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

by Suzan Tisdale

  “Och!” the woman standing next to her said. “Do no’ fash yerself over it, Mildred.”

  Comnall and Liam rolled their eyes but remained quiet.

  The crowd of gathered men below began nervously scanning the horizon. Uncertainty and doubt began to fall over them as the sound of horses grew nearer and louder.

  When it sounded as though hell was about to rain down on them, Liam looked at the women. “Archers!” he called out. “Ready! Aim! Fire!”

  Caught off guard by what sounded like thousands of mounted soldiers heading their way, the mercenaries were not ready for the hail of arrows. Dozens of arrows flew through the sky. Only two hit anything; a log in front of the three men and a rock near the others.

  “Archers!” Liam called out once again. “Ready yer arrows!”

  Quickly, albeit a bit haphazardly, the women nocked more arrows. He gave the order once again. “Ready! Aim! Fire!”

  More arrows flew through the air. This time, three of them hit, all of them landing in the same man. He fell from his horse, arrows sticking out of each of his arms, and his thigh.

  “Oh, dear!” One of the women called out. She went as pale as a sheet. “I did no’ mean to hit him!”

  “Och!” Gertie yelled. “Ye’re supposed to hit them! The bloody bastards want our keep!”

  The thunder of hoof beats grew louder and louder. Liam called for the archers to ready themselves again.

  “I wager ye I can hit the one closest to the front of the line,” Gertie challenged Tilda.

  “Which one?” Tilda asked. “The one in the red tunic?”

  “Nay, the one next to him who looks ready to shite his trews!”

  “Ready! Aim! Fire!” Liam called out.

  Gertie missed her intended target, but Tilda’s aim was true. Dead center in the chest of the man in red.

  “That be some right good shootin’!” Gertie exclaimed happily.

  Before Liam realized it, he no longer had to give the order to shoot. The women were doing it of their own volition.

  Before the Mactavish horses could be seen, the women had killed or maimed at least a dozen of the mercenaries. Even as the hired men began to flee, heading northeast, the women continued to shoot arrows through the air.

  They took great pleasure in their work. “I hit one!” Evelyn called out happily. “I hit one!”

  It took several attempts to get the women to stop. “They have fled!” Liam shouted. “Ye can stop shootin’ now!”

  They looked positively disheartened to hear his call. “But they have no’ shot back!” Tilda said, nocking another arrow.

  “Because they have fled,” Liam ground out.

  “But what if they come back?” she asked, her brow furrowed with determination.

  Liam chuckled. “Then ye can shoot them.”

  Pleased with his answer, she un-nocked her arrow and put it back in her quiver. “Ye promise?”

  “Aye,” he laughed. “I promise.”

  Hours later, after Brogan and Mairghread returned to the keep, he listened intently while Liam and Comnall recounted the afternoon. They were in Mairghread and Brogan’s chamber. The hour was quite late, but the excitement in the air did not lend itself to a restful sleep just yet.

  Mairghread had bathed and changed into a clean nightdress. Sitting up in the bed, she cradled her son in her arms as she listened.

  Henry was sad to have missed the sight of the mercenaries fleeing, as well as the women archers happily defending their keep.

  Mairghread declared that they should celebrate this day each year. “We should never forget the day our womenfolk defended the keep so gallantly.”

  Liam and Comnall would not necessarily call them gallant, but brave they had been.

  Gertie was sad to learn that Mairghread had ordered the traitors banned from the clan. “Are ye certain we can no’ line them up and let our archers at them?” she asked hopefully.

  Liam nearly choked at the image. ‘Twould be torture for certain, for he was convinced ‘twould be a slow, painful death. Who knew how long it would take before their arrows either hit their targets or did any damage.

  “Nay,” Mairghread said as she kissed the tip of her son’s nose for what seemed the hundredth time since he had been born. “I think we have had enough killin’ fer one day.”

  Brogan readily agreed. “I think it be time we celebrate livin’.”

  Gertie and Tilda glanced at once another. “We have called fer a priest to come and christen yer son.”

  “I hope ye do no’ mind,” Tilda added. “But ‘tis a most joyous occasion. One that must be celebrated, aye?”

  Mairghread knew where they were trying so delicately to go. Rolling her eyes, she gave a slight shake of her head. “Aye, ‘tis to be celebrated. I suppose ye already have somethin’ planned?”

  The two old women smiled sheepishly. “We might have an idea or two,” Gertie admitted.

  “I suppose it be nothin’ simple,” she replied as she handed the babe off to Brogan.

  “Simple?” Tilda asked, unable to look her lady in the eye.

  “Aye, simple,” Mairghread said with a yawn.

  “Twill no’ be too extravagant,” Gertie said.

  Mairghread knew she was lying.

  Three weeks later, a celebration to rival the coronation of a king was held in honor of Gavin Mactavish. There was not a spot in the keep that had not been scrubbed clean or that did not hold a flower or candle.

  A grand feast was held after Gavin’s christening that made the celebration of Mairghread and Brogan’s wedding pale in comparison.

  The affair was attended by Ian and Rose and half their clan, as well as Arline and Rowan Graham and Leona and Alec Bowie. Hundreds upon hundreds of people came to help celebrate the momentous occasion.

  No expense was spared.

  They sat at the high table as one person after another approached and offered their well wishes. When Mairghread complained of the cost, Brogan simply smiled. “Ye would have me ignore me first son’s christening?” he asked as he held the babe in his arms.

  Her eyes grew wide in astonishment. “Ye mean this be all yer doin’?”

  Smiling at his son, he said, “I might have helped Gertie and Tilda just a bit.”

  Unable to keep from smiling, she rested her head on his shoulder. “Will ye never cease to surprise me, Brogan Mackintosh?”

  “I hope no’,” he said. “Elst ye might get bored with me.”

  “Bored? With ye?” she asked with a good measure of disbelief. “That will never happen.”

  “Do ye promise?” he asked playfully as he kissed her forehead.

  “I do so promise.”

  Epilogue

  Fifteen Years Later

  In the tall summer grass, on the northwestern shores of Scotland, the seventh annual meeting of the clans Mactavish, Mackintosh, McLaren, Bowie, and Graham was in full swing. Hundreds of people had made camp in a clearing betwixt loch and woods. Banners from each clan fluttered in the warm afternoon breeze. Cooking fires blazed while small groups of people huddled together.

  Sitting on blankets in the warm sunshine were Mairghread Mactavish and her friends, Rose and Aggie Mackintosh — sisters-by-law but more importantly by heart — Arline Graham, and Leona Macdowall-Bowie.

  “Did ye ever think?” Arline Graham asked as she handed her youngest child, son Liam, an apple before sending him on his way to play with the rest of the children.

  “Ever think what?” Mairghread asked as she looked out at the group of children playing not far away. Doing a quick headcount for all her own children, she breathed a sigh of relief. Seven in all, and every one of them with either dark auburn locks like hers, or Brogan’s ginger coloring. Five strong sons and two beautiful daughters she and Brogan were blessed with.

  “That we would be sittin’ here, watchin’ all these children play?” Arline replied. She and her husband Rowan had seven children of their own, four daughters and three sons.

&nbs
p; “Of course I did,” Leona answered. Though in truth there had been a time in her life where she thought she would never have children of her own. But that time was short-lived. Four daughters and a son she had given Alec Bowie. He blamed his white hair on the fact he has so many beautiful daughters. ’Twas worry, not age, or so he proclaimed.

  “Be that young Rowan who just fell down?” Leona asked as she looks out at the crowd of people.

  “Which Rowan?” Arline and Aggie asked in unison as each of them craned their necks to get a better look.

  “Aggie’s lad,” she replied, craning her neck to get a better look. “Och! Never mind. ’Tis Nora MacDougall’s grandson, Angus.” Aggie and Frederick had five children of their own — two daughters and three sons — including her oldest son Ailrig. Knowing their relationship had been strained of late, no one inquired as to where he might be.

  To an outsider, or someone who was not yet a mother, it might have appeared there were too many children to keep track of. But not to these mothers.

  “Och!” Arline cried out as she struggled to get to her feet. “Me Aiden and Leona’s Grace are fightin’ again.”

  Leona let loose a frustrated sigh as she got to her feet. “I swear that girl will be the death of me someday.”

  Mairghread watched as Leona’s daughter Grace had Aiden pinned to the ground. She was amazed at the strength the seven-year-old girl possessed. She was also surprised at nine-year-old Aiden’s restraint. He refused to give her a taste of her own medicine.

  Lost in her own thoughts, she did not hear her husband approach. Still, she knew he was there. She could feel his presence without him uttering a sound.

  “How be the most beautiful woman in all of Scotia?” he asked in a whisper as he sat down behind her.

  Mairghread smiled warmly at his compliment as she continued to scan the area, keeping a keen eye on her children.

  “Ye best go talk to Gavin,” she told Brogan.

  “What has he done now?” he asked with a heavy sigh.

  “He be takin’ Arline’s daughter, Grace, into the woods.

  Rolling his eyes, he got to his feet. “I swear he acts like Ian more and more each day.”

  Rose sat taller at hearing her husband’s name. “Och! Ye best cut that behavior now, Brogan. Elst ye will be a grandfather afore ye want to be. And Rowan will kill him.”

  Brogan waved off her comment as he hurried toward the woods.

  “I feel sorry fer ye,” Rose said to Mairghread.

  “Do no’ feel sorry fer me,” she replied with a giggle. “Ye be the one married to Ian.”

  Rose smiled. “Aye, and happily so.”

  “I declare here and now, that I have married the best of the Mackintosh men,” Aggie said with a smile. “He be the most handsome and easiest to get along with.”

  Rose and Mairghread could not argue on the latter part of her statement. Out of all the Mackintosh men, Frederick was the most patient. Until he was provoked, that is.

  They watched and giggled as Leona walked back with a very angry daughter in tow. Sitting her down on the ground, Leona stood over her young daughter, with hands on her hips. “Now tell me, what on earth possessed ye to be so mean to Aiden?”

  Little Grace crossed her arms over her chest and glowered across the lawn at the object of her consternation. Her blonde locks shone brightly in the afternoon sun. But her dark brown eyes were filled with anger. “He said he was going to marry me.”

  Leona hung her head low and rubbed her forehead as if a headache was coming on. “That be no reason to tackle him and pin him to the ground. Need I remind ye that ye are a lady?”

  “I be no lady! I be a Bowie!” she argued. “And I will no’ marry Aiden Graham. I will no’ marry anyone.”

  “Use that tone with me one more time and I will paddle yer behind,” Leona warned her.

  ’Twas all Mairghread and Rose could do not to laugh at the little girl’s declaration or Leona’s consternation.

  Tears filled Grace’s eyes. “But I do no’ want to marry anyone, mum. Men be eejits.”

  “No’ all men are eejits,” Leona told her.

  “Da says they are.”

  Letting out a frustrated sigh, Leona looked done in. “Yer da only says that because he does no’ want any of his daughters to marry. Were it up to him, ye’d all be sent to convents.”

  Grace looked appalled at that idea. “But they will no’ let me be a warrior at a convent!”

  Before she could voice her reply, Arline and young Aiden returned. “Aiden has somethin’ he wants to say to ye, Grace,” she told the teary-eyed little girl.

  Aiden smiled brightly down at Grace. There was a twinkle in his green eyes. Mairghread thought he looked very much like his father, but with Arline’s auburn hair and bright green eyes.

  “Mum says I have to apologize to ye fer what I said.”

  Arline quirked a brow and thumped the back of his head with her finger. “Aiden,” she said, her tone warning him to tread lightly.

  Begrudgingly, he poked at the ground with his toe. “I be sorry I said I was goin’ to marry ye.”

  Grace was not quite ready to accept his apology. But when she looked up at him, he winked.

  Before she could pummel him again, Leona was scooping her up. “Ye need a nap and a bit of time to think.”

  With her head over her mother’s shoulder, Grace stuck her tongue out at Aiden.

  Aiden chuckled openly. At which his mother thumped his head once again. “Go and find yer father,” she scolded. “And tell him what ye have done.”

  “I do no’ ken what I did wrong,” he said as he rubbed the back of his head. “All I did was tell her we’d be married.”

  Arline rolled her eyes and counted to ten. “Did ye ask her or tell her?”

  Flummoxed, he looked aghast. “I told her. Why would I ask?”

  “Ask yer father why,” she told him.

  With his head hung low, he walked away. Slowly. As if he were a man heading to the gallows.

  Exasperated, Arline said, “Why can no’ one of me children possess me good-natured disposition?”

  Her friends did their best to contain their amusement. But ’twas all too much. Soon, they were rolling on the ground, consumed with laughter.

  “What?” she asked, her brow drawn into a line of confusion. “I happen to have a very good natured spirit.”

  “Aye,” laughed Rose. “Good natured, until ye be vexed or have yer mind set upon a thing.”

  She didn’t know what one thing had to do with another and told them thus.

  “Ye and Rowan be made fer one another,” Rose said, wiping away tears from laughing so hard.

  “Aye,” agreed Leona. “Ye both be as stubborn as an ox. No wonder yer children are just as stubborn.”

  Unamused, Arline said, “I am no’ stubborn. Determined, aye, but no’ stubborn.”

  “And ye wonder where Lily gets it from,” Aggie said, trying to get her giggles under control.

  Arline’s face burned red. “She acts just like her father. Though she is no’ mine by blood, she is still me daughter. I would like ye to remember that.”

  “How many potential husbands has she turned down?” Aggie asked, knowing full well the answer to that question.

  “Four,” she replied indignantly. After a long moment, her anger faded. “Though they were broken-hearted, ’twas all I could do no’ to tell them how lucky they were.”

  “She be a handful, that one,” Leona said. “Be she still set on marryin’ Liam McKenna?”

  Arline rolled her eyes. “Liam McKenna. I swear to ye, if I never hear that name again, ’twill be too soon.”

  Lily had fallen in love with the lad when she was four years old. One would have thought after seventeen years, she would have given up and changed her mind. But not Lily Graham. Her determination to marry the boy was legendary. He, however, had no intention of marrying her. Mairghread felt sorry for the beautiful young woman. Unrequited love could be a very painful
thing.

  It soon became apparent that the younger children were in dire need of naps. One by one, the mothers ushered their babes into tents, under protest of course.

  Mairghread found her husband standing with his brothers, near the edge of the woods. Their conversation seemed serious. But these were Mackintosh men. They had the same countenance when discussing the weather as they did the current political atmosphere.

  He glanced up from his conversation and smiled warmly at her. Giving his brothers a nod, he stepped away. Drawing her in, he kissed her sweetly.

  “So, what did Gavin have to say for himself?” she asked.

  Brogan’s smile faded rapidly. “While he is quite fond of the lass, he has no thoughts of marriage.”

  “I should hope not!” Mairghread exclaimed. “He is far too young.”

  “On that, we can agree,” he replied.

  “What will we do with that boy?” she asked.

  “I told him that if I caught him trying to lift the skirts of any more lasses before he is one and twenty years old, that we would send him to a monastery in Germany until he was forty.”

  “And did he believe ye?” she asked with a quirked brow.

  “Nay, but he did believe Rowan.”

  “Rowan?” she asked, her brow now etched with more worry.

  Brogan chuckled. “Rowan explained that his daughter was far too young at three and ten to be escorted into the woods by a lad who could no’ yet shave. He also explained that if ever he caught him near any of his daughters again, he would kill him.”

  “And what did ye say?” she asked in wide-eyed astonishment.

  “I told him I’d let him.”

  There was very little doubt that each man meant every word they said. She supposed, however, ’twas just the thing her son needed to keep him away from innocent lasses. Resting her head against his chest, she held him tightly. “I love ye, Brogan Mackintosh.”

  “And I love ye,” he replied. She loved the way his voice still sent shivers of excitement coursing through her body.

  “I have put the younger children down for naps,” she said as she looked up and into his eyes. “I think I should like a nap as well.”