aye, I think so.”

  “Fine,” she muttered.

  He turned to see that one arm was stuck in a wet sleeve. “With yer eyes closed,” she reminded him.

  He took a step closer, reached out, and handed the soap back to her. A moment later, he tugged the arm out of her sleeve.

  “Yer eyes are open,” she told him through chattering teeth.

  “I be just helpin’ ye get yer arms out,” he said. “I will close them, ye have me word.”

  Once her arms were dislodged from the sleeves, he kept his word and closed his eyes. Ever so carefully, he tried to find the hem of her dress. His head accidentally brushed against her breasts when he leaned down. “Sorry,” he murmured. She was silent.

  Fishing around in the water, with his eyes closed, he finally found the fabric. ’Twas swirling in the cold water. He grabbed a bit of it with both hands, then stood up. But upon doing so, he pulled her forward. She landed against his chest with an oomph.

  “So sorry,” he said again, with eyes closed and a grin he was trying to keep from turning into a devious smile.

  “Never mind,” she said as she batted his hands away. “I can do it meself.” Handing back the jar of soap, she twirled her fingers, a silent message for him to once again turn around.

  With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned. He had to, elst she see his smile.

  Long moments and several g
runts later, he heard her move toward the bank. Then the plop of the wet night dressing landing in the grass.

  He could envision her now, naked, with little goosebumps erupting over her creamy skin. Oh, how he longed to reach out and touch her, make her his very own. But ’twas too soon for that.

  “The soap please?” she said as she tapped his shoulder.

  He swallowed once and handed it to her over his shoulder.

  ’Twas then he realized he was still completely dressed. His trews were clinging tightly to his thighs. Deciding that since he was here, he might as well wash, he removed his tunic and tossed it onto the bank.

  “May I borrow some of yer soap?” he asked, extending his arm behind him, so that he could keep his word.

  Mairghread’s frustration was growing by leaps and bounds. “I need a washing cloth,” she whispered.

  At hearing the distress in her voice, he spun around. She had ducked down, the water almost to her neck, still holding on to the jar of soap. Brogan took one look at her, nodded his ginger-haired head, and went to the bank. Moments later he was taking the jar from her hands and applying some of it to the cloth for her. “Are ye well?” he asked as he handed the wet cloth to her.

  Swallowing back the tears that threatened, she nodded once. He studied her closely for a moment before turning back around.

  Taking in deep breaths, she began to scrub her arms, then torso. When she felt something crusty and nasty on her legs, she did not even want to imagine what it might be. Once she was done, she took in a deep breath and dunked her head under the water. When she came up, she saw tiny pieces of what looked like vomit start to float on the water.

  Good lord, what happened to me? She pondered the question for a long moment and didn’t like any of the answers.

  “May I have more soap?” she whispered once again to Brogan’s back.

  He handed the jar back to her, extending his arm behind his back. She was thankful he couldn’t see her on the edge of losing her composure.

  Dipping her fingers into the jar, she scooped out a goodly amount. When she applied it to her hair, she could feel how dirty it was. More bits washed out and floated behind the others. She scrubbed and scrubbed until her scalp hurt. Never in her life had she been so filthy.