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

by Suzan Tisdale

  A heartbeat later, terror seized control of her heart and mind when a pair of strong arms wrapped around her torso and lifted her up.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brogan had followed his wife from a safe distance. Only because she had been out of sorts throughout the evening meal. He wanted to make certain she was safe. And without knowing where the bloody hell Aymer was, he did not want her wandering too far from the keep.

  She hadn’t bothered to gather her shawl or cloak before leaving the keep. The night air was growing cooler and there was the promise of rain in the air. Stealthily, he followed behind at a safe distance so as not to disturb her. Believing she only needed some time alone, he did not want to intrude. Time alone, especially over these past few months, was a precious commodity.

  Out of the wall and down the path she went. He had no idea where she was going or if she had any purpose. Not once had she glanced over her shoulder or the spaces around her. They would have to have a very serious talk about that when they got back to the keep. ’Twas too dangerous to go walking about, without keeping an eye out for any potential danger, whether it be human or beast.

  Then he saw her turn off, to the right, down another well-worn path. For months, he had passed by the cemetery on his way to the forest. But he had never dared to step foot inside consecrated ground for he felt he had no right.

  Assuming she was going to visit James and Connell’s graves, he stayed outside the stone wall and waited. Before he left his father’s home, he had visited Anna’s grave every day, no matter the weather. Still, he waited just outside the wall. He would not invade such a personal moment as this.

  A long while passed, the sky growing darker, the storm clouds moving in. He wished now he had thought to bring his own cloak, but then, he might have missed seeing where she had gone. He did not grow concerned until he saw the lighting flash in the distance. He would give her a few more moments alone, before he would go inside and insist she come back to the keep.

  His blood ran cold when he heard her shrieking the first time. Racing into the cemetery, he scanned the space quickly, looking for any sign of her. Nothing. Then he heard her scream again, louder, more pained that before. He did the only thing he could do; race for where the screams were coming from.

  With his heart beating mercilessly in his chest, the blood pulsing in his ears, he tamped down the dread, the worry. There, up ahead, he saw the flicker of her torch, then heard that awful screaming that made his blood run cold.

  In a thrice, he was lifting her off the ground, all the while she screamed and fought to be free.

  “Let me go!” she cried out, as she clawed at his hands.

  “Mairghread, ’tis me!” he exclaimed as he fought to keep his hold on her. “’Tis me, Brogan!”

  Relieved, she quite struggling and all but collapsed in his arms. He spun her around, holding her close, his heartbeat not yet settled. “What happened?” he asked. “Are ye hurt?”

  Between gut-wrenching sobs, she begged for him to take her away from here. “I want to go home, please, I can no’ stay here.”

  Lifting her into his arms, he carried her out of the graveyard as quickly as he could. All the while, lightning danced in the night sky, the wind howled and groaned.

  “I remembered,” she told him between sobs. “I remembered that night.”

  His stomach lurched, taking his breath with him. Part of him had hoped she would remember what had happened. But another part begged the opposite, only to protect her heart.

  “I saw him, Brogan! I saw him with the dirk. He was covered in blood! I saw him do it!” Sobbing to the point of hysteria now, she stammered, “I saw him. I remember.”

  It broke his heart to see her in such distress. He felt her pain as strongly and as real as if it were his own. “I be so sorry, lass,” he whispered against the top of her head. “I had me suspicions, ye ken, but I did no’ want to put them to voice. I did no’ want to give ye any false memories.”

  “Ye knew?” she asked, started as well as angry. “Ye knew and ye did no’ tell me?”

  He blew out a breath, struggling up the small incline. “I did no’ want to speak ill of yer uncle,” he said.

  “’Twas no’ me uncle,” she murmured, growing paler with each passing moment.

  “’Twas no’ Aymer?” he asked, drawing them to an abrupt halt.

  Looking up, into his eyes, anguished and devastated, she wiped her face with her sleeve. “’Twas James.”

  If he had not been so concerned with getting her into the keep before the storm hit, he would have sat down in the path. What she said made not a lick of sense. Pushing forward, he raced back to the keep. Fergus and Comnall saw him approaching, and came running to see what was the matter.

  “She had a fright, is all,” Brogan told them.

  “Do ye want me to carry her in?” Fergus offered.

  “Nay!” she cried out. Taking in deep breaths, she said, “I can walk now, Brogan.”

  He refused to set her down until she whispered, “I be the chief,” she reminded him. “I do no’ want anyone to see me like this.”

  Reluctantly, he set her down, but kept an arm around her waist, as he gave orders to Fergus and Comnall. “Run ahead and ask Cook to send up warm cider, and have someone light a fire in our room. But say naught to anyone.”

  They nodded and ran off to do his bidding.

  Mairghread took a few shaking steps. “I can no’ breathe,” she told him, clinging to his arm for support. “I do no’ think I can go in yet.”

  “Wheest,” he said, giving her a gentle hug. “Take one breath at a time, lass.”

  His head was still spinning with what she had told him.

  “Brogan, I do no’ feel well,” she murmured, swaying and clinging to him.

  That was the last thing she said, before fainting in his arms.

  He was half-way up the stairs before she began to stir. “Wheest, Mairghread,” he whispered as he kicked open the door to the keep with his booted foot.

  Gertie and Tilda were still in the gathering room and jumped to their feet when they saw Brogan carrying Mairghread. “Och! What happened?” they asked as they rushed to follow him up the stairs.

  “I be fine,” she murmured. “I just fainted ’tis all.”

  “Do ye hear that? She just fainted ’tis all,” Gertie said to Tilda, mockingly.

  Tilda shook her head in disbelief as they followed Brogan into the bedchamber.

  With great care and shaking hands, Brogan laid her on the bed. Gertie and Tilda stood near her, while he began to undo the laces of her dress.

  “What happened?” Gertie demanded as she felt Mairghread’s forehead with the back of her hand.

  “Be she feverish?” Tilda asked.

  “Nay,” Gertie answered with a shake of her head. “Do ye hurt anywhere? How be yer stomach?”

  “Do ye have an ache of the head? Have ye taken a fall recently?” Tilda asked, looking for all the world a very worried woman.

  Mairghread batted their hands away and sat up. “I be fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Stop peckin’ at me like a brood of hens!”

  The two women stopped. With pursed lips and scrutinizing eyes, they studied her closely for a moment. “Ye have been crying,” Gertie said. Glowering at Brogan now, she asked, “What did ye do to make her cry to the point of faintin’?”

  He rolled his eyes, “I did naught to make her cry or faint.”

  ’Twas apparent she did not believe him.

  “What shall we do?” Tilda asked, wringing her hands together. “We have no healer to send fer.”

  Mairghread sat up, closed her eyes, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I need to think,” she said, frustrated and angry. “I need quiet fer a moment.”

  Brogan stepped around Gertie and Tilda and sat on the edge of the bed. Gently, he rubbed her back with his hand, his own heart and mind in turmoil. “Do ye wish to be alone fer a little while?” he asked.

  With her eyes
still closed, she took her free hand and searched for his. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt his fingers intertwine with hers. “Nay, please do no’ leave me.”

  He was glad she needed him and wanted him to stay with her. Long moments passed before a knock came at the door. Tilda answered it. ’Twas Mairi, bearing the warm cider Brogan had requested.

  Tilda took it, thanked the young lass, and shut the door after her. Bringing the tray to the bed, she set it down. “’Tis warm cider,” she said in a low, hushed tone.

  “Thank ye,” Mairghread replied. “There was never a time I wanted a flagon of whisky more than right now.”

  “Lass,” Gertie said with concern etched on her face and evidenced in her tone. “Tell us, what be the matter?”

  “Mayhap another time,” Brogan suggested.

  “Nay,” Mairghread said. Opening her eyes, she looked at Gertie and Tilda, then Brogan. “They might be able to help.”

  Brogan was not so certain, but after seeing his wife so distressed, he could deny her nothing. He pulled up two chairs for the women to sit on, while he returned to sit beside Mairghread.

  “I remembered,” she began, taking Brogan’s hand in hers. “I remembered what happened that night.”

  There was, of course, no need to identify which night Mairghread spoke of. For more than three years, it had simply been referred to as that night.

  Gertie and Tilda cast worried glances at once another.

  “No’ all of it, just some of it. Little pieces and bits.” There were still many dark spaces of no recollection. But tonight, she had seen enough. Enough to make her question everything she ever believed in. ’Twas enough to make her want desperately to drink again. It hurt. Hurt far more than when she had believed they had died at her hands.

  “I saw James that night.” As soon as she said his name the tears began to fall. “I watched him slicing through Connell’s …” she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  “Nay!” Gertie and Tilda exclaimed together. “That can no’ be!”

  Swallowing back the bile and tears, Mairghread shook her head. “He was so angry. I had never seen him so angry before. He was no’ makin’ any sense. I tried to pull him away, all the while I was screamin’ and cryin’, tryin’ to get to Connell. When James looked at me, ’twas as if he could no’ see me. He was lookin’ through me!”

  Tears streamed down the faces of the two auld women. Neither of them could believe what she was telling them. “James would no’ more kill ye than ye him!” Gertie cried.

  “Mayhap, ’twas just a bad dream,” Tilda offered.

  “I was wide awake,” she said before going on to explain what had happened in the cemetery.

  “I remembered,” she told them again. “No’ all of it, just little bits and pieces.”

  Brogan had been quietly listening to her recount her memory of that night. Something gnawed at his gut. “Ye said he was no’ makin’ any sense. What do ye mean?”

  She swallowed again and wiped away more tears. “I do no’ ken. ’Twas as if he had been possessed by a demon.”

  He chest felt tight and his stomach lurched. “Good lord,” he whispered. Possessed by a demon… He looked at Gertie and Tilda. Aye, he thought to himself, they be thinkin’ exactly what I am.

  “How could he have done such a thing?” Mairghread cried. “He was such a good man!”

  “Mairghread, did ye see anyone else? Besides James?”

  She thought long and hard, then shook her head. “I do no’ ken. There were dancin’ shadows, and cryin’, screamin’… ’twas all so verra strange and utterly terrifyin’,” she replied.

  His suspicions were growing by leaps and bounds. From her description of James, it led him to believe Hargatha and her Devil’s Brew had something to do with what happened. He thought back to the afternoon the woman had slipped the brew to Mairghread. The way she fought with a murderous rage, how they had to subdue her and tie her to the bed. The way she looked right through him as if he weren’t even there.

  “Mairghread, I do no’ think James acted alone,” he told her. “I think he had help.”

  She looked up at him, with a peculiar expression. “Help? By whom?”

  “Hargatha and that bloody Devil’s Brew of hers.”

  Mairghread’s confusion did not last long. Once his words sank in, she shot to her feet. “I will kill her!” she ground out. “With me bare hands, I swear to ye, she will die this night!”

  Brogan went to her and wrapped his arms around her. “On the morrow—”

  Cutting him off, she pulled away, anger blazing in her eyes. “I said this night,” she said through gritted teeth. “I will no’ wait another day, Brogan. We leave at once.”

  “It be dark and there be a storm brewin’ out of doors,” he reminded her.

  ’Twas nothing in comparison to the storm brewing within. “If it were ye who had just discovered someone had killed me, would ye wait?”

  Just the thought of someone harming her was enough to incite him to murder. He could not argue against what she wanted to do. “Nay, I would no’ wait,” he told her. “However, I would hope someone would have the good sense to at least make me wait until the storm passed.”

  She mulled it over for a moment. “Verra well,” she began. “Have the horses and a handful of men readied. As soon as the storm passes, we will leave. ’Twill take us more than an hour to reach the cottage we banished her to.”

  “As ye wish,” he said with a nod. To Gertie and Tilda, he said, “Stay with yer lady until I return.”

  “Ye’ll no’ go without me,” Mairghread said, with a fierce glare.

  “Nay, lass, I will no’ go without ye. I will no’ deny ye the satisfaction of lookin’ in to the auld woman’s eyes while she takes her last breath.”

  She gave him a curt nod and turned away. “Gertie, Tilda, ye understand what I must do?”

  “Aye, m’lady,” Gertie said as she got to her feet. “Ye have our support.”

  “Good,” she said as she went to her clothes cupboard. “Now, help me find somethin’ to wear. I would no’ want to get blood all over me pretty silk.”

  Two hours later, Mairghread and Brogan were racing through the walls of the keep. Behind them were Henry, Comnall, Fergus, Reginald and a handful of other men.

  While the men were armed to the teeth, wearing full helms and chainmail, Mairghread was in a dark gray wool dress, covered by her blood red cloak. Around her waist, she wore her father’s sword belt and sword. Evelyn and Mairi had to dig it out of storage for her. It had been wrapped in fine linen and stored away in a beautifully carved box in the attics.

  Never before had she armed herself with anything other than a sgian dubh. And that was usually saved for ceremonial purposes. Tonight, however, was different. She was on her way to avenge the deaths of her husband and son.

  They rode in silence, with Reginald taking the lead after they passed the quarry. There was no moon this night, but the Mirrie Dancers were in full swing. Some believed the green and red lights were the ancient gods doing battle. Others thought they were signs from the one true God. Either way, they were thankful for this starry, brilliant night.

  The air was damp and cool now, the ground wet from the heavy rains. Mud kicked up from the horses splattering the feet and legs of their riders. ’Twas not the best night to be tearing across the countryside. Five of the riders carried lighted torches that danced and flickered against the wind, lending to the ominousness of the night and their purpose.

  As they rode along, Mairghread kept thinking of the two young guards who were killed that awful, horrid night. Had James killed them as well? For what purpose? To what end? Mayhap, he’d simply been induced to madness by Hargatha’s Devil’s Brew.

  And why on God’s earth would she have given him that concoction? Pulling alongside Brogan, she asked him just that. “He had no’ been ill,” she told him. “I can no’ help but wonder why. Why would she have done that to him? She had to have known what
would happen.”

  Brogan had been wondering that very thing. Revenge, mayhap? “Had he done anythin’ in the days before that would have upset her?”

  Pondering the question for a long moment gave her no results. “Nay, at least naught I can remember.”

  Who knew with Hargatha? Rarely did she do anything a sensible, logical person might do. Still, he had suspicions that she had not acted alone. But he would not set to voice his thoughts until after they spoke with the auld woman.

  The ground grew increasingly rocky and hilly, forcing them to slow their pace. The farther east they rode, the more treacherous it became. Soon, they had to dismount and guide their horses around and through the large boulders and rocky way.

  For a moment, and only a brief moment, Mairghread wondered how Hargatha had been able to walk through this angry land. Too bad she hadn’t fallen and broken her neck, Mairghread mused. But then, I would no’ have the chance to look her in the eye and ask her why. Why did she do it?

  It seemed to Mairghread that they had left the keep days ago, so long the journey felt. But Reginald and Brogan assured her it had not been as long as that.

  Finally, they reached their destination. In silhouette, the ancient looking, decrepit cottage sat against a large, grassy knoll. They stayed a good distance away, securing their horses to low hanging branches. Mairghread could see smoke billowing out of the chimney, which gave her a good measure of relief. It meant the auld biddy was within.

  In hushed whispers, they made plans for entry. Reginald would go in first, followed by Henry and the rest of the men. Mairghread would enter last.

  Testing the door first, they knew ’twas barred from the inside. With a shrug of their shoulders and the count of one, they busted the door down, using their broad shoulders. The space was dark, save for the fire in the hearth. Hargatha sat up in her bed when she heard the door breaking down and began to screech with fright.