by Caroline Lee
She didn’t want to ruin the moment, but some things had to be said.
“Thank ye.” She didn’t look at him as she whispered the words, her attention instead on her hand. “I’ve missed this. I missed ye.”
“Nessa…” He blew out a breath on her name, sounding regretful and eager all at once. “Nessa, love, ye have to understand—”
“Nay.” Unwilling to hear anything which would ruin what they’d just shared, or hurt her memories of him, she touched one finger to his lips as she levered herself up on her opposite elbow. “Nay, ye dinnae have to explain.”
His hand closed around hers, pulling it even closer to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to her palm as he met her eyes.
“I never stopped loving ye, Nessa,” he said in a serious tone. “Whatever happens, I want ye to ken that.”
Whatever happens.
She swallowed, her heart already sinking.
“Whatever happens” wasn’t a declaration of dedication. It wasn’t a promise of a future.
Quite the opposite.
When she felt her eyes fill with tears, she cursed herself silently and glanced away.
But he’d seen them, of course he had. Sighing, he pressed her palm against his cheek briefly, then released her. “Nessa, I’ve never lied to ye. We cannae be together.”
We cannae be together. He’d said that to her in the spring, when her father had betrothed her to another, and Brohn had stood by silently.
She pushed herself upright, tucking her knees under her chin. Her gaze fixed firmly on the bundle of dried rosemary hanging near the mantel, she murmured, “I’m nae longer betrothed.”
Seven betrothals. Seven Henrys. Surely Da will leave me in peace now?
“Nay, but ye will be again soon enough. Yer father is no’ one to drag his toes.”
She shook her head mulishly. “He’s been less concerned with my marriage prospects since he’s ruining his so splendidly.”
From the corner of her eyes, she saw Brohn frown. “What do ye mean?”
“What I said earlier!” ‘Twas easier to focus on her father and Moira’s troubles, rather than her own. ‘Twas easier to pretend she could help them, because she couldn’t help herself. “Da and yer mother belong together. They’re just being stubborn—!”
Muttering a curse, Brohn sat up and she bit down on her words. He swung his legs off the bed, then paused, his broad back facing her as he dropped his chin. Her fingers itched to touch him, to rub those wide shoulders, in an effort to ease his frustration.
Even while hers was eating her alive.
“Nessa,” he finally murmured, “ ’tis no’ yer father’s fault. The Oliphant is a good man. But my mother…she kens her duty. Do ye understand?”
“Nay!” Nessa slammed her palm down against the mattress, but he didn’t move. “I dinnae understand!”
“Mam kens she’s the castle housekeeper, and kens she’s good at her role. She is nae lady, and kens she’s no’ the right kind to marry a laird.”
Was it her imagination, or did Brohn sound…defeated?
He’s no’ talking about his mam.
Or, he was talking about Moira, but he was also talking about himself.
He didn’t think he was good enough to marry the daughter of a laird?
“What—” She swallowed. “What in damnation does that have to do with duty?”
Brohn’s chin tilted to one side, so she could see just a bit of his profile. “We all have our roles to play in this life, and we cannae twist loyalties. We have to do what is best for our clan’s future. ’Tis our duty.”
He thinks ‘tis my duty to marry some distant Henry, does he no’?
“To hell with that!” she muttered, scrambling for the opposite edge of the bed.
By the time she was standing upright, he’d turned to watch her snatch up the green handkerchief to clean herself. What they’d just shared should’ve been cherished and remembered, but now she was just irritated.
Nay, not irritated. She was angry—bloody furious!
The anger made her movements jerky as she struggled into her discarded gown, getting her arms stuck in the wrong sleeves, as she muttered to herself about duty and idiots and the future.
Finally, with a huff, she tugged the gown into place, then scowled at him as he dressed. Reaching up, she dragged her fingers through her hair, discarding precious hair pins, as she hastily braided the auburn strands.
“Ye think we’re all born in one position, Brohn, and to one duty? A man’s—or a woman’s!—duty to their clan can change, and if ye cannae understand that, then— Bah!”
By the time she jammed her feet into her winter slippers, he was wrapping the last of his kilt around his waist, his expression carefully blank. She didn’t mind him seeing her anger as she stalked toward the door.
“Nessa, what are ye—?“
“Love, Brohn!” she snarled at him. “Mayhap ye’ve heard of it? Our parents are in love, and someone bloody well needs to explain to them what that means when it comes to their duty to the clan.”
“Ye cannae just—”
She yanked the door open. “Watch me!”
And although she told herself she didn’t care if he followed, she was glad when he did.
Chapter 6
Brohn supposed he should be glad they found the laird sitting in the great hall with Father Ambrose again. He might’ve been in his own chambers, spending the day with Mam, the way Brohn had just spent a pleasant hour with Nessa.
He ought to feel ashamed of his weakness, of giving into her when he knew he was betraying his honor and his clan. But it was hard to ignore her words and her passion. He snorted quietly to himself. Not just her passion, but also the things she’d said about their parents deserving happiness, and when she’d asked him what would make him happy.
He shook his head and chased after her, not sure what she was going to say to her father, and not sure if he should try to stop her or let her be.
The Oliphant was sitting in one of the padded chairs before the great hearth, and it looked as if Mam had already wrangled the servants into placing other chairs and benches about in preparation for the evening’s storytelling and treats.
As Nessa stormed up, Father Ambrose took one look at her expression and slowly stood.
“Well, Laird, I’ll give ye and yer daughter—” he cut a glance at Brohn but didn’t acknowledge him—“a moment together. I look forward to joining ye all this evening.”
Brohn inclined his head distractedly to the older man, frankly pleased the priest wouldn’t be there to hear whatever Nessa would say to her father. As Father Ambrose hurried toward the kitchens—likely to charm something warm from Cook—Nessa slid into the seat he’d abandoned.
Locking his hands behind his back, Brohn settled into a sort of attention beside the mantel, feeling like a guard. A protector, ready to launch himself into motion to save—
Save whom?
His Nessa wasn’t the type who needed saving.
As if facing a challenger, Laird Oliphant slowly straightened from his slouch, his beard tugging down with his frown as he glanced from Nessa to Brohn and back again. “What’s all this, lass? Ye’ve already wished me a merry holy day, so I doubt ye’ve sought me out—looking like the blizzard itself—for another bout of cheer.”
She shook her head, her auburn hair catching the fire’s light. She got the color from her father, and although Rocque looked most like their father, when the laird scowled, ‘twas clear Nessa got that from him too.
“Da, marry Moira.”
The older man reared back, surprise flashing from his blue-gray eyes. “What?”
Nessa sighed and waved her hand dismissively. “We’ve been over this before, Da. Ye love Moira, and she loves ye. Marriage—”
“She’s content with how things are, lass. Dinnae pick at things ye dinnae understand.”
“Och, I think I understand this well enough.” She leaned forward, bracing her palms on her knees. “Ar
e ye happy with the way things are?”
“Lassie, yer brother Alistair and that one’s”—he nodded to Brohn—“sister already gave us this lecture.”
“And it didnae work, obviously. So I’ll ask again: Are ye happy with the way things are, Da?”
“Enough, I say.” The laird’s growl sounded dangerous, and instinctively, Brohn shifted forward, even though he knew Nessa was in no danger.
Nessa, either not understanding, or not caring how far she was pushing her father, slapped her knee. “Nay! ‘Tis no’ enough. Are ye happy, Da? Are ye happy loving Moira from the shadows? Unable to declare her yers in the eyes of God and yer clan?” She lowered her voice and her chin, holding her father’s gaze. “Are ye happy she’s yer leman, when she could be yer wife?”
To Brohn’s surprise, the laird was the one who looked away first.
“I have to do what’s best for the clan, Nessa.”
She, of course, clucked her tongue dismissively. “Ye need to do what’s best for ye, Da, and everything else will work out for the best. The clan will be stronger because ye’re happy.”
Still staring at the flames, the old man muttered, “ ’Tis a naïve way of looking at things, daughter.”
“ ’Tis the only way.” By St. Odran’s whip, the two of them were cut from the same stubborn cloth, were they not? “Ye were in love once before. Ye wanted to marry her.”
“Aye, and look what happened after she died!”
Nessa rolled her eyes and sat back. “Ye consoled yerself in the arms of more than one lass. More than a few, actually, judging by how many brothers I have. We still dinnae ken if ye’d found all of them, do we? Are there any more out there?” She scoffed and shook her head. “And then, doing yer duty to the clan, ye married my mother.”
The old man’s scowl flashed back to his daughter. “Aye, and I consider her my Purgatory on earth! Glynnis was no’ an easy woman to live with, as the clan can attest. I swore I’d no’ marry again after she passed on.”
Nessa was nodding, as if she’d heard these words against her mother many times. Even Brohn, who barely remembered the noblewoman Laird Oliphant had married when his sons were young, thought, “no’ an easy woman,” to be too kind.
“Do ye no’ see, Da?” Nessa asked softly. “Ye did yer duty, ye did what ye thought was best for the clan, and it turned into a disaster for everyone. Why no’ do what makes ye happy, and trust the clan’s future will be happier as a result?”
When her father didn’t answer, she leaned forward and placed her hand on his knee.
“Do ye think marrying her—making an honest woman out of her, after all these years—will make ye less of a laird?”
The laird snorted softly, then sighed. “I’ll be happy to pass on the lairdship to one of yer brothers, ye ken. Mayhap afore my death.”
“Ye deserve some happiness and some peace.”
The old man nodded as he patted her hand on his knee. “Things have worked out well enough all these years.”
Nessa, for a change, kept her mouth shut, obviously understanding her father needed to think. Finally, the old man lifted his gaze to Brohn. “What do ye think, lad?”
Surprised, Brohn stepped out of the shadows, hooking his thumbs through his sword belt. “Milord?”
“What do ye think of all this? Do ye agree with my daughter—and Alistair, and yer sister?—when they say I ought to marry yer mother?”
Brohn hesitated. The problem with answering such a bald question was Nessa was listening…and would remember.
But he’d known about his mother’s affair with the laird for some time, and he also knew the crusty old warrior made her happy.
And she deserved to be happy.
So he took a deep breath, and hedged, “She loves ye, milord.”
“Aye, and I love her, stubborn woman that she is.”
“Stubborn, eh?” Nessa muttered dryly, raising her brow at Brohn. “I ken all about that.”
Humming speculatively, the laird glanced between the two of them, one brow raising in an eerily similar expression.
“Stubbornness can run in families,” Brohn thought he heard the old man murmur, and Nessa’s lips curled into a smile.
But then the laird patted her hand once more and sat up straight. “Well, lad,” he said, addressing Brohn directly, “what can I do to convince her?”
“Milord?”
“Yer mother! Try to pay attention, lad! What can I do to convince her to marry me?”
Brohn’s eyes widened in surprise. Was the laird saying…he wanted to marry Mam, but Mam was the one who was being stubborn about it?
He glanced at Nessa, who was beaming up at him.
Or was the question more pointed?
Was the laird asking what Nessa could do to convince Brohn?
I ken my place.
But then, so did Mam. And the Oliphant seemed to be saying “her place” wasn’t where she was meant to be.
So, taking a deep breath, Brohn reached out and grabbed his future with both hands.
Metaphorically, at least.
“We—she would have to ken what she’s doing is sanctioned by the clan. If we think we ken what’s best—for the clan, I suppose—and then someone else disagrees, then— Och!” he muttered disgustedly. Brohn shook his head, irritated that he was making such a hash of the explanation.
‘Twould be easier if I kenned what the hell I meant before I tried to explain it.
But his laird and his love were both staring up at him, clearly waiting for him to continue. And looking as if he alone held the secret to their future happiness.
Was it possible he did?
So, for the sake of them all, Brohn tried again. “Ye’ll have to convince her yer happiness—the two of ye together, having a future together—is what’s best for the clan. And for ye.” Almost against his will, Brohn’s gaze was dragged to Nessa’s. “She loves ye and wants ye to be happy.”
He hoped she understood he wasn’t speaking of his mother’s feelings for her father, but his own feelings for Nessa.
When she smiled, he was relieved.
Humming thoughtfully, the laird pushed himself to his feet. He waved his hand distractedly toward the both of them. “Ye’ve given me much to think on. I’ll…” He shook his head, his attention already on the stairs up to the chambers. “I’ll just go and see…who I can find…”
Muttering under his breath, he headed for the steps, and Brohn wondered if the laird would find Moira up there.
When Brohn turned back, he found Nessa standing before him, smiling.
Despite the storm raging outside, there were still servants and members of her family in the castle, although the hall was empty now. So he was surprised when she pushed herself up on her toes, and still grinning proudly, wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Nessa,” he warned, with a growl.
Her grin only grew. “Och, if I have my way, we’ll be able to shout our love from the rooftops, Brohn Oliphant—or whatever yer name really is.”
He couldn’t help the way his hands settled on her hips, but he was frowning when he asked, “Ye love me?”
“I never stopped, ye daft man. Seven betrothals, Brohn! Seven of them! I sat and waited for ye to come to yer senses and speak up for me!” Slowly, her smile faded, and she lowered herself to her feet, but didn’t stop touching him. “I waited for ye to speak to my father, to tell him the truth of our feelings for one another and to ask for my hand.”
But ye never did.
The words hung between them, unspoken.
When he took a breath, steeling himself, his chest brushed against her nipples, reminding him of what they’d shared only an hour before. A hell of a way to celebrate Christ’s Mass, indeed!
He felt as if he’d been given a gift and couldn’t squander it.
“I wanted to, Nessa,” he whispered hoarsely, hating the sorrow he saw in her eyes. “But ye’re the laird’s daughter, and yer duty is to marry a man of yer father’s choosing
. No’ the son of his housekeeper.”
“He loves his housekeeper!”
“Aye, and I love ye!” He shouldn’t have admitted that again. He closed his eyes on a whispered curse. “I am…nae one, Nessa. Yer duty is to marry to strengthen the clan’s ties with another clan, to ensure the Oliphants’ future. Marriage to me would be a waste—”
She slapped him.
It wasn’t a hard slap, but it surprised the piss out of him.
When his eyes flashed open, she’d stepped away from him, her fists on her hips, glaring angrily at him.
“Ye are the second to the Oliphant commander, Brohn! Ye are strong and brave and sweet and kind and loving, and I’ll slap ye again if ye think to call yerself nae one again. Furthermore”—one pointed finger came up to jab him in the chest—“dinnae ever think to lecture me on my duty, sir! I’ve endured months of duty, watching my father betroth me to Henry after Henry, when I loved a Brohn.”
She stepped in again, but didn’t touch him further.
Instead, she tilted her head back and sneered up at him. “I have done my duty to my clan, Brohn. But from now on, I’m doing my duty to myself. To my own happiness.”
He blinked.
Doing duty to my own happiness.
That’s what she’d been able to explain to her father, hadn’t it? The laird had eventually understood.
Brohn blinked again.
Duty to my own happiness.
Could it be so…simple?
Her expression softened, likely in response to whatever she saw in his eyes.
“I think I understand, Brohn. Ye saw my father make that betrothal, and thought since ‘twas my duty to the clan to marry some far-off Henry, ye wouldn’t interfere with that. Ye spoke of yer honor and duty, but what ye meant was ye werenae going to get in the way of my father’s plans for me, did ye no’?”
Mutely, he nodded. She understood.
Or…mayhap not. Or mayhap she did understand, but didn’t care.
She shrugged, as if his reasons mattered naught, and stepped away once more. “I’m no’ going to marry a far-off Henry, Brohn. I’m staying here on Oliphant land, and to hell with future alliances. Do ye have any idea how humiliating ‘tis to ken I’m considered a curse? Da’s having to scrape the bottom of the barrel to find new betrotheds for me, and I’m done.”
