Some of the women had tears in their eyes, for they could understand how much such a loss could hurt. A few of the men simply nodded in understanding. But all were quite surprised to hear her admission as well as her apology.
“Thanks to me husband, Brogan, and me dear friends, Reginald, Gertie, and Tilda, I was able to climb out of the flagon and come back to the land of the livin’.”
Nervous laughter spread throughout the crowd when she smiled at them. ’Twas no’ easy for her to talk so openly about what her clan referred to as her troubles. But she felt it necessary to do so. “I ken that I have three years of poor behavior to make up fer, but make up fer it I will.”
Louder murmurs began to race through the crowd. Though it appeared to her they were speaking of their approval, she couldn’t quite be sure. Once again, she looked to Brogan for his silent support. He stood proudly beside her, with his hands clasped behind his back. Stoic and proud.
Understanding that she must first bring forth the matter of Aymer Mactavish before she could go any further, she took in a deep, cleansing breath. “I have, just this day, received word from Aymer Mactavish, who was actin’ chief on me behalf when I did no’ have the strength to do it meself.” She paused, looking out at her people. “Aymer was no’ happy to learn of me marriage to Brogan.” Though that ’twas an understatement, her people did not need to know all the sordid details of her uncle’s letter.
“I have learned many things recently, that make me question Aymer’s loyalty to us as a clan, and to me as his only livin’ niece.”
Concerned murmurs and whispers from the people.
“I was loyal to me uncle fer a long, long while. Unfortunately, he has betrayed that loyalty and me trust. He has betrayed me and ye.” She waited for the astonished gasps and rumblings to quiet down before going on again. This was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do.
“Aymer,” her voice caught on his name. Regret, sorrow, and anger blended together. “Aymer Mactavish lied to me and I be certain he spread that lie to the rest of ye. He convinced me that I killed me husband, James, and me son, Connell, and then tried to kill meself. I now ken, that no’ be the truth.”
Stunned silence filled the yard below her. “I believed him only because he was me last livin’ kin. I believed him because I thought he had only me best interests at heart. But that be no’ true.” She paused, waiting for what she was telling them, to sink in. “He lied because he does no’ want me to be chief. He wants that title for himself.”
Another round of gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“I ask ye this: why would a man order the removal of a wall, a wall that stood for more than one hundred years? Why would he order it removed yet never rebuild it? Why would he take all our weapons out of the armory — fer safekeeping’ — and no’ tell anyone where they were?”
On that, the crowd was in agreement. It had never made any sense to anyone. But because he had been acting chief while Mairghread and James were away, her people felt they must obey his orders.
“No good chief would leave his people as exposed as he has. It has only been through God’s divine grace that we have no’ been attacked since the removal of that wall. Had the wall been in place the night we were attacked, I believe we would no’ have lost those that we did.” She was growing angry now, just thinking about how her uncle’s foolish decision had affected her and her people. She could see, with brilliant clarity, how Aymer had betrayed each of them.
“We know not when Aymer will return to this keep.” she began. The murmurs quieted as they paid rapt attention. “But when he does, we will be ready. We will never again allow a man such as he to make decisions that will cost precious lives. We will never again allow foolishness or arrogance to rule us.” The more she spoke, the angrier she felt. She refused, however, to allow that anger to make her look like a vindictive woman. Taking in another steadying breath, she went on. “When Aymer returns, he will be permanently banished from this keep, our holding, and our lands. He will never be allowed to return.”
’Twas quite apparent that her people did not know what to make of that announcement. Many looked quite pleased, but were, mayhap, afraid to voice their joy.
“Upon the death of James, I inherited not only the keep and its lands, I also inherited the title of Chief. Because of me grievin’ and sorrow and drinkin’, I was no’ able to act as yer chief.”
’Twas as if they were all holding their breaths, waiting to hear what she would say next. Casting a quick glance to Brogan, he looked just as curious and eager as her people.
“I be here this night, to tell ye that I am now ready to be yer chief.”
Gasps of surprise broke out across the crowd. A moment later, a loud cheer went up. Brogan stood taller, prouder, although he was stunned to hear her finally proclaim it. But he watched the crowd with a keen eye. He had also placed his men in varying locations, looking for any signs of dissent or people who might remain loyal to Aymer.
“With Brogan Mackintosh at my side, I ken we can make this clan as good and strong as it was when me da ruled,” the crowd quieted but only slightly. “I want to lead us into a brighter and better future. I ken I be askin’ much of ye, especially after the past three years, when the only thing I thought of was the whisky and the wine.”
Her heart was pounding in her chest, her palms sweaty, her voice cracking. She hadn’t told Brogan of her final decision. But she knew he would be happy, as well as proud. Standing closer to her now, he slipped his hand into hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go.
“I give to ye this day, me promise and most solemn vow, that none of ye will have to worry ever again about me drinkin’. Recently,” she turned to Brogan and smiled at him. “I have learned that I need to live, more than I need to drink.”
He returned her smile with one of his own, as well as a wink.
She had to raise her hands again and call for quiet. Once they settled down, she started again. “I will do me best to be a good, loyal servant to all of ye. Aye, I will be chief, but I believe in me heart that a good chief understands he — or she — is no’ above his people. Any decision I will make will always be fer the good of the clan, fer the good of its people.”
Another cheer erupted, as people shook their hands in the air and called out her name. Not all, but most.
“I be no’ so naive to believe that all of ye will follow me without question. I ken that I must prove to ye that I mean the words I speak, lest they are just empty words. I will do me best to make ye proud.”
More loud shouts of approval and once again, she had to ask for quiet. “I want only what is best fer us, as a people. I will work just as hard as me father did, and with just as much conviction and honor. I will make him proud and I hope to make ye as proud as well.”
There was nothing left for her to say now. She wouldn’t have been able to anyway, for her people were roaring their approval.
Mairghread and Brogan walked back into the keep hand in hand. Though Mairghread’s hands trembled significantly. She was at peace with her decision to make the official announcement, she could only pray and hope her clan would continue to support her.
Once they were behind closed doors, Brogan wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the floor. “I be so verra proud of ye!” he exclaimed with a beaming smile. He twirled her around twice before kissing her soundly on the mouth.
“Were I a man who just announced he was chief, would ye still be kissin’ me?” she asked playfully.
He grunted. “I be no’ married to a man, lass.”
“But ye are married to a chief,” she said, painting a most serious expression on her face. “And as chief, I give ye me first order.”
He raised a brow, his expression awash in uncertainty. “And what might that be?”
She smiled then. “That ye kiss me again.”
“As ye wish, m’lady,” he replied with a grin.
’Twas a most wondrous kiss. Soft and s
weet, but filled with passion and desire. It stole her very breath away, as most of his kisses tended to do.
Brogan, almost always the more level-headed of the two of them, broke the kiss. “Have I fulfilled yer order to yer pleasure, m’lady?” he asked with a most devilish grin.
“Aye,” she said breathlessly. “I have another order fer ye, that can only be done in private.”
He chuckled. “Ye be insatiable,” he told her.
“’Tis entirely all yer fault,” she told him.
“Mine?” he asked, incredulously.
“Aye,” she said as she kissed his cheek. “Were ye no’ so good at lovin’, I would no’ be askin’ fer yer favors as oft as I do.”
How could a man argue with that?
When they sat down to sup — after stealing away to their chamber — Mairghread felt invigorated. Looking out at the tables of the gathering room she saw many familiar and devoted people. But it seemed to her more were in attendance this night. Many had quit attending the evening meal ages ago, no doubt due to her drinking. She was glad to see their return.
On the morrow, she would select a few members of her clan to act as her counsel. She would begin meeting with her people twice a week, as her father had done. Settling disputes between clansman, offering her help wherever she could, had always been easy for her. She could only pray ‘twould be the same now that she was chief.
“Brogan, I would like to put ye in charge of training our people to fight,” she told him.
“Do ye think it best we finish the wall first?” he asked as he began offering her food from the platters.
“Be there a way to do both?” she asked, politely declining the pheasant with a shake of her head.
“I suppose, with the extra men we have now,” he said. “Mayhap we could start with just a few afternoons a sennight.”
She was quiet for a long moment, deep in thought. “We do no’ stand much of a chance against any trained warriors Courtemanche might bring with him, do we?” Suddenly, she did not have much of an appetite.
Brogan let out a quick breath. “I think ye have set a good plan in place, Mairghread. If we can gain reinforcements from me brother and the Bowie, and if we get the wall finished in time, then I would say we have a good chance.”
She trusted him to be honest with her in all things. ’Twas a promise he’d made long ago. Still, doubts sometimes lingered. “Ye would tell me the truth, would ye no’?”
“Of course I would, Mairghread,” he said as he set his eating knife down. “There be too much at stake no’ to tell ye the truth.”
She could not help but smile at him. He was a good and decent man. “Mayhap it be the doubt in meself I be feelin’.”
“Remember that I will always be at yer side. If I feel ye be makin’ a mistake on a matter, ye can be assured I will voice me opinion.”
She patted his hand and thanked him. “I be verra glad that I married ye,” she said. “I do no’ ken if I have told ye that before.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Ye may no’ have told me with words lass but ye have shown me. And I be right glad I married ye.”
It hit her then, a realization so bright and brilliant, and catching her so unaware, that she gasped. Deep in the pit of her stomach, fluttering out like a thousand butterflies to her fingers and toes. I love him.
“What?” he asked as his brow wrinkled in confusion.
She couldn’t say the words aloud. Not here, not now. She thought of lying to him, making up some story about how she forgot to do something important. But she could not do that to him. “I will tell ye later,” she whispered as she fought back tears.
She couldn’t have told a living soul why she cried. Her emotions were a jumbled mess at the moment. Tears of regret, remorse, happiness and joy? How could such a thing be?
“Be ye certain?” he asked, still looking quite concerned.
“Aye, Brogan, I be certain.”
They ate the rest of their meal with Mairghread half-listening to anything Brogan said. All she could think of was the promises she had made to James and Connell at their graves. Sorrow crept into her heart, leaving her unable to eat more than a few bites of food. She could barely think a clear thought.
’Twas an inner battle between past and present, one that made her head ache and her tongue fair itch with a need for just a wee dram.
Knowing well now that a wee dram of anything was akin to suicide — albeit a long, ugly and dark death that would be years in the making. She knew what she must do and she needed to do it this night. And without Brogan. Nay, this was something she needed to do alone.
“Brogan,” she began, her voice unsteady. “There be somethin’ I need to do before we retire fer the night.”
“Verra well,” he said as he removed himself from the table. Extending his arm, he smiled down at her. “What do we need to do?”
Distractedly, she shook her head. “Nay, ’tis naught fer ye to worry over,” she told him. “I will be above stairs shortly.” Scooting away from the table, she declined his proffered hand.
Ignoring his questions, she fled the gathering room and keep without looking back.
Not far from the keep, near the forest, behind a low stone wall, was the Mactavish cemetery. More than a hundred years old, with countless graves, ’twas a well-kept, serene and peaceful place.
Mairghread brought no flowers with her, just her memories, her sorrow, and a lighted torch. The wind whipped through the tiny glen, wrapping her skirts around her legs, bending the tall grass. Betimes, it sounded as though the trees were moaning, grieving.
’Twas a cool night, growing, it seemed to her, cooler with each beat of her heart.
James and Connell had been buried side by side in a spot at the rear, reserved for clan Chiefs and their families. Not far from them was the eternal resting places of her entire family.
Cautiously, she made her way to her husband and son’s graves. One large, stone cross, and a smaller one, marked their places. It had been more than three years since the one and only time she had been here. But someone, more likely than not Gertie and Tilda, had tended to these two places with great love and care. Not a weed grew on either spot, and bless them, they had recently left flowers.
Slowly, she sat down betwixt the two graves, her skirts spilling all around her, and jabbed the torch into the ground between their stones.
“All the way here, I thought of what I would say to ye,” she said, choking back tears. “But now it seems I be at a loss fer words.”
Taking in deep breaths, she sat for a long while, just listening to the sound of the wind. She had hoped, she supposed, to hear the faint echo of James’ voice, or mayhap even Connell’s sweet baby sighs. But all she could hear was the beating of her heart, the wind, and the moaning of the trees.
“It has been a long while since last I was here. I should no’ have deserted ye as I did, but I see Gertie and Tilda took good care of ye.” One lonely tear fell down her cheek. How many had she shed over the years? Enough to fill a loch, she supposed. “I have no’ come here to say goodbye to ye. I came, I suppose, just to talk to ye. I could no’ do that before, ye see, fer I was simply too drunk, too overcome with grief at losin’ ye.”
Wiping away the tear, she took in a deep breath and held it until she thought her lungs would burst. ’Twas the only thing she could think to do to keep from breaking down completely. Finally, she let go that breath, as she willed her heart to settle its frantic beating to keep it from breaking completely.
“I loved ye both, ye ken. More than I have ever loved anyone in me life. ’Tis why I took yer deaths so hard. ’Twas why I could no’ come visit ye before now. ’Tis the most unimaginable hurt a body can ever go through, losin’ ye as we did. ’Tis the truth that I did no’ want to live. I could no’ imagine goin’ on with the rest of me life, while ye be stuck in the cold, dark ground. It did no’ seem fair.”
That deep pain, the agony, that was what first had her reaching for the fla
gons. The belief she had ended these lives she held so precious, was what send her tumbling into the abyss.
Focusing now on little Connell’s grave, she swiped away more tears. Oh, how she missed that sweet, sweet babe. The way he smelled, the way he would smile in his sleep, how warm and light her heart felt whenever she held him.
“I will no’ give ye excuses fer why I have no’ been here. I can only give ye reasons. ’Tis true, ye see, that I turned into an ugly, black-hearted drunkard. For a long while I thought ’twas because I killed ye, even though, deep in me heart I knew I could never have done such a thing. But Aymer, may he someday burn in hell fer his sins, he convinced me I had done just that. I can no’ reason out why I believed him. Mayhap me guilt was so deep that I could no’ save ye from him.”
All at once she knew. She knew, deep in her bones, the horrid, sinister truth. ’Twas just a flash of a memory that assaulted her, just as quick and as fierce as lighting cutting through the sky. Just as powerful and deadly.
Sick to her stomach, her heart so cold she was certain it stopped beating for a moment. But then it beat again, thundering, pounding against her breast, blood coursing through her veins, cold and unmerciful.
“Nay,” she whispered as she struggled to her feet. “Nay, nay, nay!”
Her world was spinning out of control, making her feel dizzy and nauseous. More flashes of memory raged on. Gruesome, horrid scenes, tiny moments, blazing, flashing all around her. ’Twas as if she were no longer in her body, but staring down at it from above. Screaming, bleeding, begging for mercy, begging him to stop, unable to believe what she was seeing. The dirk, the long, weighty dirk, slashing through the air, through skin, flesh, and bone. Over and over again.
Struggling to get on her feet, her skirts tangled around them and sent her face first into the soft, cold grass with a grunt and a curse. ’Twas then she realized the lightning was real, spidering out in a sky that had grown dark without her realizing it.
Screaming as loudly as she could, she fought once again to get onto her feet. Her throat began to feel raw, her breaths coming in brutal, harsh bursts.
Brogan's Promise: Book Three of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 35
