by Carmen Caine
“Dally?” Ruan repeated softly. His expression altered and he added, “In the birthing or the getting?”
It was Bree’s turn to frown.
“What are ye trying to say, lass?” Ruan asked. His dark eyes gleamed strangely almost as if he were laughing. “Are ye complaining?”
“Complaining?” Bree repeated, frowning deeply. “Your son’s arrival has nothing to do with me!”
“Oh? My son has everything to do with ye,” he said. His lip curved in the oddest fashion. “I thought ye wanted naught of husbands.”
“I… do not even have a husband!” Bree replied, a little stiffly. The man made no sense. If she didn’t know better, she would think he was jesting at her expense.
“Oh?” He bent close to whisper in her ear. “Mayhap ye should spend more time in my company. Ach, with those eyes and curls ye might find things different soon enough.”
Surely, she misconstrued his tone. He must be overly exhausted. Annoyed, she spun on her heel and slammed the door in his face, but not before she heard his distinct chuckle. She devoutly hoped Jenna hadn’t heard the baffling exchange.
She need not have worried. Jenna hadn’t heard anything. She was in the final birthing pains, crouching low over the stool and screaming loudly.
At last, the baby arrived with a high-pitched cry. Bree nearly fainted and Jenna actually did. Isobel chuckled at them both. In short order, a tiny, wrinkled creature swaddled in a plaid was thrust into Bree’s arms.
“A wee lassie,” Isobel said, pleased. “And she has her mother’s hair.”
It was a girl.
Briefly, Bree wondered if Ruan would be disappointed.
“Introduce the wee one to her kin whilst I tend to Jenna,” Isobel ordered kindly. “Go, before ye faint on yer feet, lass. Ye did well.”
Timorously, Bree clutched the crying bundle. She’d never held a baby before. She was not exactly sure she cared for it. It was unnerving. Isobel should not have trusted her with so precious a thing. Carefully, she tiptoed across the room and opened the door to the happy roar of the gathered onlookers. They crowded close, Ruan grinning widely, Merry at his side.
“Your… daughter,” Bree said nervously, relieved to give the infant away before she accidentally dropped it. She searched his face, wondering if he’d be disappointed that it was not a boy.
Ruan’s dark eyes narrowed.
Unaccountably, she felt a twinge of disappointment. “A daughter is… as fortunate as a son,” she said, compelled to defend the helpless baby.
“Aye, I thought as much, after that last conversation with ye, lass,” Ruan snorted. He threw back his head and laughed. “Just who do ye think Jenna is?”
All at once, Bree tensed uncertainly.
Ruan caught her chin and forced her eyes to meet his. “By the Saints! I thought ye knew she was my sister!”
A smattering of laughter rang about her.
“Faith, lass, I share the same father with every lass within a league of this place, and that includes Jenna!” Ruan leaned forward, playfully tweaking her nose.
She’d thought she blushed before, but she was gravely mistaken. Her skin felt aflame as a tide of crimson swept from her head to her toes.
With a rich laugh, he pushed past her into the croft, carrying his newly born niece with him.
***
It was very late before the croft was silent once again.
Isobel had returned to Dunvegan, and Jenna slept peacefully with her newborn daughter. Bree curled in front of the fire in the tiny, uncomfortable ball she seemed to favor; Merry, as always, by her side.
Ruan tipped his chair back, balancing on two legs. He enjoyed tormenting Bree. His pulse leapt at every flash of her green eyes. Those eyes were dangerous. He should be ignoring them, but in spite of his best efforts, he was finding it impossible.
She’d been mortified to discover Jenna was his sister. While it was amusing, the misunderstanding was confounding in another sense. What a scoundrel she must have thought him! Already, she must have heard many of the tales. He wondered which ones. Most were not even true, but he knew there was little hope of convincing her of that.
He was annoyed to find his thoughts perpetually revolving around Bree.
How could he forget that most women were greedy and troublesome? Aye, and the reputable women saw him only as a rogue, incapable of love and loyalty. Even Bree thought he’d brought his own wife to serve as a handmaiden to his lover. What manner of beast did she think him? He could not fathom women.
He slammed the chair back on all four legs.
The noise startled the bairn. As the thin wail cut the darkness, he ruefully slipped outside the croft into the cold night wind, hoping to clear his mind, but he failed miserably. His thoughts remained on Bree. Not wanting to think what that might mean, he finally returned to throw a plaid next to Merry and force his eyes shut.
Sleep was long in coming.
By morning, they were all exhausted.
The infant dozed only in fitful spurts, doing a grand job of keeping them awake the rest of the time. Jenna, though tired, didn’t appear to mind in the slightest, she’d obviously met the love of her life. While fascinating to observe, he suddenly felt smothered by females, all of them exceedingly complex. Even the tiny one Jenna had brought into the world the night before was already tormenting him. How was he going to feed her, along with the rest? He had nothing left to his name.
As the sun rose, Bree stumbled about, making porridge while burying yawns in her sleeve. She did her best to avoid him, and, for the most part, succeeded quite well. Why did he find that a challenge? Repeatedly, he caught himself seeking ways to spark those green eyes into life.
He was daft.
He shook his head to clear it. He had to leave the croft before he turned mad. With great relief, he discovered several loose stones under the window, and Ewan’s arrival gave him the perfect excuse to escape. Pointing to the stones he announced, “I’ll be off to mend these.”
There were plenty of shells in the bucket to grind as mortar, but he needed to breathe the fresh salty air. He simply had to remove himself from the intoxicating influence of so much femininity in one place. The door of the croft closed behind him with a satisfying thud. He leapt easily over the low stone wall and made his way to the pale, yellow beaches. Kneeling, he scooped up handfuls of small snail shells and dried seaweed, absently letting them run through his fingers. This had always been one of his favorite places.
He was on the beach for only a short time before he spied Bree and Merry coming his way, fighting the wind. Alarmed, he dropped the bucket, but Merry’s wide smile indicated nothing amiss.
“Isobel sent us to help,” she informed him, skipping happily. “She says we need a wee nip of fresh air.”
Bree was not thrilled to be there. That was readily apparent. She watched him warily and he caught himself smiling like a fool, unable to stop. She was such a suspicious lass. He had never quite met one like her before. Who could resist the challenge? After showing her the shells to gather, he offered the bucket merely as an excuse to capture her hand. Unable to comprehend at first, she waited politely for him to let go. As his fingers trailed over her wrist, his amusement grew and her indifference shifted into confusion.
She pulled her hand away.
“Ach, lass, I dinna bite,” he said. Then, from under half-closed lids, he added suggestively, “Well, perhaps I do, but those that I do dinna seem to mind much.”
“It is no affair of mine,” Bree replied stiffly, bending to pick up a shell.
If he were honest to himself, he was a wee bit insulted. Aye, more than a wee bit, his pride was grandly hurt. Rare had been the lass to resist his charms. Not that he was charming her, he hastily reminded himself. He folded his arms irritably. What would she do if he swept her in his arms and soundly kissed her? Catching the thought, he swore abruptly and halted mid-step. What was he thinking?
He nearly tripped over Merry. Aye. Bree’s suspici
on was catching. Merry observed him with a dark scowl, her brows drawn together in a manner that promised trouble. He opened his lips, feeling the need to defend himself, when he spied Robert riding hard toward him.
“Tidings!” Robert shouted, pulling up beside him. “Come to the hall at once. Bring Bree.”
***
With a sense of growing dread, Ruan marched into Dunvegan with Bree in tow.
The noon meal forgotten, the clansmen gathered around an exhausted and battered young boy seated in Tormod’s chair. Upon spying Ruan, his small face lit, and he leapt into his arms. Ruan staggered a step, unprepared, but hugged the lad in return.
“Ruan!” the lad gulped. “Fearghus… Fearghus…”
“Take a breath, Colin,” Ruan placed a comforting hand upon his head.
It took some time, but Colin finally managed to impart the details. Fearghus had raided the clan borders, burning several fields and a handful of crofts. After seeing his kin locked in their croft and the roof set afire, the lad had escaped.
Ruan blanched.
He wanted to retch. It was his fault. He’d caused this. Fearghus was striking back with vengeance. Sick at heart, he collapsed on the nearest bench.
“This blood is on yer hands, Ruan,” Tormod announced loudly. He inspected the faces of the men around him eagerly, obviously expecting a chorus of agreement.
Grim silence greeted his display.
“Aye,” Ruan murmured finally. “’Tis true enough.”
A ripple of disagreement circled the hall.
Tormod licked his lips, nervously.
“Nay,” Ruan said. He stood, holding up his hand and addressed the clansmen. “I’m the cause, but I’ll set it right.”
They erupted into a cheer.
“’Tis no fault of yours, Ruan!” a man said.
Others took up the words.
“Silence!” Tormod thundered. He looped his hands over his paunch, and his chin jiggled in indignation. “If Ruan had nae attacked Fearghus, this would never—”
“If ye’d never wed Merry off then Ruan wouldn’t have needed to fetch her,” Robert interrupted calmly. “We should ride at once. Fearghus may nae be yet finished, and we should head him off.”
Agreement circled the hall.
“Ye’ll be riding, too?” Robert asked Tormod coolly. “Michael and Gerland as well?”
Tormod took an involuntary step back. “Aye, Michael and Gerland, of a certainty, but I should be staying here to… to deal with… matters.”
Ruan’s head snapped up. Recalling Tormod’s unexpected appearance in Jenna’s cottage, he turned upon his older brother. “I’ll nae hesitate slaughtering ye if you touch her, Tormod. Make no mistake.”
Tormod’s flaccid cheeks rippled as he lifted his jaw. “Dare ye threaten The MacLeod?” He hissed.
“Aye,” Ruan replied, unrepentantly.
Several nearby clansmen nodded in open support.
“Ruan’s wife inspires such loyalty?” Tormod spat in their direction, but he paled, obviously unnerved.
“We all love Bree,” Robert’s voice rang clear, nodding at the men to return to their seats. “Ewan will see to Bree’s safety whilst we are away.” Robert continued evenly. “The young pup canna come with us; ‘tis best to keep the Earl of Mull from this matter.”
“Ye should be riding, Tormod,” Ruan said and folded his arms in a direct challenge.
“Matters of import require my attention!” Tormod raised his voice, but it sounded thin, almost wavering.
“Then, Ruan shall lead,” Robert announced. He lifted his arm, holding it high. “He is a MacLeod!”
The clansmen in the hall roared in response, “A MacLeod! A MacLeod! Ruan MacLeod!”
Tormod’s face drained of color.
Ruan laid a hand on his uncle’s arm. “A word, Uncle?”
Under his brother’s intense scrutiny, he drew Robert away.
Once outside Tormod’s hearing, he scowled. “What are ye doing? I’ve nae agreed to your daft scheme, and I’ll nae have these men…” The shouts reverberating in the hall drowned the rest of his words.
Taking Bree and Ruan by the arm, Robert shepherded them from the place, a pleased smile upon his lips.
“What have ye done?” Ruan accused Robert, angry. “Are ye daft? I’ll nae have these men thinking I aim to split the clan!”
“’Tis nae in yer hands now, lad. And what happens next is a matter for the clan,” Robert replied. He smiled indulgently at his nephew. “But we must avenge Colin first, and when we return, we’ll have a gathering of the clan to discuss what needs to be said. Now, be off to the stables, I’ll meet ye there in a wee bit.”
Ruan’s scowl deepened as he made his way in silence, dimly aware Bree was still following him. If Tormod hadn’t wanted him dead before, he certainly would now. The show of support in the hall had all but sealed it. He wished the clansmen had remained silent. He sighed. Why would Fearghus do this? The level of violence was unusual. The man had mostly settled for stealing cattle and sheep in the past.
As he walked into the stables, he ran headlong into Ewan.
The lad jumped back, dropping the saddle slung over his shoulder.
“Nay,” Ruan said, and shook his head. “Nae you, lad, we ride without ye today. Your father has no place in this.”
Ewan opened his mouth to protest.
“Besides, I need ye for other things,” Ruan continued. “Ye’ll have to guard Bree, though I don’t think Tormod will go near her. ‘Tis best to be safe.” Ruan grasped him by the arm and pulled him forward. “If I don’t return, take Merry and Bree to Cameron.”
“Aye!” Robert nodded, joining them to hear the last part. “’Tis a braw plan. Mayhap, we should send them both sooner until matters are settled.”
“Settled?” Ruan turned on his uncle. “I told ye, Robert, I’ll nae be the cause of brother fighting brother—”
“And ye will nae be, I swear it, lad,” Robert interrupted, clasping him firmly on the shoulder.
Ruan stared at him skeptically, before addressing Ewan, “Do ye understand, lad?”
“Aye,” Ewan agreed with a nod, albeit a reluctant one.
The stables bustled with activity. Men led the horses from the stalls while, out on the road, Ruan could hear the rasping of metal as others inspected their weapons. Ruan stalked to his mount, observing Bree from the corner of his eye. She was grim-faced, twisting her hands together tightly. He felt an odd surge of protectiveness mixed with something he knew he should deny and something he didn’t want to acknowledge.
“I never wanted a wife,” he muttered to Ewan, slamming the saddle onto the back of his horse.
The beast stamped in response, tossing its head.
Ewan raised a brow, but said nothing as he helped adjust the cinch.
“Ach, and even if I were stuck with a wife, I never wanted a respectable one!” Ruan scowled.
Ewan cleared his throat.
Ruan didn’t appreciate the light dancing in the lad’s eyes. Swinging himself into the saddle, he leaned down and growled, “Aye, she means nothing to me. There’s no need for that. She sees the truth of what I am. The poor lass wants to run far away and can ye blame her?”
The horse stomped skittishly and Ewan grabbed the animal’s head with a steadying hand.
“Aye and I’ve no yearning for her, anyway,” Ruan swore under his breath. Surely, that was true. Surely, he could convince himself that was true. He pounded the pommel, frustrated, knowing it was not. “She’s even more bothersome than most!”
The horse stepped sideways under the attack.
“Have ye nothing to say?” Ruan thundered, glaring down at Ewan.
“Nay,” Ewan answered. His eyes twinkled in a manner dangerously close to amusement. “I’m nae the one fooling myself.”
Ruan frowned, but raised a querying brow.
“I’m nae the one falling in love,” Ewan explained with a cocky grin.
At the word, love, Ruan kicke
d the horse. It leapt forward in response. He pulled the reins sharply and the animal reared in displeasure. It was preposterous. Though he’d never truly loved a woman, he was certain it took much longer than Ewan implied.
The men were almost ready. He had to be going.
Pressing forward, he watched Gerland and Michael mounting their horses. Nearby, he saw Merry clinging to Bree, threading her arms around her neck. Her brown eyes were large with unshed tears. He longed to comfort his small sister and wondered if there would be a time that she wouldn’t have to worry for his return.
Then, his eyes shifted to Bree. Her face was white. Aye, he longed to see the poor lass at ease, and those lips smile. Overwhelmed by a strong wave of protectiveness, he raised his voice to address the clansmen that were not going, “Ye can tell Tormod if he even looks at my wife that I’ll flay him alive. Aye, be he The Macleod or no!”
Cheers erupted at this.
He grimaced at the light in Robert’s eye as he said, “And I’ll be holding each of ye to that, I swear!”
He had no authority to order them to do anything, but they didn’t seem to mind. Instead, they only roared louder, pounding each other on the backs, as if he’d just announced he was splitting the clan. He frowned.
Ewan’s lips cracked into a broad grin.
Masked by the deafening clansmen, he barked in the lad’s ear, “If I dinna return, Ewan, take them both to Cameron. Both. Give me your word!”
Ewan touched his finger to his lips. “I swear to the last drop of my blood!”
Ruan nodded once in satisfaction and then pulled the horse sharply once again, to stop before Bree and Merry. “I’ll return, my Merry wee lass,” he promised, placing his hand over his heart. “This will be the last time, I swear, that ye’ll have to fret so. I’ll take ye wherever ‘tis ye wish.”
“Paris?” Merry asked, her chin trembling.
“Aye, I swear that I’ll take ye to Paris, my Merry lass,” Ruan said, before turning to Bree. Against his will, her expression made his heart thrill in response. It was admiration. She was looking at him with admiration. Aye, Ewan was dangerously perceptive. He was falling for the lass. He was a fool to deny it. For the first time, he wondered if it would be possible to win her love even as he was astounded that he desired to try. Aye, he was a fool to try. He did not even have a shilling in his name.
