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

by Suzan Tisdale

When the rest of the men filed in with their lit torches, she grew even more terrified. “I be a sick auld woman!” she cried. “I have no coin!”

  “We’re no’ here to rob ye, ye auld bat!” Reginald declared rather loudly.

  Recognition came to her eyes when Fergus held up his torch. “Reginald?” she asked, her hands still shaking. “What in the bloody hell are ye doin’ here? Breakin’ down me door in the middle of the—”

  She fell instantly quiet when the men parted to allow Mairghread through. Her eyes blazed with hatred she made no attempt to hide. Mairghread would not be deterred.

  “Why?” she asked through gritted teeth. “Why did ye give James yer Devil’s Brew?”

  “I do no’ ken what ye speak of,” Hargatha replied indignantly.

  “I be talkin’ about the night me husband and son died,” she said as she leaned over. Just inches from the auld woman’s face. “Me memory has returned. Now tell me why ye gave him the brew!”

  “Bah! I did no’ give James anythin’! The boy would no’ let me get near him, or ye, or yer babe. I do no’ ken why, fer I am a good healer.”

  “Yer were no’ a healer,” Mairghread told her. Her voice was growing harsher, angrier. “Ye be naught more than a cruel, black-hearted woman.”

  “Says ye,” Hargatha said in a most challenging tone.

  Not here to argue on whether or not the auld woman was a good healer, Mairghread’s anger was growing far more intense. Leaning in closer, she asked her once again. “Why did ye give it to him?”

  “I did no’ give it to him!”

  The words were barely out of her mouth before Mairghread reached over and grabbed a handful of the auld woman’s hair. “Why?” she ground out while Hargatha protested. “Why did ye give it to him? Tell me now, auld woman, or ye will no’ live to see the next sunrise!”

  In a good deal of pain, Hargatha’s words rushed out. “I did no’ give it to him! I gave it to Aymer!”

  “Aymer?” Mairghread asked. “Why would ye give it to him?”

  When she did not immediately answer, Mairghread tugged hard on her hair again.

  “He was me laird! What was I supposed to do?”

  Seething with fury, Mairghread’s next words would not leave a doubt in anyone’s mind what she thought about Aymer being laird. “He was no’ yer laird. James was! James was yer laird and chief, no’ Aymer. And now, I be yer chief.” Disgusted with the auld woman, she let go of her hair, pushing her away.

  Mairghread turned to find Brogan. “Why would Aymer give James the brew?”

  Before he could answer, Hargatha piped up. “’Twas no’ fer James, ’twas fer ye!”

  Spinning around, appalled and angry. “Me?” she asked, only for clarification’s sake.

  “Aye, ye,” the auld woman said as she rubbed the spot on her head that Mairghread had pulled. “He said ye had no’ been yerself since ye had the babe. He said ye had no’ suffered with the childbirth, as God meant all women to do. He worried ye were possessed.”

  “Good lord,” Mairghread breathed out, awash in stunned disbelief. Aymer had lied to the auld woman, knowing just what to say to her to get what he wanted.

  Turning back to her men, she asked of no one in particular, “How would James have drunk it if it were meant fer me?” It made no sense. No sense at all.

  “It does no’ have to be drunk as a tisane,” Hargatha told them. “It can be put in a stew or a broth.”

  Fergus let out a gasp, drawing their attention to him. He looked as pale as a linen sheet, his eyes wide with horror. “Good lord,” he murmured. “I ken how he did it.”

  “What do ye mean?” Brogan asked him.

  Fergus was deep in thought, startled back to the here and now by Brogan’s deep voice. “I, I swear m’lady, had I kent, I would never have done it.”

  “What do ye mean?” Brogan asked once again, his words clipped and sharp.

  Fergus ran a hand through his hair and took in a deep breath. “I had only been working in the kitchens less than a week. Aymer came in and told Lowrens he was worried Mairghread was no’ eatin’ well enough. Lowrens ladled up a bowl of fish stew.”

  Another jolt to her memory and she was transported for a time, back to that fateful day. She could remember being abed that afternoon, and only because James insisted she take a nap. Connell was in his cradle, next to their bed. They were speaking in whispers, so as not to wake their precious, sleeping babe. ’’Twas a lot of hard work ye did, givin’ me a son,’ he had told her. ‘Ye need yer rest, so that we may make many more sons.

  With vivid clarity she could remember how light and happy she felt, how much in love they were. James with his wild, unruly, dark brown hair, his bright blue eyes, and his lopsided grin.

  Then there was someone at their door, and James was taking a tray.

  “Och! They must no’ ken ye hate fish stew now,” James had said, smiling at her. He was always smiling at her, so warmly and adoringly.

  She had lost the taste for fish stew when she was carrying Connell. ’Twas one of the few things she could not keep down and to this very day, she still couldn’t eat it without wanting to vomit.

  She could see James now, handing her the crusty bread, while he eagerly ate the stew. He took several bites before he put the bowl down. ‘It tastes a bit off,’ he had remarked.

  Then he kissed her, saying he would be back soon. He wanted to check the progress of the wall.

  And that was the last time she had ever seen him or her son alive.

  “James ate a poison that was meant for me.” An intense ache grew, deep in her heart. He had been such a good man. Had he lived, he would have been a great leader. Had he only lived. Had she been able to eat the fish stew, chances were they’d not be standing in a run-down cottage in the middle of the night, trying to extract information from a black-hearted old woman.

  Mairghread was having a difficult time coming to grips with that. Dazed, she stood in the old cottage, surrounded by her husband and men. None of the men to whom she looked had the answers she sought.

  “Had I eaten the tisane,” she murmured, her mind going to very dark and unimaginable places.

  “Mairghread, it would change naught,” Brogan said as he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Aymer was determined. Had that no’ worked, he would have thought of something else. And he did. He could say ye took yer own life, denying the blood on his hands.” His jaw ticked with barely contained rage at this faceless man named Aymer Mactavish. He did not think it possible to want to take the life of a man he’d never laid eyes on.

  She knew he was right. With sober eyes, she could now see the man was beyond nothing, even the murder of innocent sweet babes, to get what he wanted.

  Connell.

  Connell’s death was owned to only one man and that was Aymer Mactavish. Whether or not he held the weapon that took her son’s life, the result was the same. Connell and James were dead by his hands.

  Like a battle-hardened warrior, Mairghread straightened her back and shoulders. “He can deny it all he wishes, their deaths are his. And I will seek justice for all he has done. No’ just to me, but to this clan.”

  Brogan believed she was sounding more and more a clan chief. “What do we do with Hargatha?” he asked.

  Some might have thought ’twas her tender heart leading her decision. But Brogan saw naught but fierce determination flicker behind her dark green eyes. “We keep her alive until Aymer returns. We may need her to prove his guilt.”

  Overwrought with guilt, Fergus stepped forward. “M’lady, I’d rather fall on me own sword than to bring ye a moment of pain.”

  “None of this be yer fault, Fergus. Do no’ fash yerself over it. That be an order.” Offering him her most sincere smile she seemed to put him at ease.

  “Keep half the men back to watch her,” she told Brogan. “On the morrow, we will build a gaol, just fer Hargatha.”

  He grinned his approval, growing more proud of his wife with each passing moment. Th
ere might have been a time or two when he thought she would be too tender-hearted to lead her people, but she was proving him wrong.

  The eastern sky was just beginning to blaze orange and yellow, the western sky still inky with twinkling stars when they rode back home. Though she was bone tired, Mairghread knew sleep would not come easy. Her nerves were on edge with her anger bubbling just below the surface.

  Guilt had been her constant companion these past years. Just when she thought she could put it to rest, something new seemed to rear its ugly head, bringing the guilt to the forefront. It seemed to follow her wherever she went.

  Thankfully, Brogan was able to help her set that guilt aside. He had been right when he said Aymer would have found some way to bring forth her demise. The evil man had proven that with all his lies and falsehoods. She could not and would not take the blame for any of this.

  There was no time for guilt. Instead, she chose to focus on the unmitigated fury coursing through her veins. Someday — and she hoped that day would come sooner rather than later — she would have justice for her husband and babe.

  Shaken from her murderous thoughts by a scene before her, she pulled her horse to a stop. She was looking at Douglas and Mavis Mactavish’s home. ’Twas a small cottage, with gardens Mairghread had always envied. What confused her was that Douglas and his young sons were emptying the contents of their cottage and piling them into the back of a wagon.

  With a gentle tap to her horse’s flanks, she rode up the small path. Brogan and the others followed behind her.

  “Douglas.” When she called his name, he paused only long enough to give her a curt nod. “What be goin’ on here?”

  He placed the heavy trunk he’d been carrying into the back of the wagon. “We be movin’,” he replied curtly.

  “To a larger cottage?” she asked, though from his angry glower, she didn’t think it so.

  He made no attempt to stop his work. “Nay.”

  Brogan, seeing the blatant disrespect, pulled his own mount around to the rear of the wagon. “I would thank ye kindly to stop loadin’ yer wagon long enough to give yer lady the respect she deserves.” He pinned the man in place with a hard, cold stare.

  Douglas put a basket on top of the trunk. “We be leavin’ the clan,” he said, giving Brogan his full attention. “We be goin’ east, to clan MacCray, to me wife’s family.”

  “Why?” Mairghread asked cooly.

  He grew silent, refusing to look at Mairghread.

  “I asked ye why,” she repeated. This time her voice was much firmer.

  With a roll of his eyes, he finally spoke directly to her. “Me wife misses her family.”

  ’Twas a full out lie and Mairghread knew it. Breathing in through her nostrils, she let the air out quickly. “Be that true? Or be it the fact that I have taken me rightful place as chief?”

  He hung his head for a brief moment. “M’lady, it be no’ just me who has concerns with ye bein’ chief.”

  “If ye had concerns, why did ye no’ come to me to discuss them?” she asked.

  “Instead of movin’ out before the sun be up, like a coward,” Brogan asked. He was just as angry with this bit of news as she was.

  Douglas’s eyes burned bright with anger. “I be no’ a coward!” he ground out. “I just can no’ trust her to lead us!”

  His words felt like a kick to her gut. “Because of me past drinkin’?” she asked him.

  “Among other things,” he replied harshly.

  “Would ye have stayed had I made Brogan chief?” she asked only out of morbid curiosity.

  Something flickered across his face, but he refused to answer her.

  “How many others?” she asked him through clenched teeth.

  “Twenty families, last I heard,” he replied, indignantly.

  Twenty families? That was too large a number to lose at a time like this. Casting a quick glance to Brogan, she could see he was thinking much the same as she.

  “Verra well, Douglas,” she said as she tightened her hold on the reins of her horse. “I hope ye will be happy wherever ye be goin’. I also pray ye can live with this decision.” With that, she spun her horse around to head back to the keep.

  “It might be best this way,” Brogan told her. “It saves us from havin’ to weed out those who would no’ support ye when it counts most.”

  “Is no’ now when it counts most? When we need a bloody wall built?” she bit out angrily.

  “We will get it built, if we have to light torches to work at a night.”

  She did not doubt him as much as she doubted the people who were staying behind. How long before more of them decided to follow in Douglas’s footsteps?

  Counting women and children, they lost a grand total of thirty-three people. Not nearly as many as they had anticipated from Douglas’s estimation. Still, ’twas enough to make Mairghread worry.

  ‘Twasn’t until they were alone in their chamber that she let loose all her anger and upset. It came out in a slew of bleary-eyed curses. “We can no’ afford to lose one man right now,” she told him as she stripped angrily out of her dress.

  “I still say it be better now than when Aymer shows up,” Brogan told her. Undoing his sword belt, he hung the belt around the poster of the bed.

  Tugging her boots off, she threw them to the floor. “Aye, I ken that. But it does no’ mean I have to like it.”

  “Nay, but it be times like these that will test yer mettle as chief. And I have to say ye have handled yerself well these past hours.”

  She was not in the mood for compliments. The air in the room was decidedly chilly. She left her woolens on as she slipped into the bed. In no time, Brogan had a nice fire going.

  “I can no’ but help to wonder if they would have stayed had I made ye chief,” she told him. Propped up on one elbow, she watched as he stripped out of his tunic. Muscles rippled in the firelight. The sight of him, standing only in his trews, helped tamp down some of her anger. “No’ that I regret me decision,” she added. “I am fulfilling me father’s final wishes.”

  A thought suddenly occurred to Brogan. “When did ye decide to step aside and make James chief?”

  Breathing out a puff of air, she had to admit the truth. “I told him before we were married that I had no plans to become chief, even though that was what me father wanted.”

  Pulling off his trews, he sat down on the edge of the bed. “So even though ye knew ’twas what yer father wanted, ye told James he could be chief?”

  “In truth? I thought me father would live a verra long time. By then, he would see what a good man James was. He would see that James was the better choice.”

  He stood up long enough to slide in under the blankets. “What changed yer mind this time?”

  “Ye did,” she answered in a low, soft tone. “’Tis yer belief in me that changed me mind.”

  “Would not James have supported ye as I have?”

  She had to admit the truth. “Nay, he would no’ have. He was no’ as modern in his way of thinkin’ as ye. There was no way he would have followed me as chief of the clan. And he made his opinion known to me when he proposed.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Then why did ye marry him?”

  She smiled warmly at the memory of James. “I loved him. He was a good man. I think ye and he would have gotten along well together.”

  Ignoring the last part of her statement, he said, “So ye married him despite the fact that he would no’ have supported ye as chief.”

  “I was naught but a starry-eyed lass in love then, Brogan. All I have ever truly desired was to be a wife and mum, and to help me people wherever I could. I have never had any desire to be chief. But ye have shown me that I can be chief as well as wife and mum. With ye beside me, I ken I can conquer any task, any problem set before me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  October had arrived, ferocious and cold, with biting winds and unrelenting rain. The proverbial dust had finally settled after Douglas and the others
had left the clan. Aye, they could have used the extra men to make their work easier. But in the end, they were able to finish the wall without them.

  At least part of it. There was still the matter of towers and walkways.

  On this cold, blustery day in mid November, the entire clan was gathered in the courtyard to watch the final bolt be put into place in the hinge of the massive gate made of wood which was reinforced with heavy steel.

  The rain beat down like heavy pebbles falling from the sky, the wind whipped harshly at anything in its path. Mairghread would not be deterred from marking this momentous occasion. Though her cloak was made of heavy wool and lined with dark fur, she was still chilled to the bone. In her gloved hands, she held a wooden mallet. Standing in the back of a cart, she looked out at her people.

  “This day has been too long in comin’,” she said with a smile. “There is still much work to be done, but at last, we can say we built this bloody wall!” The crowd erupted into a loud cheer. “Each of ye have worked from dawn to past dusk fer months now. I owe each of ye a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid.” She turned then to look at Henry, who was just a few steps away, standing with her husband. “Because we owe a great deal to Henry Mackintosh, fer over-seein’ the completion of this wall, I think he should put the last bolt in!”

  The crowd cheered again as she handed the mallet off to Henry. Placing his hands around her waist, Brogan lifted her out of the cart. In front of God and everyone, he kissed her most soundly. Such an intense look of joy could be seen in his green eyes that she almost felt like weeping. “We did it,” he said as he kissed her again.

  “Och! I owe this wall to ye, Brogan Mackintosh!” she told him as he wrapped his arm around her waist.

  The people filling the yard went deathly quiet, as Henry climbed up the ladder. The gate was set in place, waiting for the final bolt. Someone handed him a large, heavy bolt, which he slid into the slot.

  “For Clan Mactavish,” he called out to the crowd. “May she live long, may she prosper, and may she be strong!”