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

by Suzan Tisdale

  But Aymer Mactavish? He was a cold, calculating, and dangerous man. Brogan was quite sure more than greed motivated him. He had looked into the man’s eyes and saw something that still made his blood run cold: sheer evil. An evil he was able to contain and hide to the outside world. But if one took a moment to look closer, to see what lay hidden behind those dark eyes, one would see the depths of that evil.

  The last thing he wanted to do was to bring upset to his beautiful wife. She had experienced enough of that over the years. Nay, he refused to share his true worries with her. Instead, he did everything within his power to make her feel safe and protected.

  At night, he would rest his hand on her belly and speak to their babe. Whether it be a son or daughter, he cared not. All he wanted was for this child to live a full and happy life. And there would be naught he wouldn’t do to make sure that was a reality and not just a fanciful dream.

  As her belly grew, so did his adoration towards her. Fierce, determined, quick-witted, and uninhibited in their marital bed, was his Mairghread. Aye, he’d begun to think of her as his. Months ago, of course. But he had yet to tell her what was in his heart.

  There were many times when the words were on the tip of his tongue, begging to be set free. However, he was as yet, uncertain how she felt about him. Oh, he knew she liked him well enough, and even admired him. But love? Nay, of that, he had serious doubts.

  Months ago, he had told her to speak freely and openly of James and Connell. So she did. But as time wore on, he found himself growing quite jealous of the man. For James still owned her heart. Brogan might have been in possession of everything else, such as her trust, admiration, loyalty, and even her body. But her heart, he feared, would always belong to James.

  The second crack in their false veneer of hope — the first being the murder of Archibald — arrived in late February, in the form of David II’s emissary. An aulder man, short of stature, but with a torso resembling a barrel of whisky. His name was Walter MacKinnon and Brogan hated him. Not for anything he had ever done to him personally, for he’d only just met the man.

  Nay, he hated him for the havoc he wreaked upon his wife and their clan.

  Brogan, Mairghread, and Reginald stood in the gathering room, in front of a blazing fire. Though it did very little to ease the cold ache in Brogan’s bones.

  Aymer had kept his promise.

  In his hands, Brogan held the missive from David. ’Twas addressed to Mairghread and Brogan.

  Upon hearing evidence from Aymer Mactavish, chief to Clan Mactavish, on our western shores, near Caimhainach, your attendance is nearby demanded to answer to the questions set before your beloved and esteemed King, David II, on or before the second day in May, the year of our lord, thirteen hundred and fifty eight. Ye will answer to the charges of intercession, disloyalty to your king, the honorable and beloved David II, interference in family matters, and the murder of James and Connell Mactavish.

  Mairghread was enraged. “He still accuses me of murdering them?” Clenching her hands into fists, she did her best to keep from railing against the emissary.

  Barely able to keep his own temper in check, Brogan handed the letter to Reginald before turning to face Walter. “Ye go back to David and tell him we can no’ possibly be there by the second day in May. Me wife is with child and I will do naught to endanger her safety or health, or that of our babe.”

  “The bloody hell he will!” Mairghread protested. “I will go before David and tell him the truth.”

  “Like hell ye will,” Brogan argued, his face growing darker and darker with each beat of his heart.

  “I will no’ argue it, Brogan. I will go. I want this matter with Aymer settled once and for all. I will no’ live me life in fear of what the coward will do next.”

  Reginald intervened on Brogan’s behalf. “M’lady, Aymer has already killed more than one member of this clan. We can no’ take a risk such as this.”

  With her brow knitted in confusion, she asked, “What do ye mean he has already killed more than one member of this clan?”

  Realizing his mistake, he looked to Brogan for help.

  Brogan raked an angry hand through his hair. “This might be a conversation best saved for later,” he told her as he glanced at Walter.

  Drawing her lips into a hard line, she glowered at Brogan.

  “Ye go to David and tell him we will be there as he has requested,” she spoke to Walter, but did not take her eyes off Brogan.

  “’Tis too dangerous, Mairghread. It will take weeks to get to Stirling,” he pointed out. The thought of her riding across the country in such harsh weather was enough to make him ill. But knowing Aymer could be lying in wait for an opportunity to bring her harm, was more than he could bear.

  “Then we best leave at first light on the morrow.”

  There was no amount of arguing or common sense to change Mairghread’s mind. They both knew it. However, it didn’t stop Brogan from trying.

  They invited Walter to spend the night, which he accepted with much gratitude. He had been given a nice chamber, on the other side of the keep. Brogan did not want anything he needed to tell his wife from being misconstrued by over zealous ears.

  After the evening meal, which was eaten mostly in silence, the retired to their chamber where Brogan began explaining his long held suspicions. He began with the easiest death; that of Archibald.

  “Why did ye no’ come to me sooner with this?” she ground out.

  “Ye had just learned ye were with child,” he told her. “I wanted no’ to bring even a moment of worry.”

  “Good, lord! I be no’ a child, Brogan!” she spat, throwing her hands up in the air. “I be the chief of this clan. I need to ken these things.” She was beyond incensed.

  “Ye be more than just the chief to me,” he replied in a low tone. Clenching and unclenching his jaw, he too, was angry, but for far different reasons. “Ye be me wife.”

  “Aye, I be yer wife. Yer poor, weak wife who can no’ possibly understand the workin’s of the world. Nor can she survive a bit of bad news,” she quipped sarcastically.

  “I do no’ think ye weak!” he barked.

  “Then why do ye treat me as such?”

  “Because I—” like a coward, he stopped before he could utter the words. He did not want them to be said in the heat of anger. “Because ye carry me child. Because I care. Because I want only to protect ye and keep ye safe.”

  Some of her anger fell away. While she understood his need to protect her, she still thought he was doing far too much of it of late. “Brogan, if ye worry I will take up drinkin’ again,” she began before he cut her off.

  “Of course no’,” he said. Feeling quite tired, and weary of arguing, he sat down in the chair by the fire and let out a deep breath. “I do no’ worry over that.”

  “Then what be yer worry?”

  Her question was met with silence, as he hung his head. To her, he looked like a lost soul. Then clarity dawned. “Ye be worried ye will lose me like ye did Anna?”

  Without looking at her, he nodded his head. “Aye, that thought has crossed me mind once or twice of late.”

  For a brief moment, she was quite tempted to tell him she loved him. But the words, for reasons she could not quite grasp, would not come.

  “If I promise ye I will do me best no’ to do anything stupid, such as gettin’ meself killed, will ye promise to quit worryin’?”

  “I fear that would be as likely as me sproutin’ wings and takin’ flight,” he murmured.

  With a heavy sigh, she went to sit across from him. “Brogan, what else have ye no’ told me?”

  Again, more silence.

  “If I do no’ ken everythin’, I can no’ and will never be safe. I need to ken whom I can trust.”

  Over the next hour, Brogan purged every secret or suspicion he’d been holding on to for months. All but one; his growing love for her.

  ’Twas easier to tell her he suspected ’twas Aymer who sliced Jame�
�s throat than it was to tell her what was in his heart. And easier still, to tell her he and Reginald both agreed that Aymer was responsible deaths of her entire family, save for her mother and Lachlan who had both died from illness.

  He felt no better for telling her. He worried she’d be so upset and distraught she would fall ill. He should have known better.

  Angrily, she paced about the room, her lips pursed, her eyes naught more than slits. “How could we have been so stupid?” she asked, rhetorically of course.

  “’Tis hard for the heart to accept someone we love and care for could be so evil,” he told her.

  “But Da? Me da was no’ an ignorant man,” she replied. “Certainly he must have suspected?”

  “Like ye did?” he asked.

  Never had she suspected Aymer of having anything to do with the deaths of her family. ’Twas not until Hargatha admitted to giving him the Devil’s Brew that she realized he was an evil, greedy man. But this? This newfound knowledge — even if they were naught more than suspicions — was beyond even her wildest imagination.

  “I should have seen it,” she murmured angrily as she paced. “I should have seen it.” She felt ten kinds a fool. Ignorant, dumb, and brainless.

  Brogan stood to his full height, resisting the urge to stretch. “Do no’ blame yerself, Mairghread. He be a cold, manipulative man.”

  “But I should have seen it. It should not have taken an outsider to bring me clarity,” she seethed.

  He hoped she did not mean it as it sounded. “Is that what ye think of me? An outsider?”

  “Ye ken what I mean,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I have known the man all me life and could no’ see what ye managed to in just a short while.”

  “Did ye love yer uncle?” he asked.

  “At one time, I suppose I did.”

  “Sometimes, love can make ye blind to the truth. He be yer uncle. Why would ye suspect him of such things? An uncle is supposed to protect ye, love ye as if ye were his own. I ken, were I standin’ in where ye are now, I would never suspect an uncle to do what yers has done. ‘Twould be unfathomable.”

  Though she knew he was right, it did little to lessen her anger or disgust.

  “Brogan, I need ye to promise me, here and now, that ye’ll never keep such secrets from me again.” There was no denying her hurt or anger. He saw it in her eyes and the way in which she looked upon him.

  Letting out a sigh of defeat, he agreed. “Please, understand I meant only to protect ye.”

  “I ken that,” she replied. “But sometimes, ye can protect a person too much.”

  She was right, of course. He went to her then and took her into his arms. “I promise, Mairghread.”

  He could only pray she believed him.

  At dawn, the following morning, Mairghread and Brogan left the keep, heading east, for Stirling Castle. Saying goodbye to Walter, who was going to travel south on other matters, they parted ways at the gate. They took twenty-five men with them, mostly his own well-trained warriors. If Aymer were any good at strategizing attacks, he would split his men into two well-armed groups. ‘Twould be easier to defend themselves against smaller numbers.

  They still had received no word from the search party sent to look for Drayton. Brogan did not like going to meet the king without witnesses to help plead their cause. They discussed taking Hargatha, but Mairghread was certain she would end up killing the woman if she had to spend more than a few minutes alone with her. Twas for the auld woman’s own safety they left her behind. Instead, they had her write down a statement of facts that they could present to David. Hopefully, ‘twould be enough.

  They travelled as fast as they could, considering Mairghread’s current condition. He refused to allow her to seat her own horse. Instead, she rode, sitting in front of him, wrapped in furs and blankets.

  By mid morning the following day, they were riding through the gates of his brother’s keep. There had been no time to send word of their arrival, though he knew Ian would not mind.

  They were ushered into the newly and finally completed keep. The gathering room was warm and thanks to Rose, ’twas also appealing and inviting.

  Rose was sitting near the hearth, holding her newest bundle of joy when they walked in. Her eyes grew wide with surprise when she saw her brother-by-law and his wife.

  “Och!” she cried as she struggled to get to her feet. Her immediate joy at seeing them here was quickly replaced by a look of genuine concern. “Why did ye no’ send word?”

  Brogan steered his wife to the fire. “I be sorry, Rose,” he told her. “But it is a matter of most importance that I speak to Ian straight away.”

  She paled visibly, clearly shaken by his tone. “Mairghread? What be the matter? Why are ye travelin’ in this weather?”

  “I would prefer to explain it only once,” Brogan interjected on his wife’s behalf.

  Rose studied him closely for a moment. Brogan stopped her before she could begin with her barrage of questioning. “Be it a boy or a girl?” he asked, nodding to the bundle in her arms.

  Her worry evaporated instantly when she looked down at her babe. “Another son,” she told him. “We have named him Aiden.”

  “That be a right good name,” Brogan smiled down at the sleeping babe.

  “Congratulations are in order fer ye as well, aye?” she asked, turning to look at Mairghread. “Och! Ye look frozen to the bone!” she cried.

  Mairghread managed a wan smile. “’Tis the truth, I am.”

  Not wishing to wake her babe by yelling, she handed the sleeping infant off to Brogan. “I shall see to refreshments fer ye,” she said as she grabbed a blanket from the back of the chair she had been sitting in. Quickly, she draped it over Mairghread’s lap. “’Tis glad I am to see ye. How do ye fair?” She was, of course, referring to her babe. Worry etched into her brow.

  “All be well in that regard,” Mairghread said.

  Blowing out a breath of relief, Rose patted her shoulder. “I shall return shortly.”

  No sooner had she left the room than Ian walked in. He wore a coat of fur — which Ian thought looked to be bear — and his head was covered in beaver.

  “God’s teeth!” he declared as he stomped snow from his boots. “Have ye had yer babe already?” he asked, stunned to see his brother with a babe in his arms.

  “Nay, ye eejit!” Brogan remarked with a grin. “This be yer babe.”

  Shrugging off his coat, he hung it on a peg by the door. “I thought that was a bit fast,” he said. “But then, ye be a Mackintosh. Who kens what wench ye—” he stopped as soon as he saw Mairghread sitting by the fire. His face burned crimson. “Why did ye no’ tell us ye were comin’? And with yer wife?”

  Stepping forward, he gave Brogan’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before taking his son from him. “I do no’ suppose ye just be visitin’,” he whispered.

  “Nay, ’tis no’ a social call,” Brogan answered.

  Ian grunted his disproval. “Well, tell me what be the matter.”

  “If I tell ye before Rose gets back, she will skin me alive.”

  “Ye be right,” Rose called to him as she reentered the room. “We will have somethin’ warm fer ye to eat verra soon.”

  “Thank ye kindly, Rose,” he replied.

  “Well?” Ian asked. “What trouble have ye gotten yerself into?”

  After settling Rose into the chair and returning her son to her, Brogan and Mairghread began to explain why they were here. They began with the summons from David.

  “Jesu,” Ian whispered in disbelief. “Certainly David can no’ believe the man.”

  Brogan shrugged. “Who kens what lies Aymer has told him.”

  “I put nothin’ past the man,” Mairghread added. “He is pure evil.”

  Servants appeared, bearing bowls of rabbit stew, breads, cheeses, and other foods. Brogan brought his wife a bowl of stew and bread. “Eat,” he said with a wink.

  Too tired to argue, as well as far too hungry, she acce
pted the bowl and bread graciously.

  Once the servants left, Brogan began to relate all that he knew or suspected as it pertained to Aymer. He left nothing out nor did he hold back any pertinent information. Standing beside his wife, with his hand on her shoulder, he told them everything.

  Occasionally, Rose would gasp, pressing her fingers to her lips in horror or surprise. Ian kept his own thoughts hidden behind a stoic and calm facade.

  Once he finished, he looked to Ian.

  “How many men do ye need?” Ian asked.

  “How many can ye spare? I worry over only two things,” Brogan told him. “That Aymer will try to attack the keep in our absence, or, attack us on our way to Stirling.”

  Ian nodded thoughtfully before asking, “How many did ye leave at yer keep?”

  “We have, mayhap, one hundred men,” Brogan answered.

  “And no’ a one of them trained fer battle,” Mairghread offered honestly.

  Ian looked to Brogan for agreement on her assessment. “Aye, she be right.”

  Walking to stand behind his wife, Ian said, “I can send thirty good men to yer keep, on the off chance he does attack in yer absence. I would go with ye meself to Stirling, but I worry about leavin’ Rose here alone, with two babes.”

  Rose lifted a pretty brow and craned her neck to look up at him. “Yer brother needs ye more than we do,” she told him. “We can send word to Alec, askin’ fer reinforcements here.”

  Ian scoffed at the idea. “Alec leave his wife and babes? No’ verra likely.”

  Brogan nodded in agreement. “Nay, from what Dougall told us when he visited in October, Alec Bowie will no’ be leavin’ Leona or their babes any time soon.”

  “Either way, he could send help to yer keep,” Rose countered. She looked down at the sleeping babe. “Besides, I have John and Aiden to look after me.”

  In the end, Rose won out. Ian was going to Sterling Castle with his brother.

  With Mairghread’s growing belly, it took them a little more than three weeks to reach Stirling Castle. Frequent stops were necessary, more for Brogan’s peace of mind than her’s.