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

by Suzan Tisdale

  Puzzled, she looked up at him. “She would no’ allow ye?”

  “Nay, she bade me promise to no’ mourn long, and to no’ save me heart fer …”

  “Fer?”

  “Fer a dead woman. Those were her exact words. Do no’ love a dead woman too long.

  Mairghread covered her lips with the tips of her fingers, but the gasp was already out.

  “I mourned her loss fer years,” he told her, his tone growing softer, more sorrowful. “I could no’ imagine bein’ able to keep that promise, fer I loved her with all me heart.”

  “Then why did ye promise her?” she asked.

  He shook his head and rested the tips of his fingers on his hips. “Because I did no’ want her to worry. She was dyin’. We knew she was dyin’. I used to think ’twas a cruel thing she asked of me.”

  “And now?”

  He smiled wanly. “Now, I see how much she loved me. She wanted me to be happy. The thought of me roamin’ this earth alone, with a broken heart? Nay, she could no’ abide such a thing. She loved me more than that.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mairghread was left with much to think about after Brogan bade her good night. When the door clicked behind him, it sounded much louder than it actually was. Like a bucket of sand bein’ dropped from a great height.

  For a long while, she simply stared at the closed door.

  She loved me more than that. So much so that Anna did not want him living the rest of his life alone.

  Finally, she moved away from the door and went to undress. She slipped out of her dress, then her chemise and went to wash up in the basin. She got as far as dipping a cloth into the chilly water.

  Were her circumstances different, she and James might have made similar promises to one another. If he had not died so suddenly, would he have asked the same of her? If he hadn’t died and she had become ill, like Anna, would she have told James to go on with his life? To be happy?

  Aye, in her heart, she knew she would have. The thought of James livin’ a lonely life made her shiver.

  But what had happened to him was much different. He hadn’t been injured or ill. He had been murdered as had her son.

  More tears filled her eyes, as she stood naked before the basin. They had been murdered, and no matter what Brogan might believe, there was a good chance they had been murdered at her own hand.

  God, please help me, she prayed silently as she held onto the table that held the basin with trembling hands. “Please, return me memory to me so that I might ken the truth, no matter how horrible or ugly or sordid it might be. If I killed them, I need to ken. Please, God, tell me.”

  ’Twas then she heard Brogan’s voice. She spun to face him.

  “Ye did no’ kill them, Mairghread.”

  For a long while, Mairghread stood frozen in place. Ye did no’ kill them, he had told her. But how could he know for certain.

  He grabbed a blanket from her bed and wrapped it around her, keeping her shoulders exposed. She held onto the end of the blanket as she held her breath. “Ye did no’ kill them,” he repeated.

  “But how can ye be so certain?” she cried. “I can no’ remember and there were no’ witnesses.”

  He removed a dirk from his boot, and handed it to her, hilt first. “Stab yerself,” he said.

  “Be ye daft?” she exclaimed.

  He rolled his eyes. “With the hilt lass, no’ the blade. Just pretend to stab yerself. And remember where it be ye stabbed.”

  Careful to avoid the blade, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the dirk. Awash in uncertainty, she gave him a look that asked if he was certain. His face bore an odd expression, one she could not decipher.

  “Stab yerself.”

  With the dirk in her right hand, she pretended to plunge the dirk into her stomach.

  “Again,” he said.

  She complied.

  “Now, stab yerself in yer back,” he directed.

  Aye, uncle had told her she stabbed herself repeatedly in her own back. Changing the dirk around in her palm. She lifted her arm over her head and stabbed, just between her neck and shoulder.

  “Now lower,” he said.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, she stabbed at her middle and lower back.

  Brogan took the knife from her and returned it to his boot. Next, he turned her around. “Ye stabbed herself here and here,” he said, pointing to those places she had just stabbed at. “But yer scars? They be here, and here, and here,” he said, touching each scar with his fingertip.

  “Unless yer arms be at least a foot longer, then there be now way on God’s earth ye could have stabbed yerself as ye were told.”

  Marighread spun around to look at him, her brow knotted, her eyes naught but slits. “What?”

  “Lass, I do no’ lie. Ye just proved it, with yer own hands.”

  Brogan had come back to her room to apologize again. He knew he would be unable to sleep unless he told her once more how sorry he was for causing her a moment of pain. He had knocked, not once, but twice. When she did not immediately respond, he opened the door just a crack.

  Then he saw her standing naked in front of the basin.

  At first, his manhood sprung to life, with an intense, aching need. But then he saw the scars on her back and remembered what she had told him. Uncle found me with the knife in me hand. He said I was screamin’ I had killed them, all the while I kept stabbing meself in me back.

  He hadn’t truly believed that story, for a wide variety of reasons. It just did not seem possible that a person would stab themselves in the back. The stomach? Aye, that was always a distinct possibility. But their back?

  As soon as he saw those scares he knew. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had not done was she had been told. It was a physical impossibility.

  He could have simply told her what he knew in his heart to be true. But he decided instead to prove it to her.

  Now, she trembled with wide eyes as it all began to sink in.

  “I did no’ do it?” she asked at first. “I did no’ do it.”

  “Nay, lass, ye did no’. ’Tis simply impossible.”

  In dumbfounded confusion, she kept shaking her head.

  “Now, I have no’ seen the scars on yer stomach,” he told her. “Ye’ll have to look fer yerself if they be where ye put the hilt moments ago.”

  “I do no’ need to look,” she said breathlessly. “The scars on me stomach be here.” She pointed to an area that was more to the side of her abdomen than dead center where she had demonstrated.

  “Now do ye believe me?” he asked.

  Tears fell again, as she nodded her head. “Aye, I do!” A moment later, she was in his arms with her head resting on his chest. “I did no’ do it!” she cried, relieved beyond measure. “I did no’ kill them.”

  Aye, she was relieved. But with learning the truth came more questions. “If I did no’ do it, then who did?” she asked.

  Brogan was rubbing her back and shoulders, offering more comfort than he could ever possibly know.

  “And to what end?” she asked. “And why would me uncle tell me …” her words trailed off as the sudden realization hit her. ’Twas so startling, and so unbelievable that it made her legs weak.

  Brogan was eerily silent. “Have ye learned somethin’ about that night that ye are no’ tellin’ me?” she asked as she pulled away to look into his eyes.

  She saw it then, just a flicker of guilt. “Please, tell me.”

  “I have already told ye what I ken. We have been so busy workin’ on the wall that I have no’ had time to do a proper investigation.”

  She knew ’twas a lie he just told her. Brogan was a most honorable man. He had promised always to tell her the truth, no matter the circumstance. Then she thought to Gertie and Tilda and what they had done earlier this day. “Are ye tellin’ me a lie from yer heart?” she asked him.

  He smiled warmly. “Nay, I told ye all I know, lass.”

  She didn’t believe
him for a moment. “But ye have an idea of what happened? A suspicion that ye are no’ yet ready to share with me?”

  Her question was met with silence.

  In that little moment of time, she knew several things. Brogan cared for her a great deal. Oh, she wasn’t foolish enough to believe ’twas the same kind of love he had felt for Anna. But he did care. He cared enough not to tell her what he suspected. He was protecting her from something she was now beginning to suspect herself. Her uncle was her primary suspect and undoubtedly, Brogan’s as well.

  Suddenly, she felt exhausted. ’Twas all too much for a heart and body to bear in one night. For now, she would let the matter alone. But soon, very soon, they were going to have a serious discussion.

  “I want to go to bed, Brogan,” she told him.

  He nodded and began to step away.

  “Brogan, please do no’ leave.”

  He paused and raised a brow. His eyes flickering with questions he was not about to ask.

  “I do no’ think I am ready to give myself to ye, like a true wife. But please, do no’ leave me alone this night.”

  “I can sleep in the chair, lass. I will watch over ye.”

  She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Ye’ll get a crick in yer neck,” she told him.

  He chuckled. “Aye, I did get one last night.”

  “What do ye mean?”

  He told her of her fitful sleep the night before and how he ended up sleeping in the chair. Humiliated, she felt her face burn.

  “Do no’ fash over it, lass,” he smiled as he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze.

  “Would it be too much to ask that ye sleep in the bed with me?” Even she heard the quiver in her voice.

  “Nay, lass. That would no’ be too much a thing to ask.”

  Dawn arrived with thunder and rain. Mairghread woke to find herself alone. Brogan, true to his word, had slept with her the night before, without so much as a request for a kiss good night.

  She had slept relatively well. Only twice did she wake. Once to a bad dream. The second time to the sound of Brogan’s snoring. ’Twas not nearly as loud as James had been. ’Twas more a soft, gentle sound. She supposed it had wakened her because she was unaccustomed to having anyone in her bed, let alone a man.

  As she was getting dressed, Evelyn knocked at the door with her morning meal.

  “Good morn, to ye,” Mairghread said as she let her in.

  “M’lady,” she said, bobbing a curtsy.

  Light flashed out of doors, a moment later, thunder roared. Both women nearly jumped out of their skins. ’Twas Mairghread who laughed first. “I do no’ think anyone will be workin’ out of doors this morn,” she said.

  “I think no’, m’lady.”

  She then thought of Brogan and all the men who were working on the construction of the wall. “Have ye seen me husband?” she asked as she pulled on warm woolens.

  “Below stairs, m’lady, in the gatherin’ room.”

  Much relieved to hear it, she pulled on her boots. With Gertie and Tilda ‘ill’, she would have to eat another meal alone. Not as pleasant a thought as it might have been months ago.

  “Evelyn, I think that from now on, I will be havin’ all me meals below stairs,” she told her.

  “I shall let Cook ken, m’lady,” Evelyn replied.

  Mairghread noticed Evelyn’s nervous demeanor. The way her eyes darted around the room, looking at everything and anything but her. The way she fidgeted with her dress and kept shifting from one foot to the other.

  “Evelyn, be there somethin’ the matter?”

  “N-nay, m’lady,” she replied in a low, soft voice.

  Mayhap, her nervousness was born out of the fact that for the past years, no one ever knew what to expect when in her presence. A heavy feeling settled into her stomach. She recognized it at once as profound guilt. “Evelyn, I want to apologize to ye, fer how I have treated ye in the past.”

  Evelyn’s expression changed from nervous to confused as she finally looked her in the eyes.

  “Ye ken I was a drunkard,” Mairghread began.

  “M’lady!” she exclaimed, shocked at Mairghread’s admission. “Do no’ say such things!”

  Mairghread could not resist the smile that came to her lips. “Do no’ fash yerself over it, Evelyn. We all ken it be nothin’ but the cold truth I speak.”

  Unable to look at her anymore, Evelyn looked down at her feet.

  “I will promise ye I will do me best to never behave so horribly to ye, or to anyone else, ever again.”

  It had been another sleepless night for Brogan. ‘Twasn’t necessarily Mairghread who directly kept him awake half the night. Nay ’twas his lustful thoughts and the fact that she kept snuggling into him for warmth.

  Now, under any other circumstance, he would have welcomed that pert derrière of hers against his groin with delightful enthusiasm. But to have her there, so close, and unable to touch her? To explore the magnificence hidden under her night rail and not be allowed to touch or caress? ’Twas more torture than any man could be expected to bear.

  To make matters worse, they were unable to work this morn. The rain was as relentless as a Highlander fighting against an invader. It, and the wind, pounded against the walls of the keep, fighting against the furs that covered the windows. Bleak, cold and dreary was the order of the day.

  “If this rain keeps up, we will need to be buildin’ boats instead of walls, aye?” Henry said as he elbowed Peter in the ribs.

  Peter did not appear amused.

  Brogan saw no sense in setting at the high table, so he was eating with his men when Mairghread coming down the stairs. Regal as always, she was. Dressed in a beautiful gown of deep blue, with a silver belt that draped just so around her tiny waist, and her hair braided around the top of her head. She fair stole his breath away.

  In her hands, was the tray Evelyn had taken up to her not long ago. Nervously — though why he should feel thus was beyond his comprehension at the moment — he stood. As did Henry, Comnall, Peter, and the rest of his men. Brogan noticed the way Evelyn smiled at Peter before walking away. He also took note of the look Peter gave to her.

  “Good morn, to ye, Brogan,” she said with a warm smile. “Lads.”

  They returned her greeting, but all remained standing.

  “I did no’ want to eat alone,” she told them. “Might I join ye?”

  The men all happily agreed. Henry moved over so that she could take his spot across from Brogan. They all fell silent and went back to their meal.

  “I fear if this rain keeps up, ye’ll need to be buildin’ boats instead of walls, aye?” Mairghread said with a twinkle in her eye and a slight laugh.

  The men at the table — all but Henry — laughed heartily at her jest. Even Peter, who, moments ago, had shrugged off Henry’s exact jest. Brogan, upon seeing Henry was about to speak, gave him a look of warning and said, “Henry, here, was speaking much the same thing.”

  Mairghread looked up at the ginger-haired man next to her and smiled. Immediately, Henry’s countenance softened and he returned her smile.

  “I dare say there be no’ much fer a man to do on a day like this,” Mairghread said as she took a sip of cider. She winced as she swallowed it down.

  “But a woman’s work does no’ wait fer weather, aye?” Henry said, still sporting the same besotted smile.

  Mairghread giggled and agreed.

  “Brogan, have ye found a room yet, to take as yer private office?” Mairghread asked him.

  A private office? The thought had never entered his mind. As far as he was concerned, ’twas she who needed such a space, not he. “I do no’ need such,” he told her.

  She quirked a pretty brow. “Me?” she asked. “’Tis no’ me who be puttin’ the keep back to rights with the buildin’ of our new wall. Where do ye keep the plans? Where do ye meet with the men?”

  “Henry has the plans,” Brogan replied. “And I meet with me men here, in the gatherin’ room, o
r in the forest.”

  From her expression, he could see she was not satisfied with his answer. “But Brogan—”

  “Lass, mayhap this is somethin’ we could discuss later, in private.”

  Taking the hint, she nodded.

  He thought, mayhap, she had acquiesced a little too quickly.

  Thankfully, the storm had let up within the hour. By nooning time, ’twas naught but a light mist with the sunshine occasionally peeking out betwixt dull gray clouds. Mairghread left the men as soon as she had finished eating, so that she could look in on Gertie and Tilda.

  They were still abed when she entered their room.

  I wonder how long they will play at this ruse? She wondered as she painted a concerned smile on her face. “I see ye be no better this morn,” she told them.

  Each of them coughed slightly and feigned weakness.

  “We be certain we will be better verra soon,” Gertie whispered.

  “Aye, verra soon, m’lady,” Tilda said.

  As tempted as she was to let them know she knew what they were up to, she decided against it. If anyone deserved a good rest, ’twas these two women. Pulling up a chair, she sat at the foot of their beds.

  “I want to thank each of ye,” she began with a smile. “Fer always bein’ there for me, no matter the circumstance. Ye’ve been good to me, even when ye had every right not to be.”

  Perplexed, they remained silent.

  “I want to thank ye as well, fer helpin’ me to see that Claude Courtemanche was no’ the right husband fer me. I think ye chose well with Brogan,” she said with a wink.

  “He be a right good man,” Gertie said with a smile. She sat up with a groan. “A right good man.”

  “Aye,” Tilda agreed.

  On that, she would not argue, for they spoke nothing but the truth. “’Tis true, he has been good to me,” she said. Without thinking, she added, “But I fear I have no’ been as good to him.”

  Gertie’s brow wrinkled. “What do ye mean?”

  Mairghread let out a sigh, wishing for all the world she had kept her thoughts to herself. Changing the subject, she asked them, “What do ye remember the night James and Connell were killed?”