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

by Suzan Tisdale

  Their eyes widened in horrification. “Och! Lass! Why do ye be wantin’ to talk about that night?” Gertie asked, appalled with the notion.

  Besides the fact that Brogan had been sleeping right next to her, the night her family had been slaughtered had made her feign sleep for most of last night. “I do no’ ken anything about that night,” she began. “Uncle has always told me that he got to me room first.”

  “Aye,” Gertie replied cautiously.

  Tilda remained unusually mute.

  “Uncle told me, that upon entering the room, he found me with the knife in me hand. He said I was screamin’ like a mad woman that I had killed them.” She took in a deep breath, wishing her hands would stop shaking. “He also says I was stabbin’ meself. Did either of ye see such?”

  Apparently, her malaise had improved immeasurably, for Gertie tossed the covers off and sat on the edge of the bed. Anger was flashing behind those blue eyes of hers.

  “Please, I beg of ye to tell me what ye saw,” Mairghread said. “For Brogan has proved to me, that I could no’ have stabbed meself.”

  Gertie’s forward progression out of the bed halted with those words. Slowly, she sat back down, looking for all the world like a sad, forlorn auld woman.

  She explained what had happened the night before, when Brogan told her to stab herself. “The scars be in places I simply could no’ reach.”

  She and Tilda looked at one another. ’Twas no’ their usual conspiratorial looks.

  “There be much ye are no’ tellin’ me,” Mairghread said. She was growing quite frustrated.

  Their silence was near maddening. “Ye believe me uncle has lied.” ’Twas a statement, not a question. A cold chill of dread made its way up and down her spine. A body could say much without uttering a single word.

  ’Twas Gertie who broke the silence first. “Neither of us saw what yer uncle speaks of.”

  “Nay, m’lady, we did no’ see such,” Tilda said.

  “What did ye see?”

  Then there it was. That all too familiar conspiratorial glance to one another. Mairghread shot to her feet. “Will ye two stop doin’ that?” she exclaimed. “And just tell me what the bloody hell ye saw!”

  Aye, she had yelled at them before. But only when she was in a drunken stupor. This was different. She was sober, a woman full grown, and determined to get the answers she sought.

  “When we got to the room, ye were lyin’ on the floor and yer uncle was kneelin’ over ye,” Gertie said. Ye were no’ screamin’ like a mad woman. Ye were covered in blood, near death.”

  So they had only seen the aftermath?

  “The knife was in yer uncle’s hand,” Tilda told her. “No’ yer’s.”

  ’Twas not what they said, but the manner in which they didn’t say it. More fingers of dread traced up and down her spine.

  Nay, she told herself. It could no’ be.

  “We do no’ ken what truly happened,” Gertie said. “But I never believed fer a minute ye killed them.”

  “Neither did I m’lady,” Tilda said. Her eyes had grown damp, tears threatening to spill at any moment. “Ye loved them too much to do such a thing.”

  Her thoughts turned to her uncle. Why would he have told her such a horrible thing? Why would he have done his best to convince her that she had killed them? But the most frightening question of all was why she would have believed him.

  She had to believe there was a reason, a good, sound, logical reason… nay, even she couldn’t force herself to believe there was any good or just cause for him to tell her she had killed her husband and child.

  Then, as swiftly and suddenly as a bolt of lightening, everything became clear.

  “M’lady, are ye well?” Tilda asked from her bed. She too was rising from her bed.

  “Aye,” Mairghread said breathlessly. “I am quite well.”

  Neither of them appeared to believe her, not one bit.

  “Ye did no’ do what he said ye did,” Gertie told her as she climbed out of her bed.

  “I know,” Mairghread said. Her mind was spinning, dozens of questions springing forth. Why would a man do such a thing? Why was he so insistent that she marry Courtemanche, especially when he probably knew the man would want to take her to France? He had to know what kind of man the frenchman was. There was only one answer and it terrified her to no end.

  Slowly, she got to her feet. Though she had not regained any memory from the awful night, she could see everything now, with such blinding clarity. “Gertie, Tilda, I ken ye are no’ feelin’ well,” she began.

  “Och! I be as right as rain, m’lady,” Gertie protested as she took her hand in hers.

  “I am as well,” Tilda said.

  How she managed to smile, she was uncertain, but she did. “’Tis good to hear. I need to leave ye fer a bit.”

  “Where be ye goin’?” Gertie asked with a furrowed brow.

  “To see Cook.”

  ’Twas a lie and mayhap not one of her heart.

  Grayson Mactavish was standing guard in front of the room where Hargatha had been locked for nearly a fortnight. Mairghread had known him all her life. But she also knew him to be loyal to her uncle. Silently, she cursed her misfortune.

  When he saw her approach, his bushy gray brows knitted into a line of confusion and surprise. “M’lady?”

  “Grayson,” she said with a slight nod. “I have come to see how Hargatha fairs this day.”

  Though he appeared to be puzzled, he still possessed the wherewithal to block her from entering the room. “She fairs well, m’lady.”

  Thinking quickly, she said, “I also have a question regarding healing.”

  He pulled his shoulders back. “I have strict orders no’ to allow anyone in or out of her room, m’lady.”

  “Ye would deny me entry?” she asked indignantly.

  “I be sorry, but I can no’. The only one allowed inside be Brogan.”

  Pursing her lips together, she tried to think of what she could say or do to change his mind. “But I be the lady of the keep,” she reminded him.

  “I ken well who ye be, m’lady, but orders is orders.”

  Knowing she was going to get nowhere with the man, she smiled up at him. “Ye do yer duty well, Grayson Mactavish.”

  He offered her a slight smile, but otherwise, had no reply.

  Although she was frustrated, she pretended to be nothing but graceful and dignified. “I shall return later, then, with Brogan.”

  She saw something akin to fear flicker behind his brown eyes. But ’twas gone as quickly as it had risen. “Keep up yer good work, Grayson.”

  Inclining her head to him, she turned and walked away. If anyone has answers, ’twill be Hargatha, she thought to herself. ’Twas going to seem like an awfully long day before Brogan returned from his work.

  Mayhap, she mused, I should go to him, make me plea and bring him back.

  Miracle of all miracles happened when Gertie and Tilda declared themselves cured. Not long after, all but one of the other ‘ill’ people were out of their beds, declaring they too, were better and able to return to their duties.

  Mairghread refused to admit she’d known about their ploy all along. By rights, their plot had worked, so why let on?

  When she told Gertie and Tilda that she wished to walk to see Brogan, they insisted she not go alone. Wanting to hurry, she agreed, just to avoid the delay and argument they would surely win.

  Donning cloaks, the three women left the keep together.

  “Glad to see the storm has moved on,” Gertie remarked as they walked across the courtyard.

  That storm be nothin’ compared to what lies ahead when me uncle returns, Mairghread thought to herself.

  For whatever reason, she found herself invigorated by her sudden realization that her uncle was nothing more than a cruel man. She suspected he was motivated by greed. Why else would he have told her she had killed James and Connell? Supposing he believed that she would die from a broken heart, or sim
ply hand over the chiefdom and everything that came with it to him, her anger continued to bubble.

  Not for a moment did it occur to her that he had anything to do with their deaths. Nay, she believed he simply took the opportunity of a very horrid and ugly situation and tried to turn it to his advantage.

  And he had almost succeeded.

  Almost.

  Had it not been for Gertie and Tilda and their interference, she would still be nothing more than a drunkard dying a slow, painful death. Aye, she knew she owed her sobriety to Brogan, but Gertie and Tilda had been the one’s to set everything into motion.

  “They be makin’ good progress,” Tilda said as they passed through the opening in the wall.

  Someday soon, there would be a heavy gate, an upper wall for guards, towers, and a better sense of safety. Mairghread prayed they would finish the wall before her uncle returned. Simply because she wanted to be the one who threw him out of it.

  Aye, she was going to banish him, and anyone loyal to him, for his cruel misdeeds. To make her believe all these years that she had suddenly gone insane and killed the two people who meant everything to her.

  It frightened her to know she had almost believed him.

  That question still burned deep. Why? Why would I believe him?

  Was it mayhap because he was the only living kin she had left? Aye, he had played that to his advantage. Although she knew he and her father rarely saw eye to eye on things, she could not believe Aymer would ever do anything to actually harm her.

  Until now.

  Brogan saw the three women approaching, with disbelieving eyes. Mairghread. His heart felt lighter, happier, just at seeing her here. With a quick strike, he lodged his axe into a log and went to meet them.

  “Mairghread,” he said as he approached them. “I did no’ expect to see the two of ye out of bed for a time,” he said, referring to their recent illness. “What brings ye here? Is all well?”

  “Aye, all be well,” she said as she cast a look of vexation at Gertie and Tilda.

  “Good day to ye, m’laird,” Gertie and Tilda said in unison. “Our lady wanted to take a walk this day. A bit of fresh air, she says.” Gertie winked at him before turning to smile at Mairghread.

  He didn’t know what to make of either the wink or what she said. Knowing that by asking her to explain would inevitably lead to a pounding in his skull, he decided against it.

  “Brogan, I wonder if I might speak to ye,” she said before looking first to Gertie then to Tilda. “Alone, if ye please.”

  Neither woman was offended by her request. Nay, they looked positively gleeful. He was no glutton for punishment so once again, he kept any questions to himself. Extending his arm to his wife, he led her away.

  Tilda was grinning from ear to ear. “She be fallin’ in love with him,” she said.

  “Aye,” agreed Gertie. “She just does no’ ken it yet.”

  They watched as the couple walked away. “Me thinks he loves her as well,” Gertie said.

  “Of course he does,” Tilda said. “What is there no’ to love about the woman?”

  “Aye, she be about the most lovely and sweetest woman I ever knew.”

  Admittedly, Brogan was glad to see his wife. He was, however, confused as to why she chose today, of all days, for a walk and fresh air. The weather was not exactly being kind to anyone.

  Leading her away from the crowd, they now stood in the woods. “I see Tilda and Gertie have made a full recovery,” he remarked with a grin.

  “Have ye spoken with Hargatha since lockin’ her away?” Mairghread asked, getting straight to the reason for her visit.

  Taken aback, he cocked his head to one side. “I tried to. Why do ye ask?”

  “I want to speak to her, about me injuries from the night of the attack,” she said.

  He raked a hand through his hair. He thought they had settled the matter last night. “I thought I proved to ye—”

  “I ken that I did no’ kill them,” she told him with a smile. “But I have questions.”

  “Such as?” he asked with a raise brow.

  She clamped her lips together as she thought on his questions. “Hargatha be the most loyal to me uncle. I want to ken what else she kens about that night, especially as it pertains to me uncle.”

  “I do no’ think she would be willin’ to talk to either one of us,” he pointed out. “Ye might have to think of other ways to get the answers ye seek.”

  “I ken no’ who else to ask,” she said.

  He was quiet for a long moment. “I do no’ think those who are loyal to Aymer will speak against him.” ’Twould likely be a cold day in hell before any of them did. “How many amongst yer people are loyal to him?”

  In truth, she could not begin to guess. “In case ye fergot, I have no’ exactly been payin’ close attention to things these past few years.”

  He had no response. At least none he could put to voice at the moment.

  “I ken that ye have said I can talk to ye about anything,” she said as she wrapped her arms around her waist.

  “Ye can,” he reassured her.

  She studied him for a time as she mulled a few things over in her mind. “I have suspicions about me uncle. I be certain he lied to me about a few things.”

  Brogan was just as certain but would remain quiet on the matter, at least until he heard what she had to say.

  “I think he took the opportunity of the attack that night and used it to his advantage. He lied to me, makin’ me believe for all these years that I had killed them. I believe he did it knowin’ full well ’twould be somethin’ I could never fergive meself for. And I believe he did it to gain control of the clan, our coffers, and our holdings.”

  The only thing Brogan could argue against was the fact she still believed there had been an attack that night. He, however, was convinced something far more sinister happened. ’Twas treacherous ground on which they now stood. He knew he must be careful in sharing his own suspicions until he had more definitive evidence. “I agree that he be no’ above anythin’ to get what he wants.”

  She blew out a sigh of relief. “I thought ye’d think me mad,” she said.

  “Nay lass, I do no’. I have learned much in the past weeks that lead me to believe much the same thing.”

  “Such as?” she asked, quirking a pretty brow.

  “What man removes an entire wall because of a few loose stones? What man would order all weapons be kept away from the keep, in a place of safekeeping no one kens of? And what good and decent man would arrange a marriage between his beautiful niece and a man like Courtemanche?”

  “So what do we do?” she asked.

  Brogan smiled, and said, “We build the wall before he returns and we make new weapons.”

  “Ye’ve talked with Iarainn, then?”

  “Aye, I have. She be workin’ day and night fer us.”

  “That be good to hear,” she said. “Have ye decided what ye will do with Hargatha?”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “’Tis no’ me decision to make, Mairghread, but yers.”

  Mairghread shivered and looked up at the leaden sky. “I should get Gertie and Tilda back to the keep. It looks like more rain be headin’ our way.”

  ’Twas apparent to him she had no desire yet to make a decision on the auld healer. “When I return to the keep, we should mayhap sit down and discuss together, Hargatha’s future.”

  “No matter what we decide, we will be needin’ a new healer,” she said.

  He’d been so busy with the wall as well as Mairghread’s recovery that he hadn’t given much thought to their need of a healer.

  “I am told Liam’s brother be a healer,” she said. “Mayhap we could ask Liam to reach out to him, to see if he would be interested in comin’ to our aid.”

  Brogan chuckled. “Now, ye might want to reconsider that,” he said.

  “Why? He can no’ possibly be any worse than Hargatha.”

  Liam’s brother, Lachl
an, had a habit of finding trouble without looking for it. He was just as handsome as Brogan’s own brother, Ian. But as Ian had taken advantage of his good looks where it pertained to women, Lachlan was not thusly inclined. The man was a warrior, through and through. However, several years ago, he laid down his sword and picked up herbs to become a healer. Brogan did not know why the man had made that decision. There were too many rumors of differing opinions to piece together an answer. “Well, he be a right handsome man. The lasses tend to throw themselves at him.”

  Mairghread raised her brow in disbelief. “Be that as it may, we need a healer. I do no’ care if he be the most handsome man to ever grace God’s earth, or if he looks like the arse end of a three-legged dog.”

  He chuckled slightly. “Verra well, I shall speak to Liam.”

  “Thank ye, Brogan,” she said.

  The mist began to turn to a light rain, then. “Ye best be gettin’ back to the keep.”

  She bid him good day and hurried off to collect Gertie and Tilda.

  He was truly beginning to like his wife.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Waves crashed violently against the craggy cliffs and shores below the Mactavish keep. Lightning danced across the black as pitch sky while the wind wailed like some tortured soul from the bowels of hell.

  Because of the inclement weather, no one came to sup in the keep. People stayed in their cottages, for no meal, no fellowship was worth the trek out of doors.

  Brogan braved a trip to the kitchens to wrangle up a simple meal for he and Mairghread. Though the pathway betwixt keep and kitchens was covered, it offered very little protection against the elements. The wind whipped through, splattering water against his trews, soaking through his boots.

  Lowrens and the servants were seated at a long table. When he entered, each jumped to their feet. “Sit,” he said with an engaging smile. “Enjoy yer meal.”

  “What can I do fer ye, m’laird?” Lowrens asked as he rose.

  “A wee supper fer Mairghread and me,” he replied.