Secrets of the Heart

by Suzan Tisdale

  “I can still make ye blush like a maiden,” Frazier told her. “I think ye look right pretty when ye blush.”

  Bruanna swatted his knee and told him to behave. “Ye did nae complain about me dastardly ways this afternoon,” he politely reminded her.

  She blushed again. Aye, they’d been more than friends these past years. They’d been secret lovers. ’Twas one more reason why she prayed daily for peace between their clans.

  She was about to admonish him, albeit only halfheartedly, when someone began to pound at her door.

  “Bruanna!” came a harsh whisper. “Please, Bruanna, let me in!”

  Perplexed, Bruanna got to her feet. Frazier, ever the warrior, withdrew his sword. “Were ye expectin’ someone?” he asked her.

  Bruanna rolled her eyes. “Nae, but I doubt it be a horde of warriors at me door. It sounds like a woman. Put yer weapon away, Frazier.”

  Undeterred, he kept his sword at the ready. He might be considered an auld man, but he was still a warrior at heart.

  Bruanna shuffled to the door as the pounding continued. “Hold on, ye heathen!” she called out. “Hold on!”

  “Bruanna, please!” the voice begged once again.

  Bruanna flung open the door and stood in stunned disbelief. “Keep yer sword ready, Frazier,” she said over her shoulder. “What are ye doin’ here?” she asked.

  Margaret MacCallen was standing on her doorstep. ’Twas never a good omen to see her or her mum.

  “Please, Bruanna,” she cried. “We need yer help!”

  Bruanna was about to tell her where she could put her pleas for help when she noticed the tears frozen to the young woman’s face. A moment later, Margaret pulled her cloak open to show her what she was holding. “Please,” she cried. “Mum has gone mad, I tell ye. Mad!”

  Bruanna wasted no time pulling the girl into her home. “What in the bloody hell are ye doin’?” she asked her. “Whose babe is that?”

  Margaret’s teeth were chattering so hard she was barely able to answer. “’Tis Nola,” she answered as she warmed herself by the fire. She was bouncing from one foot to the other in an effort to warm up and keep the babe calm.

  “Nola?” Bruanna whispered the child’s name, wholly confused.

  “I need yer help, Bruanna! Please, I need to get to Connor,” Margaret pleaded with her.

  In Bruanna’s heart of hearts she knew Margaret was not pretending to be this distressed or upset. Nay, those were real tears in her eyes. Real fear in her voice.

  “Tell me now, what has happened,” Bruanna’s sharp voice cut through Margaret’s crying.

  “Mum,” Margaret began with a sob. “She has gone mad. She has the whole keep under siege. She has put Onnleigh and Bridgett in the dungeon. She ordered me to leave the babe in the fairy tree!”

  Astonished, Bruanna could not believe what she was hearing. “How in the bloody hell did she get control of the keep?” Bruanna held Margaret’s arms and shook her. “How?”

  The story spilled from Margaret like water over the falls. As quickly as she could, she told Bruanna everything. From how they made the cows stop giving milk to how they were able to get most of the warriors away from the keep. “There be at least fifty people in the courtyard, callin’ fer Onnleigh to be burned! They’ve built pyres, Bruanna! Pyres! I could nae leave the babe in the fairy tree. I could nae do it. I can nae allow mum to kill innocent people! Please, help me get to Connor before it be too late!”

  Bruanna stood in stunned silence as she tried to make sense of what Margaret was telling her. Frazier stepped forward, sheathing his sword. “Leave the babe here, with Bruanna,” he told her. “I have me horse behind the cottage.”

  Margaret looked up at him as if just seeing him for the first time. “Who be ye?” she asked.

  “I be Frazier Randall, Aiden Randall’s grand sire,” he replied rather proudly. “Leave the babe with Bruanna. I will get ye to Connor.”

  Margaret held the babe more closely. “Nay!” she exclaimed. “Mum will scour the lands fer me when I do nae return. She will nae stop until she finds me and this babe. I must take her with me.”

  Frazier took another step forward. Margaret spun around as if to protect Nola. “The only way ye will get this babe out of me hands is by killin’ me,” she told him. “And if we do nae hurry, mum will kill us all. She will stop at nothin’ to get what she wants. Nothin’.”

  Bruanna placed a wrinkled hand on Frazier’s arm. “I fear she speaks the truth, Frazier. I have kent Helen since the day she was born. Never a more evil woman have ye met.”

  Frazier glanced at Margaret, expecting an admonishment from her. Bruanna had, after all, just insulted the young woman’s mother. Margaret, however, said not a word.

  He looked at Bruanna. “Will ye be safe here?” he asked, placing his arm on her shoulders.

  Bruanna smiled up at him. “Aye, I will be safe. Ye just worry about gettin’ to Connor before Helen makes good on her promise.”

  In no time at all, Bruanna had a small bundle packed for Frazier and Margaret’s journey. She gave them extra blankets, bannocks and cheese, and all but pushed them out the door.

  Frazier held the babe while Margaret mounted his gray gelding. As soon as she was settled, he handed her the babe and climbed up behind her. He took time to wrap the extra blankets around them before kicking the flanks of his horse.

  “I ken a short cut to the keep,” he told Margaret. “It will still take us several hours, but we will get there.”

  Margaret swiped away more tears. “Will yer horse be able to carry both of us?”

  Frazier laughed. “I’d wager both me legs that he will,” he replied with a chuckle. “This be a fine Randall steed ye be sittin’ on. He will get us there, lass. He will get us there.”

  Margaret felt only mildly relieved at his proclamation. For a long while she remained quiet, her mind racing, her heart heavy with dread. She knew she was taking a tremendous risk by defying her mother. Once Helen realized Margaret wasn’t coming back, she would be outraged. The woman would not hesitate to let go of the secret she had been holding on to for the past seven years. Nay, she would tell anyone and everyone the whole sordid truth.

  And Margaret would be ruined. Of that, she had no doubt at all. People would never look at her the same. Nay, they would undoubtedly whisper about her sins, gladly taking part in spreading the ugly, sordid gossip from one person to the next.

  She knew ’twas nothing less than she deserved. For years, she’d been at the mercy of her mother, doing her bidding, doing everything she could to keep her mother from speaking about it to anyone.

  In the beginning, she had hated being so ugly and mean to her clanspeople. She despised herself for it.

  For that first year after her father’s death, Margaret ate only enough to survive. She slept very little, haunted by nightmares born out of her mother’s sick promises.

  As time wore on, it simply became easier to do her mother’s bidding than to fight against it. Doing as she was told was better than the beatings, better than the threats her mother hurled at her like heavy rocks. Do ye truly wish me to tell everyone what ye’ve done? Her mother would taunt. I can live with the truth. Can ye?

  Margaret wasn’t even certain what the truth actually was any more. At least, she hadn’t until she saw it staring back at her in the form of the maniacal look in her mother’s eyes. ’Twas then, in that moment, when Helen was ordering her to kill this sweet, innocent babe, that Margaret realized the last seven years were naught more than one giant jumble of lies. At least most of it was.

  Connor had no desire to marry her, no matter how many times Helen proclaimed it. Onnleigh was no more a witch than Margaret. While ’twas true Margaret was jealous of her, of how easily Onnleigh was able to steal Connor’s heart, she wished her no true ill will.

  And no matter how much her mother believed it, killing this babe or Onnleigh or anyone else was not going to force Connor’s hand. It would not force him into a marriage
with Margaret. Nay, if anything, those acts would only infuriate him. To the point he was very likely going to kill Helen for what she had done. If her instincts were correct, she’d be hanging right alongside her mother.

  “I be sorry,” Bridgett whispered in the dark. Her stomach was growling and she felt guilty for it.

  Onnleigh couldn’t have eaten if a feast had been set before her. Her mind was everywhere else but on food.

  “How long do ye think we’ve been here,” Bridgett asked, trying to ignore her hunger. She scooted closer to her friend. If she didn’t stop, she’d be sitting on her lap.

  “I dunnae ken,” Onnleigh replied. Her voice was scratchy from all the crying. Her lip stung from the tears that had fallen into the cut.

  The dungeon had grown eerily quiet. The imprisoned and injured men had talked for a long while. Each of them coming up with a more gruesome way in which to take the lives of Darwud, Helen, Margaret, and anyone else who had aided in the taking of the keep. After a time, they grew weary and quiet.

  Onnleigh was beyond exhausted. Her arms and legs felt leaden, her heart just as heavy. For hours, as she had wept, she prayed that God would watch over Nola, that He would somehow keep her safe.

  Closing her eyes, she rested her head on Bridgett’s shoulders. The overwhelming sense of sorrow continued to envelope her. ’Twas a suffocating sensation, as if she were being held under water. Sounds were muffled, adding to the ominous air of the darkened dungeon.

  Her thoughts turned to Connor and what he might be doing right now. It had to be close to the midnight hour, but ’twas impossible to tell. Chances were strong that he was still in deep negotiations with the Randall laird.

  Would he somehow sense that she was in danger? Did he love her as much as he had loved his first wife, Maire? She supposed it no longer mattered, for she’d be dead before he returned.

  Swiping away her tears, she closed her eyes and prayed that God would find some mercy and let her death be swift and as painless as possible.

  Connor. Her thoughts kept turning to him. Aye, she knew he loved her and wanted her for his wife. The only comfort she could take at the moment was knowing that he would mourn her death. ’Twas a silly idea, she knew, but somehow, it did bring her a small measure of solace in this her darkest hour.

  Connor, I ken ye cannae hear me, but oh, how I wish ye were here. I be afraid, Connor. Verra afraid. Nola be lost to us now. Margaret took her away and set her in the fairy tree. Me heart has shattered, Connor. I cannae live without me babe.

  I hope ye avenge our deaths, my love. But do nae mourn long fer me. I want ye to find another who ye can love. Someone who will nae bring ye the shame I have. I be so sorry. So verra sorry.

  Frazier’s estimation on how quickly they would arrive at his keep was spot on. He had also not exaggerated the agility or capability of his gray steed.

  He had to slow their pace as they made their way through a dense forest. ’Twas a black as pitch, the tall evergreen trees blocking out most of the night sky. Margaret had no idea how the man could see in such darkness. Oddly enough, she did not feel afraid. At least not of him or their current predicament.

  But whenever the image of her mother popped into her mind, ripples of fear trickled up and down her spine.

  There were many times she wanted to scream at Frazier to go faster, but she had to trust that he knew what he was doing. Just how or why he was at Bruanna’s, Margaret didn’t ask. She was simply grateful that he had been. When she thought of what might have happened … she shuddered and drew the blanket around her more tightly.

  Ahead, she saw faint glimmers of light flickering through the thick branches. Frazier must have seen them as well, for he kicked the flanks of his horse and yelled. A few rapid heartbeats later, they were bursting through the trees.

  “Open the gate!” Frazier called as they sped across a small glen. The horse did his best to trudge through the deep snow as fast as he could. “Open the gate!” Frazier called out once again. They stomped across a worn path, heading toward the gates of the Randall keep. Margaret held Nola so close that the babe startled from her sleep and began to wail.

  “Open the bloody gate!” He yelled. “’Tis me! Frazier Randall!”

  Chapter 14

  Aiden Randall felt he was a good judge of character. Most men were as easy for him to read as a sailor reads the stars. He had been raised to believe that there was at least a little bit of larceny in everyone. However, he didn’t think that rule applied to Connor MacCallen.

  Since MacCallen’s arrival the night before, Aiden had been doing his best to size the man up and figure out what his weaknesses were. Was he prone to violence? Anger? Was he a vengeful or sardonic man? Could he be easily bribed? After spending the better part of the day with him, he realized Connor was very much like himself: God, family, and clan came first, above all other things. Nothing was as important as those three.

  “I am just as tired of these border raids as ye,” Connor told him. They were sitting by a roaring fire in Aiden’s gathering room. They were, of course, surrounded by a dozen each of their finest warriors. Even if he couldn’t see a weakness or vice in the MacCallen chief, that did not mean he could trust him fully. Trust must be gained, through time, patience and business.

  Aiden kept his clan’s current state a closely guarded secret. To the outside world, it might look as though they were flourishing, but in truth, they were as close to being impoverished as an Edinburgh orphan. “I believe we owe most of those raids to the McCrearys,” Aiden replied as he took a sip of the fine whisky Connor had brought as a gift. He wished his own clan could make something just as smooth.

  Connor nodded in agreement. “If the rumors I have heard of late are correct, the McCrearys have also come to ye to arrange an alliance.”

  Aiden liked his straightforward manner. “Aye, ’tis true they have.”

  Connor studied him out of the corner of his eye for brief moment. “Me thinks that if ye had already decided to align yourself with them, I would nae be here.”

  Aiden chuckled softly before replying. “Aye, ye would reckon correctly,” he said. “I trust the McCreary as much as I trust an Englishman.”

  They were laughing over his jest when one of Aiden’s men came bursting into the room. “Aiden!” he shouted as he raced toward him. “Yer grandsire has just come through the gate.”

  ’Twas the seriousness of the young man’s tone that made Aiden and Connor shoot to their feet. Aiden didn’t have time to inquire as to why this was such important news.

  “He has a lass with him from the MacCallen clan. She has their laird’s babe. She says their clan is under siege.”

  Aiden watched as the color drained from Connor’s face. A moment later, his dread and worry was replaced with a fury so great, Aiden thought the man’s head would explode. His brother Ronald looked just as furious as he came to stand beside his brother.

  “Frazier is bringin’ her in now,” the young man said as he fought to catch his breath.

  Believing it must be Onnleigh who had brought Nola here, Connor headed to the door. Blood rushed in his ears as his heart pounded against his breast with worry.

  With Ronald at his heels, Connor froze in his tracks when Frazier came in. Margaret was right behind him.

  Balling his hands into fists, his lips pursed into a hard line, it took every bit of himself not to lash out at Margaret. He took in a slow, deep breath, fully prepared the break her neck if this was some kind of nefarious plot she and her mother had put into motion.

  “Connor,” she cried out as she rushed toward him.

  He could see that she had been crying, because of her red, puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. That was wholly out of character for her. Margaret never cried. At least not real tears.

  When she handed Nola to him, he felt her hands shake. ’Twas as confusing a moment as he’d ever experienced. Still, he could not shake the burgeoning anger. “What in the bloody hell are ye doin’ with me daughter?”r />
  As she fought to catch her breath, the words tumbled out so quickly, ’twas difficult to understand at first. “I could nae stop her this time,” she told him. “She wanted me to leave Nola in the fairy tree, but I could nae do that.”

  His head began to spin. “Where is Onnleigh?”

  “Mum has locked her and Bridgett in the dungeon. She has everyone in an uproar. She’s going to try her as a witch!” There was no hint of deception. The tears she was shedding were real. His stomach rolled at the thought of Onnleigh being tossed into his own dungeon.

  Ronald looked fit to be tied, his jaw clenched, his fingers quaking with fury. He was so furious he could not speak just yet.

  “Darwud and a few others be helpin’ her. They lied and told the rest of yer men that ye had been attacked comin’ to see the Randall. There was a call to arms, and almost all the men left,” she explained. Panic-stricken, she pleaded with him to return home at once.

  “Mum has control of the keep!”

  Helen has control of my keep? There were too many questions and not enough time to ask them. His head continued to swim with a blend of rage and trepidation he had never felt before.

  Aiden stepped forward to offer his help. “Ye can leave her and yer babe here,” he suggested. “I will gather me men to help ye.”

  A large part of him wanted to decline Aiden’s offer. But Onnleigh’s life was at stake. He’d call on the devil himself in order to save her.

  “They killed so many people, Connor,” Margaret admitted. “They threw the survivors in the dungeon. Fergus, Darrin, and I dunnae ken how many others.”

  Nola’s soft whimpers had turned to outright crying.

  “I gave her bits of bread on the way, but she needs milk,” Margaret told him. “I did nae have any milk. I did nae ken what to do. I did nae ken what to do.”