by Lily Baldwin
Brenna shuddered as she imagined her daughter once more abandoned on the moors, starved, her life stolen.
“I’ve more to tell, Brenna,” Ronan confessed.
Brenna straightened her spine as she met Ronan’s gaze. “I set out this morn to capture the lass. I planned to send her to the prison on the Isle of Canna, but instead I found her lying broken at the mouth of her cave. Whether urged by her own suffering or bade by the voices in her mind, she threw herself from the cliffs above.”
“Lord, have mercy,” Brenna cried as her eyes squeezed shut. Despite her heinous crimes, it was her body from which Nellore first breathed life. Lost to madness, her soul a well of suffering, Brenna had only pity in her heart for the poor woman.
“There is little I know with any certainty, Brenna, but I’d wager she was a MacLean. Her name was Davina. She was a stranger to me…but not to Duncan. ‘Twas from his lips I learned her name, but from the astonishment in his voice ‘twas clear the madness had changed her.” He shifted his body so that he was looking at her straight on. “Brenna, Davina claimed that Duncan was Nellore’s father.”
Ronan continued to speak, but all Brenna heard were muffled words, which bombarded her ears as blackness intruded on her vision. She swayed and felt her stomach lurch.
“Brenna,” Ronan said as he pulled the cloak from her shoulders. “Breathe, Brenna.”
The cold rush of air on her skin shocked her senses into place.
“Ronan,” she said as her mind reeled, “’Tis too much.” She covered her face with her hands just as she heard someone call her name.
“By the saints,” she groaned. Then she called out, “I am here.”
A young lad she knew as Nial who labored in the kitchens came dashing around the corner. His face was red with effort, and when he saw her, he skidded to a stop.
“Brenna,” he managed to sputter but that was all while he struggled to catch his breath.
“Aye, what is it, lad?” she said.
“Duncan,” he gasped.
She rushed at him. Fear consumed her heart. Grabbing his plaid, she yanked him up to attention. “What about Duncan?” she yelled.
“Awake,” he said. “Duncan’s awake.”
A cry of delight escaped her lips as she swung the lad around in a happy embrace. “Brenna,” he choked. “I cannot breathe.”
She laughed and put the lad down. Then she turned back to Ronan. “Go to him, Brenna. Forget the rest.”
“Thank you,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Then she raced away toward the keep.
Her heart pounded as she threw open the door. He was sitting up, sipping from a cup Bridget held to his lips.
When he saw her, a slow smile spread across his face. His skin was drawn, and his eyes drooped with fatigue. Still, he was awake. She hurried to his side.
“Hello, lass,” he said hoarsely.
“Duncan,” she managed to say as she choked back tears of relief.
He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, taking the cup from Bridget’s hand. “You need not fret, Brenna. You shall not be rid of me so easily.”
“You’ve been unconscious for days,” Brenna replied. “There was naught else I could do but worry.” She reached out and felt his brow. Already he was looking stronger, his color richer. Duncan smiled and reached out a hand to graze her cheek. She drew in a deep, shaky breath as she held his soothing palm against her cheek. She had been so afraid that she would never feel his touch again.
Ronan opened the door. “Duncan, my lad, I heard you awoke. I had to see with my own eyes.”
Duncan turned and waved him into the room. Brenna’s eyes widened at his display of strength. It seemed to even give Ronan pause. “You are feeling well then, lad?” Ronan asked.
“Surprisingly well,” Duncan said.
Ronan smiled but it did not reach his eyes. Tension crept back into Brenna’s shoulders. Bridget’s expression mirrored Ronan’s. She saw sadness in their eyes despite how they tried to mask it.
She gave Ronan a bewildered look. He took hold of her hand and pulled her from the room. “Lad, we shall leave for a moment. Bridget must check your wound.”
When the door shut, Brenna whirled to face him. “What is happening?”
“Come, Brenna. Sit with me by the fire,” he said, taking her by the arm, but she shrugged off his hold.
“Nay, Ronan. I will not sit. Just tell me what it is you have to say,” she gritted as she fought to squelch the doom rising in her heart.
“’Tis common before someone dies to have a burst of strength, a resurgence of vitality. I’ve seen it many times with warriors wounded on the battlefield.”
She shook her head. “Nay, you are mistaken. Did you not see him? He is strong, gaining strength by the minute.”
“He is too strong,” Ronan hastened to say. “If his body was healing, the gains would be slower. He would still be too weak to sit or speak.”
“I do not ken,” she said as tears poured down her cheeks. She believed for a few precious moments that the nightmare was over.
Brenna’s chest tightened. She fought to swallow. Her lungs refused to fill. The floor beneath her feet spun around and around. She was falling, but Ronan’s arms surrounded her. He carried her to a chair by the fire.
“Drink,” he said as he pressed a cup to her lips. She sputtered as whiskey seared a path down her throat, filling her body with warmth.
She stared into the flames, “I know of what you speak,” she said. “On the eve before my mother died, she suddenly appeared strong once more. She took me into her arms. I was only a wee lass, and I believed God’s mercy had saved her.” She felt the fingers of despair creep toward her heart. “My father knew it for what it was. Still, he let us believe, mayhap because he still prayed for a miracle.”
“Miracles do happen, Brenna,” Ronan said.
She took a deep breath, grabbed the glass of whiskey from his hand and downed the lot. Then she stood and thrust her shoulders back. “Aye,” she said. “Indeed they do.”
Chapter 26
Brenna lay curled up on the bed with her head in Duncan’s lap. His shoulders shook with laughter as she told him how Margaret had fainted on the spot when she first saw Brenna’s shorn hair. “She bumped her head on the way down. She was unconscious for hours.”
Duncan’s laughter filled the room.
“I’ve never enjoyed her company more,” she said.
“Enough,” he said, still shaking with laughter. He gripped her arm. He could not catch his breath.
“Enough,” he said in a quiet voice. He leaned his head back against the bed frame and closed his eyes.
She sat up with a start.
His eyes eased open as he gave her a half smile. “I’m well, lass, just tired,” he said, closing his eyes again..
She held her breath as she watched for his next movement, gripping the bed clothes in her fists to keep calm.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. “Brenna,” he said, “I must tell you something.”
“Nay, Duncan,” she soothed as she knelt next to him, pressing a kiss to his lips. “You should rest now. Save your strength.”
He shook his head. “My chance was almost stolen once. I must say what is in my heart.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. The frailness of his grip stole her breath. She swallowed the rush of tears forming a knot in her throat.
“Go on then,” she said. “Say your piece, but promise me you will rest when you are finished.”
“I promise I will do anything you ask for as long as I live,” he said with a weak smile. Then he took a deep breath as though he was gathering all his remaining strength.
“I love you, Brenna,” he said. She opened her mouth to return the avowal, but he silenced her with a shake of his head. “Let me speak, Brenna.” He labored to suck a deep breath into his lungs before he continued. “I have always loved you, from the first moment I saw you standing alone at the festival. I vowed then to make you mine.” He clo
sed his eyes again. “You were meant to be mine.”
Her mind was reeling. “But you did not like me,” she said. “You never even looked at me.”
He gave a sardonic laugh. “I was a fool, and a rotter besides. I sought to protect my own ruined heart by feigning indifference, and I was angry at myself, so angry,” he said, shaking his head. “Angry for coveting my best friend’s wife, angry for resenting your happiness.” His gaze met hers, and the scowl that marred his features vanished. “Forgive me, Brenna. Long did I take my anger out on you.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, which were warm on her skin and sent a shiver coursing down her spine. “I’ve always loved you,” he whispered.
Her tears spilled forth as the ache in her heart burst with a torrent of vicious emotion. She clung to his neck. Gentle words of love soothed her, but his arms did not encircle her—she knew he lacked the strength.
She sat back and wiped her eyes and stared at the man she once thought despised her. If anyone had told her one day she would marry Duncan MacKinnon, she would have told them Loch Linnhe would sooner freeze over in July. But she would have been mistaken, because that day had just arrived.
“Do you remember what you promised me just now,” she asked.
“Aye,” he said. “Anything. I promised to grant you anything in my power for as long as I live.”
She reached for his hands. “Marry me,” she said.
He exhaled as he looked away. “My legs grow colder by the second. I am weary, Brenna.”
“You promised,” she said, ignoring the finality of his words.
He looked at her with awe in his eyes. “Such a creature you are. How have I come to deserve your love?” He paused before continuing. “You know I cannot in good conscience make you my wife, Brenna.”
“I never knew my true self until you, Duncan. You’ve given me life. ‘Tis mine to do with as I wish.” Her voice trembled as she continued, “I wish to now give it to you. Do not deny me.”
She scurried off the bed and threw the door open. The sitting room was empty. “Ronan,” she yelled, “Ronan.”
In moments, the far door flew open and Ronan and Bridget entered. “Quick,” Brenna urged, “fetch the priest.”
Ronan’s face darkened. “Are we losing him?”
“Nay,” she said, smiling though her tears. “I’ve just won him, in fact. He has agreed to marry me.”
Both Ronan and Bridget’s eyes widened with shock.
“You are not in your right mind, Brenna. You can’t marry him,” Ronan protested.
“Stop wasting time and do as I ask.”
“You must listen to reason. The man is dying.” Ronan said.
“Fetch the damn priest,” she thundered.
“Do as she says, Ronan,” Bridget said calmly.
In moments, the priest stood at Duncan’s bed side. He must have been waiting with Ronan and Bridget in the hall to give Duncan his last rites. Brenna pushed the realization from her mind as she listened to Father Colin say the words that would bind her and Duncan together in the eyes of God forever.
“I pronounce that Brenna and Duncan be man and wife, in the name of the Father, and the son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
“Amen,” Brenna whispered.
Through lidded slits, Duncan gazed up at her. His face, which shone with tiny beads of sweat, was wan and strained, but he smiled at Brenna and touched her cheek with a trembling hand.
“I can’t believe you are mine,” he whispered.
“Forever,” she said.
“Congratulations, Duncan and Brenna,” Bridget said.
Brenna smiled. “Thank you, my lady.”
Bridget came to stand beside the bed. “He must rest now, Brenna.”
Brenna nodded, helping Bridget ease Duncan’s covers beneath his chin. How could such a fierce man suddenly appear so very frail?
A wave of silent tears shook her body. She turned into Bridget’s embrace as the greatness of both her love and her fear poured forth from her soul.
“Dear lass,” Bridget crooned. “Come away with us for a while. There is naught to be done now but to let him sleep.”
Brenna pulled away, shaking her head. “Nay.”
“Listen to Bridget, Brenna. You must eat and rest if you are going to do him any good.”
She turned her back to their concern, but still Ronan pushed.
“Please, Brenna.”
She whirled around. “I am not leaving here until Duncan does, one way or the other.”
The priest, Bridget, and Ronan withdrew without further protest. Her heart hammered in her chest. She was trying to steady her breathing when she heard a soft chuckle coming from the bed. She hurried to lie down beside Duncan. Wrapping her arms around him, they lay on their sides facing each other.
“No one…has ever…spoken to Ronan like that,” Duncan whispered.
“Had he pressed me further I might have lashed out with something sharper than my tongue,” she said.
“My fiery wife”, he said as his eyes closed again.
“Sleep now, Duncan. I am here, and I will never let you go,” she vowed.
Soon she turned all her thoughts to the sound of his shallow breathing as he finally fell asleep. With every breath exhaled, she held her own waiting for his chest to rise once more. Willing herself to stay awake she watched as the hours slipped by until at last, bone weary, she succumbed to the sleep.
Chapter 27
She felt the space in the bed next to her, but instead of colliding with the contours of Duncan’s hard, muscled stomach, her hand grazed cold bed linens.
Her eyes flew open. Blessed Mother, where was he?
Like a fool, she threw the covers back to ensure he did not somehow hide beneath.
“Duncan,” she cried as she lunged from the bed, cursing her weakness for surrendering to sleep. She threw the door open and burst through, colliding with Bridget and the dinner tray she carried.
Wine and a meal of oatcakes and stew coated Bridget’s tunic as she pulled the tray from her body.
“I suppose this means I do not have to wake you anymore,” Bridget chuckled.
Brenna grabbed the women’s arms. “Where is he, Bridget? Where is Duncan?”
“Brenna, he rests,” Bridget said, wincing.
“Oh God,” Brenna cried as she collapsed to her knees. “Oh, dear God,” she sobbed, clutching her heart
“Nay, Brenna. Nay, ‘tis not what I meant. He is sitting by the fire. See for yourself,” she said pointing to the tall chair in front of the blazing hearth.
Dumbstruck, Brenna stumbled toward the chair, holding her breath as she circled around it.
There he sat, slumped low with his head bowed in slumber and his feet resting on a stool.
Brenna turned to Bridget, “Why is he out of bed? He is not well enough.” She raked her hand through her unbound hair as confusion threatened to spill fresh tears.
“He is much improved, Brenna,” Bridget said.
“How can you be certain so soon?”
“So soon?” Bridget said. “Lass, you’ve slept longer than I think anyone ever has.”
“What do you mean?” Brenna said, bewildered.
“You’ve slept a full day and a half.”
Astonished, Brenna’s mouth fell open.
“You woke just long enough to use the chamber pot, and I managed to pour some wine down your gullet. You don’t remember, lass?”
Brenna shook her head in response.
“The worst is over,” she said as she pulled Brenna into an embrace. Then she chuckled. “Although I’m afraid, you are now also covered in your dinner.”
Brenna looked down at her stained tunic as relief coursed through her. She crept toward Duncan and lowered herself to her knees. As quiet as a whisper, she laid her head in his lap and exhaled slowly.
***
Duncan opened his eyes. As the blurriness dissipated, the red fire of Brenna’s hair in his lap roused him fully. His hands dove
into the shimmering softness, but she stirred and sat up, robbing him of the chance to indulge in the unbound curls.
“I was enjoying that, lass, if you wouldn’t mind lying back down. I will tell you when I am finished,” he said, a wicked grin pulling at one side of his mouth.
Brenna smiled. “You are alive, Duncan. I will grant any wish you have.”
He stared at her for a moment, her eyes like sensual, blue pools, boring into his. With her aid, he stood. He winced as he straightened and felt a wave of nausea pass through him as the room started to spin. He waited for the dizziness to subside. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a fury of passion, pressing her against his body.
Vaguely, Duncan discerned the sound of a throat clearing, followed my Ronan saying something about Duncan saving his strength for the training fields.
Duncan ignored the intrusion as he started towards the bedroom, never taking his lips from hers.
Ronan wrapped his arms around his wife as they watched the newlyweds disappear.
“Do you think ‘tis wise for him to…ah…exert himself so soon, Shoney,” Ronan said as he nuzzled his wife’s neck.
“Shoney is it? Lately, even when we’ve been alone, you have called me Bridget. I almost forgot the sound of my real name on your lips.”
“Whether Bridget or Shoney, you are my wife, the mother of my many daughters, and forever my pagan queen,” Ronan said, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’ve a mind to take you to our bed and prove to you just how much I love you, but first, wife, answer me. Should he not rest a wee bit longer?”
She laughed as she pulled him toward the exit. “If the dagger could not kill Duncan, I do not think Brenna will. You on the other hand may not be so lucky when I am through with you.”
He lunged forward, scooping her into his arms. “I can think of no finer way to die.”
***
Brenna slid onto the bed, pulling Duncan over her. “We shall have to build a bigger hut”, she said. “Having lain together on such luxury, I cannot imagine sleeping on a pallet ever again.”
He smiled. “My bed could be made of stone as long as you slept beside me, Brenna.” Then his gaze grew ardent. “Wife”, he whispered.
