Highland Thunder (Isle of Mull Series)

by Lily Baldwin

“’Tis because Bridget was the one who found Nellore,” Ronan said absently as he laughed at his wife’s antics.

  “Of course that would explain their bond, which reminds me…I wanted to know the details of how you found Nellore. I’ve never heard the tale. Mayhap, it holds a clue,” Duncan said, turning expectant eyes on Bridget.

  She only shrugged and said, “’Tis no matter. ‘Twas night, and I found her out on the moors.”

  “Surely, there is more to the story, Bridget. You make it sound as though you were just out for a moonlit stroll and happened upon her, or is it your habit to wander the moors at night?”

  “Nay, of course not,” Bridget replied. Then her eyes sought Duncan’s gaze and their grey depths brightened with silver light. “I knew she was out there,” she said in a low voice.

  Duncan furrowed his brow as he considered her words. “How could you have known?”

  “I am privy to no more information about the intruder than you, Duncan. I do not know who abandoned Nellore—whether it was her mother or someone who stole her away from her mother’s arms, and I do not know who torments them now. You need not be suspicious of me. I am a friend to this family and lady of this clan.”

  Duncan felt Ronan’s scowl. He knew he was angering his laird, but he also knew Bridget was withholding information, which was unacceptable given the woman whom he loved and her child were at risk.

  “Forgive me, Ronan and Bridget, but, my lady, I ask you again. How did you know Nellore had been abandoned?” Both Anna and Brenna now joined in staring at him, and he was not certain but he thought he discerned the slightest shake to Brenna’s head as though she was trying to tell him not to pursue his current line of questioning.

  Bridget’s only reply was to look away. She would say no more.

  “I do not accept secrets or deceit on a matter so dear to my heart,” Duncan snapped. “I am the protector of that child in your arms. She is my responsibility. I deserve to ken what you do.”

  Bridget’s eyes darkened like melted steel as she slowly leaned toward him. “Do you really wish to know, Duncan, why I ken what I do?” A slight smile curved her lips as she continued in a whisper for his ears alone. “Why, for example, I know the secrets of your heart?”

  Duncan felt a shiver course down his spine as Bridget’s eyes settled on Brenna. He did not know how Bridget knew his heart, but she did. Often had he marveled at her mysterious insight. He realized then the answer to Bridget’s question. Nay, he did not wish to know his lady’s secrets.

  Ronan put his hand on the table in front of his wife, shielding her from Duncan’s gaze. Duncan did not miss the message in his laird’s stance.

  “Forgive me, Bridget,” he said behind the large, solid bulk of his laird. “You are the kindest lady and mother to us all. Forgive my prying.”

  Ronan once again took his seat. Bridget’s face shone with warmth and affection. “I love Brenna as fiercely as I do the daughters born of my body, and there are no words for the love I bear this child. You’ve done naught other than prove yourself worthy of your role.”

  Duncan dipped his head in a gesture of respect just as Brenna placed a plate of hot oat cakes and fried herring on the table. Everyone ate their fill, but despite the good food and the fellowship they shared, the atmosphere remained grave. They were plagued by an unknown terror and would find no peace until the intruder was brought to task and Nellore’s safety assured.

  After much debate, Ronan and Duncan decided the many caves carved into their isle’s rocky coast would begin their hunt. If someone was hiding outside the protection of a clan, a cave was the likeliest refuge.

  When it was time for the men to depart, Brenna and Duncan walked together toward the stable.

  “I am afraid, Duncan,” Brenna said, her voice distant as she stared out beyond her land to the strip of ocean, white with rough waves. “I feel as though something dreadful is going to happen.”

  “Nay, Brenna,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her. Her face burrowed against his neck, and she pressed into him.

  He crooked a finger beneath her chin as he forced her to meet his gaze. “You are fierce, Brenna. As fierce as the tempests you love.” He kissed her again and then disappeared into the barn, emerging a moment later astride his horse. Reaching down, he pulled her across his lap. She lost herself in his black eyes and felt her strength come alive beneath their dark coaxing.

  “I must go, Brenna.”

  “Aye, I know,” she said, forcing her lips into a smile.

  He began to lower her to the ground, but then his face suddenly tightened with urgency. “Brenna, there is something you must know. ‘Tis something I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.”

  She smiled again, pressing her finger to his lips. “The only matter of any importance to me at this moment is your safety and Nellore’s. The longer this threat remains, the greater the risk. Set me on my feet, and tell me the one thing I wish to hear.”

  Although it seemed to pain him, he did as she bid.

  She stared up at him. “Promise me you will return.”

  “Aye, Brenna. I promise you,” he vowed.

  “Then ride,” she said, backing out of the way.

  He pulled up on the reins, his eyes still locked with hers. Then a hardness passed over his features as he kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks and sped off with Ronan at his side.

  Brenna and Bridget stood arm in arm as they watched their men ride off toward the coast, disappearing behind a steep slope.

  “A woman spends half her life watching her man gallop away into the distance,” Anna said as she joined them.

  Bridget’s lips curved in a wistful smile. “Aye, but the thrill of watching them return almost makes their departure worth it.”

  “I admire the love you and Ronan share,” Brenna said, “but is it worth the price? Do you ever miss being Shoney?”

  Bridget shook her head. “I’ve never stopped being Shoney. ‘Tis Shoney that Ronan sees and Anna, and now I am blessed to share myself with you. But Shoney is only one of my names. I am also Bridget and mother and lady and healer. We all have many titles and roles, and ‘tis only when we celebrate them all that we find satisfaction.”

  Bridget’s hand once again touched one of Brenna’s curls as it caught in the breeze. “You have made peace with yourself, Brenna. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I seemed to have let go of more than just my hair when I cut it. A part of me has always existed that I’ve silenced, not trusting the feelings. For better or worse, Duncan brings everything inside me to the surface—whether I wish him to or not.”

  Bridget smiled. “Never deny who you are to those who will celebrate your truth. Life often demands concealment. ‘Tis a gift to be free in another’s company, Brenna.”

  Brenna blushed when she remembered just how free she had been with Duncan only a matter of hours ago.

  Bridget smiled knowingly as she took Brenna’s hand, guiding her back inside. “I told you these things had a way of working themselves out,” she said.

  As the afternoon sun dipped in the sky, the ladies sat around the table with steaming mugs of mead made from burnt honey while Nellore napped.

  “Did you forget to let your animals out for the day?” Anna asked as a din emanated from the barn.

  Brenna jumped to her feet. “Aye,” she said. “The poor beasts.”

  “Anna, watch over Nellore. I shall assist Brenna,” Bridget said.

  Brenna started to refuse her lady’s aid, but Bridget sauntered past, heading toward the door. “Two sets of hands will finish the task faster.”

  Brenna knelt by her daughter and brushed aside her soft curls, revealing a pink cheek, which she grazed with a kiss.

  “You are my sweet lass,” she whispered as tears filled her eyes. Brenna looked to her friends. “Nothing can happen to her.”

  “And nothing will,” Anna said, wrapping her arms around Brenna’s shoulders. “Now, go, and be quick before your sheep break down the
doors saving you the trouble.”

  As Brenna and Bridget approached the barn, Brenna was surprised by the din of the animals. The bleating of goats and sheep mingled with the rustle of wings from restless chickens.

  “Good Lord,” Brenna exclaimed as she reached for the thick plank, barring the animals escape.

  “Hold,” Bridget said. A shadow passed over the lady’s face as her eyes dimmed.

  “What is it?” Brenna asked.

  Moments past but still Bridget did not answer.

  “Did you have a vision?” Brenna whispered.

  Bridget’s eyes cleared as she turned to Brenna. “Nay,” she said. “’Twas a coldness that passed through me. Cut right to my bones and filled my lungs with winter’s chill.”

  Brenna stared wide-eyed, apprehension sinking into her heart.

  “Something is not right,” Bridget said. “Let us hurry and get back inside.”

  Brenna nodded while she threw off the plank and swung the door wide. Her heart pounded as she fumbled with the rope that secured the goats’ pen, but finally it gave way and the animals rushed to the door. Then she turned to see Bridget open another gate, and the sheep poured forth from their stall.

  “Shoo,” Brenna said. “Out the door with you.” The animals pushed against the door, but it did not yield.

  “It must be stuck on something,” Brenna said as she waded through the animals.

  “Bloody move,” she heard Bridget shout behind her at one of the largest sheep who refused to give way.

  Brenna turned back around to offer Bridget her hand when a muffled scream filled the air. Their eyes met, mirroring terror.

  “Anna…” Bridget said.

  “Nellore,” Brenna said as panic gripped her heart. She charged toward the door driven by desperation, heedless of the beasts she shoved aside. Her body slammed into wood, but it did not budge.

  “What?” she cried as she pushed with all her might. Then a horizontal shadow caught her eye. Her legs threatened to give way as she glimpsed the wooden plank at rest in its braces. Someone had barred the door.

  They were trapped.

  Chapter 23

  Brenna pounded the door with her fists.

  “Open this door,” she screamed over and over again.

  “She is my daughter. Mine!”

  Her own pleas mingled with Bridget’s. Together their voices carried into the yard but in Brenna’s heart, she knew no one would hear. The isolation of her home ensured their capture. Her knuckles shone red with blood as she continued to thrash against the wood, but the door withstood the battering without a chip or even a creak to show for their effort.

  “Nellore,” Brenna screamed.

  Her will would have stopped at nothing, but the pain, which tore down the length of her arms and mingled with the blood dripping from her battered fingers, demanded she quit.

  “Let us go,” Brenna whimpered as she collapsed to her knees. “Please, I am begging you. Let us go.”

  But then fury and terror surged through her once more, and she forgot her pain and resumed her struggle.

  “Do not touch her. Do not touch my child. Nellore!”

  She did not know for how long she screamed, but suddenly she was aware of someone shaking her.

  “Brenna, stand up,” Bridget snapped.

  Slowly, Bridget came into focus, and Brenna silenced her screams. She was spinning and panting, unable to catch her breath. Bile rose in her throat at the image of her daughter lying on her pallet while bony, white fingers pulled back her covers.

  “Oh God,” Brenna cried as her stomach wretched all over the floor.

  “Enough, Brenna,” Bridget shook her again. “Stand up and take hold of the wood.”

  Brenna looked up to find Bridget holding a long, thick plank.

  “We are going to ram the door. Grab that end,” Bridget shouted, her eyes burning with steel fire.

  Brenna scrambled to her feet and took hold at the fore of the ram.

  “At my command,” Bridget shouted. “Now.”

  They charged forward with all their might, shrieking their fury. The plank rammed the door with such force, they rebounded back and slammed into the ground.

  “Again,” Bridget shouted.

  Brenna heaved herself onto her feet and once again took hold of the plank.

  “Now,” Bridget commanded.

  The shock of the impact reverberated through Brenna’s arms as they were once again thrown back from the door.

  “Again,” Bridget cried.

  Over and over again, they drove the plank into the door, straining under its weight. Still, they did not give up. At Bridget’s command, they charged forward once again. Ricocheting back, the air rushed from Brenna’s lungs, but a sound like sweet music tore through the barn—the sound of splintering wood.

  After she landed, Brenna’s eyes flew open ready to behold the shattered door, and yet it stood strong and impenetrable as ever. Bridget crawled forward on her knees and lamely lifted a piece of broken plank.

  “’Tis no use,” Brenna sobbed.

  “Do not give up, Brenna,” Bridget said, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Never give up.”

  “What are we to do now?”

  “Scream,” Bridget said as she started beating the wall with a stick. “Make noise. Whether our men return or the watch draws close, the sooner we are heard, the sooner help reaches Nellore and Anna. Scream!”

  Terror, desperation, and a pain the likes of which Brenna could never have conceived fueled the cries which tore over and over again from her throat. Her cries fused with Bridget’s. It was a shrill choir that rent the air in search of salvation.

  ***

  Frustration fueled Duncan’s ire. Despite the passing of several hours, their search of the caves proved fruitless. At one moment, both Duncan and Ronan thought they might have found the intruder’s hiding place. Grunting noises had poured forth from deep within the shadows of a long cave, but as they barreled inside with torch and blade in hand, the light revealed young lovers in the midst of a clandestine affair.

  Both scurried into their clothing as a string of apologies and explanations flew from their lips, clearly terrified to be caught in the act by their laird.

  “Better me than your parents or Father Colin for Christ’s sake,” Ronan said. “But let it be a lesson to you all the same. Now, be gone from here.”

  As they fled from the mouth of the cave, Duncan turned to Ronan. “The sun begins its descent. We must turn back. We cannot leave them to face the darkness alone.”

  “Aye,” Ronan agreed. “And I shall stay at Brenna’s tonight. If the prowler comes, we shall be ready.”

  They rode hard against the setting sun, Ronan in the lead. When Ronan reined in his horse, it was so unexpected Duncan barely kept his seat as he maneuvered around him.

  “God’s blood, Ronan, you almost killed me.”

  “Quiet,” Ronan growled as he trained his ear in the direction of Brenna’s hut.

  Sounds drifted on the wind, muffled, subdued by distance and barely distinguishable.

  “Come on,” Duncan urged. “We must get closer.”

  Then a piercing note sounded above the others. Both men knew the sound. A woman’s scream impacted a warrior’s heart like nothing else. Duncan kicked his horse and charged forward. His only thoughts were of Brenna.

  As they drew closer, the screams continued, hoarse and anguished. Each one felt like a knife laying open his heart. Images flooded his mind, each one worse than the last. Torture, fire—what manner of foe brought forth such agony from Brenna’s lips?

  The final strides over the slope that would at last reveal Brenna’s hut passed like a slow dream as though time stood still.

  “The barn,” Ronan shouted, his eyes shining with amber fury.

  Duncan slid from his horse before the beast could stop. Screams split the darkness as night ascended.

  “Brenna,” he yelled as he threw off the plank. Ronan heaved the door open. Then th
ey both barreled inside.

  Arms tangled around his neck as Brenna shook with sobs.

  “Are you hurt?” he said. “I did not know what to think. I thought I was losing you.”

  Brenna clung to Duncan, but he yanked free from her grip and cupped her face in his hands. Torment and fatigue ravaged her eyes as she choked out, “Nellore. Anna.”

  Both men turned then and raced toward the hut. Throwing open the door, Duncan charged inside. Anna lay faced down on the floor, unmoving.

  “Anna,” Ronan cried as he pulled his daughter into his arms.

  Duncan whirled around, calling for Nellore. Her pallet laid empty and the covers askew.

  “Nay,” he roared as he picked the table up and with a crash it shattered against the wall.

  He turned toward the doorway where he met Brenna’s hard gaze.

  “She is gone,” she said.

  “Aye, Brenna.”

  Brenna gripped the door frame. Her stark pallor gleamed in the darkening hut. Duncan wrapped his arm around her to catch her fall, but she shook her head and drew in a deep breath.

  “I will not weaken,” she gritted as she knelt by Anna’s side.

  Just then Bridget appeared at the door. “Anna?” she said, looking to Ronan.

  “She lives. She has been rendered unconscious,” Ronan said.

  Bridget closed her eyes and inhaled deep relief, but then her eyes snapped open as she thrust her hand out for all to see. “I found this just over the slope, heading toward the coast.”

  “’Tis the rag baby Jamie gave her,” Brenna exclaimed as she grabbed the figure and held it close. “She had it when she slept. She must have dropped it.”

  “Barricade the door until Anna wakes and then ride to the keep,” Duncan said. Then he pulled Brenna into his arms. “I will find her. Do you hear me? I will find her.”

  “She is everything to me, Duncan,” Brenna said as she stared past him into the darkness.

  He pulled her close and rested his forehead against hers. Stricken blue eyes met his.

  “I will not fail you, Brenna,” he said. Then he turned and without hesitation, he went out into the night.

  Chapter 24