Chapter III
Garrick stood in his stirrups to stretch the ache from his thick-muscled thighs. Visiting Laird Fraser had been a welcome respite from his daily mundane duties as laird of the Brodie clan. He did not regret the responsibility but he wished that his father had lived a few more years before getting himself killed reiving.
His eyes hardened as he remembered that time. It was such a waste. Reiving was a fact of life among the Scottish clans. They had done their fair share of it. It was like a rite of passage for young lads into manhood. Besides, the MacGregors could have stolen the sheep back. But his father chose to risk clansmen’s lives, and his own, over five sheep. And for that he died.
Garrick had despised the MacGregors because of it but he had refused to escalate the situation further. A good laird chooses his battles wisely. And Garrick was a very good laird. He could not blame Seamus MacGregor for his own father’s foolishness.
That was seven years past now. He was only three and twenty when he became laird. It was time to begin a bride search and get an heir. That was part of the reason for visiting his father’s friend, Laird Fraser. He had a strong clan. It was a shame that his daughters were so hard to gaze upon. They were pleasant enough. He could not fault them there… but he could not tolerate the thought of bedding one of them. He shuddered.
“Thinking about those Fraser lasses yet again,” Angus chortled taking a swig from his leather flagon. “They shore be a sight. Near scorched me eyes gazing upon ‘em.”
Garrick grinned at his cousin. “Aye, they were that. But I am thinking that someone else should be blessed with that sight...nae me.” His men laughed quietly behind him. He grew somber after a few moments.
Garrick glanced over at Angus as their horses plodded along the burn that ran the length of Brodie land north to south where it ultimately joined Fraser’s borders. His cousin was ten years his senior and captain of the guard. Garrick and he had been friends all their lives and he held him in high esteem.
“How did ye ken when ye had found the right woman, Angus? Was it a certain look? A touch? A smile?”
Angus grew serious. His brown eyes constantly alert in spite of the uisge beatha that he always had with him, softened in his red-bearded face. “Aye...and nae. Do nae misinterpret, Garrick. There was a powerful pull of those things. Nae other woman drew me like me Mary. But when I asked me self if I could live without her...that is when I kenned for certain. Cause the answer was always ‘nae’.” He slapped Garrick casually on the shoulder. “Doona fear, me Laird. Ye will find your woman. Just be sure ye do nae lose her.”
“Aye. I hope so.” He shook himself out of his reverie, studying his surroundings. He noted that it was getting late in the day, nearly gloaming, and they still had a day’s ride left to Brodie Castle. His black destriar, Cadence, tossed his head snorting, side-stepping as he got a whiff of blood on the breeze. His nostril’s flared as he pranced apprehensively beneath Garrick.
“Easy boy,” he murmured as he silently slide his claymore from its sheath on his back. Five more behind him followed suit. Two men in the rear slipped like ghosts into the thick growth of trees along the bank in opposite directions to flank them, if need be.
“What is it?” Angus whispered as he drew close to his side.
“Cadence scents blood.” As they continued onward toward the bend, Garrick kept his eyes trained on the branches above him as Angus watched their sides.
“Laird Brodie!” shouted one of his scouts from round the bend. Garrick put his heels to his horse. He thundered around the copse of trees blinding him of the burn only to rein in his horse abruptly. Cadence reared whinnying his displeasure at the halt of his blood-lust.
He could not be certain of the sight before him. At the bottom of a steep cliff lay a palfrey with its head at an unnatural angle… obviously dead. What astounded him was a pack of wolves totaling about ten that defended the meal in spite of the fact that he and his men drew near to them. Most would have dispersed at the threat.
“My Laird!” one man cried in distress pointing beyond the steed toward the burn’s edge. Garrick’s stunned gaze snapped toward the bank spying a lone wolf looming near a motionless form laying on the muddy shore. He did not waver. Putting heel to horse, they attacked as one at the lone wolf. Within seconds Cadence was atop him pounding his hooves into the already lifeless animal. Garrick leapt from the saddle running to the still figure to examine it for life.
Behind him, his men were busy dispatching the remainder of the pack. He sprawled on his knees as a second wolf plowed into him snarling and snapping his strong jaws. Having lost his sword, Garrick rolled over drawing a dirk from his boot just afore the beast was on him again, straining to rip out his throat. He clamped his hand under the wolf’s jaw as he thrust upward with his dirk stabbing it in the chest. The wolf yelped rolling off of him and Garrick speedily slit its throat.
He rested on his hands and knees for a moment drawing in great gulps of air. That was too close. I have never seen such resolve before. They were too brazen. As Garrick’s heart slowed to a sounder beat and his breathing steadied he glanced at the still form a few feet away. His mouth fell open as he forgot to breathe altogether. Stunning! That was his only thought as he gaped at the striking woman before him.
She was the most beautiful lass he had ever seen. Her face was heart-shaped with high cheekbones and thin dark brows arching at the outer edges. Her small pert nose had the slightest upturn at the tip above the sensuous rosy lips. Her eyes were exotically raised at the ends. All of this perfection was surrounded by lightly bronzed skin and crowned with glorious light auburn hair. For a moment, all he could do was drink in the sight of her… feasting on her beauty.
That is when he detected the pool of blood beneath her head. He shook off his stupor and quickly determined that she was still breathing. He ran his hands gently along her limbs and ribs, checking for broken bones or swelling. He could not seem to stop himself from tenderly brushing his fingertips over her full breasts. That is when he found the parchment tucked inside. Garrick shoved it into his sporran for reading later and ran his hands behind her neck and down her spine.
Satisfied with his examination of her, he rotated her over toward him placing her head on his powerful thigh to have a nearer look at her injury.
She did not make a sound as he prodded the lump the size of a hen’s egg on her temple.
“Angus, we will make camp here. Build a fire and make a pallet close by. Get me spare plaid ta cover her,” he added as he perceived the rents in her gown, “and me undertunic.”
His men set about following his commands as he assessed the cut of her clothing. They suggested that she was highborn but not excessively wealthy...a chief’s daughter perhaps. But what was she doing on Brodie land? He shook his head. Taking his dirk, he cut a strip of cloth from his tunic wetting it in the burn and began wiping the blood and mud from her face. The bleeding had ceased. He was wrapping a loose binding on her head when Angus approached him with the tunic.
He sucked in his breath when he saw her. “Jesu! What a feast for the eyes this lass be! Do ye ken who she be?”
“Nae. I do nae ken her but I would like to. Help me with the tunic so I can move her.” Once she was settled on the pallet Garrick examined the trappings on her steed.
“There be nae help there, Laird. I saw naught that revealed her clan colors. Mayhap when she wakes she can tell us.” Angus shook his head. “If the lass wakes atoll. Her breathing is nae good. Tis scarcely a breath she takes. And she is excessively still...nae a flicker of movement or sound.”
Garrick nodded to himself. He was disturbed with her motionlessness, too. He had seen enough injuries like this one to know that it was not a normal sleep and some never woke again. He prayed that this was not this lass’s destiny.
He walked back to the camp and sat across the fire from her puzzling over her identity. She was beautiful. He speculated what color her eyes were behind the long dark lashes gracing her s
lightly flushed cheeks. He felt his loins begin to harden as his gaze stroked her from head to toe. Who could have spawned such perfection? He recalled the parchment in his sporran but dreaded the reading of it. He did not want to know where she belonged...that perhaps she was promised to someone. She is mine! I found her. I saved her. And I want her! The thought was so powerful that it shook him. He had to know who she was though. Perhaps he could ask her father for her. That was the honorable thing to do. He just was not sure he could be honorable where this lass was concerned.
Sighing to himself, he pulled the parchment out reading its contents. He smiled. Her name is Seonaid. It suits her. And she is nae pledged ta anyone...yet. But I still do nae ken who ta ask for her hand. He smiled grimly...but that will nae stop me. His eyes darted back across the flames to find himself captured in two exotic emerald pools.
Her head was pounding like a drum in time with the beat of her heart. Why did it hurt? She could not remember. She kept her eyes closed as she swam closer to the sounds above her. She acknowledged the sound of horses blowing and pawing the earth. Night birds singing, bugs chirping too stridently for her sore head. She felt the heat of a fire close by, its pungent smoke drifting lightly in her nostrils. She heard the crackle and pop of burning wood and...men... snoring!
Her eyes flew open in alarm but she dared not move. She hurt all over. Right down to her fingers and toes. She glanced across the flames to see a rather large highlander reading something. His forehead was broad with slashing black eyebrows, a straight nose, high cheekbones and a squared chin. He was topped off with a strong, lightly whiskered jaw, sensuous lips on a full mouth with long blue-black hair braided at his temples and...startling sapphire eyes, she realized as his attention was drawn to her.
Who was he? A clan chief for certain as he wears the braids of a chief. But she did not know him or where she was or why she was here. She delved deeper into her thoughts and grasped that she did not know her own clan...or even her name. The harder she tried to remember the more sorely her head throbbed. She decided that those answers could wait for now. It would come to her in time.
She heard a deep, rumbling voice inquire, “How do ye fare, Lass?” It felt as though it rolled right through her veins igniting little sparks all the way of its journey. She blinked and opened her mouth to speak but could only manage a whisper. “Thirsty.”
He nodded and picked up a bladder of water bringing it to her. As he knelt beside her raising her head for a drink he cautioned, “Sip slowly, Lass. Your stomach will be unsettled after the blow ye received ta your brow.”
She closed her eyes as she felt his strong arm wrap around her shoulders for support and drank from the skin. Her eyes gaped as she rolled hastily away... bile spewing from her lips. “Are you trying to poison me?” she cried hoarsely.
Garrick was stunned at her outburst then realized the blunder. He brought the skin to his nose and inhaled deeply. Uisge beatha! He cursed himself. He had inadvertently picked up Angus’ skin. “Pardon, Lass, I picked up me cousin’s bladder by mistake. He can nae live without his uisge beatha...or so he claims.” She glared at him as he exchanged the skin for one containing water. He aided her with a drink from the second skin, after both she and Garrick sniffed it, then assisted her as she lay back down. She decided that it was an honest mistake after giving it some thought so she chose to let it pass.
“I hurt all over,” she groaned. “What happened?”
“I can nae be certain but it looks like ye and your mare went over a small bluff. Do nae ye ken what occurred?”
Seonaid shook her head and promptly lamented it as a fresh surge of pain and dizziness engulfed her. She moaned reaching for her head when she felt her hand captured in his. Electricity flashed through her. She gasped at the sensation roiling through her senses. Their eyes collided in a collective stunned surprise. Both frozen in the mysterious maelstrom that held them paralyzed in its grip. In that moment...within that trace of time...she touched Garrick’s soul. She sensed a connection to him that she did not comprehend. Who are you? She thought to herself.
Garrick. He answered before he realized they were not speaking audibly.
He jolted back dropping her hand as if it was on fire.
A trace of fear flashed across his countenance before he quickly masked it. “Ye should rest. If ye are well enough by morn we will travel on ta Castle Brodie.”
She nodded sluggishly closing her eyes to sleep. She was still weak and her eyes were heavy. She would just have to wait till she was stronger to puzzle out the answers, she thought as she drifted back into the blackness.
He had perceived her thoughts! How might this be? Was she a witch? He did not believe in witches, he snorted. That kind of thinking was for superstitious fools. But something transpired, of that he was certain. He made a mental note to himself to speak with the old healer, Hagar, when he returned home. If anyone would discern what it was...she would.
“The lass spoke ta ye last eve, Garrick? Did she say who her people were?”
He shook his head as he chewed thoughtfully on his oatcake. “Nay. She was nae conscious for long and she was in quite a bit of pain. She did nae even think ta ask me name.” At least nae where a body could hear her, he held to himself.
“If she is able, we will continue on home. Liam,” his attention turned to a gangling young lad of about five and ten years old, shaking him out of his awed scrutiny of Seonaid. His freckled face blushed profusely at his laird catching him staring. “Aye m’laird?”
Garrick eyed his young squire. He could not begrudge the lad...or any of his men for staring at Seonaid. She was a stunning woman. But he would not allow anything more. He clenched his fists as the thought annoyed him.
He was a sensible man led by reason tempered with a great deal of patience. That is what made him a worthy laird. He used logic in place of desire when making vital decisions. But when he came near this lass there was no logic, no reason...only passion. He could not fathom it. In all of his thirty years this had never happened to him. He would need to tread lightly where she was concerned. She must be handled prudently.
Garrick glanced up at the lad standing before him. “Ride ahead to the keep and have a chamber prepared for our guest. Let them ken that twill likely be the morrow before we arrive. And have Hagar brought in ta tend her injuries.”
Liam hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting to and fro as he shuffled his feet. Garrick noticed his distress. “Be there a difficulty lad?”
“N-nay m’laird,” he stuttered as he glanced at Seonaid’s sleeping form. “Are ye sure ye will nae need me to care for Cadence. He is right particular about who tends him.”
Garrick’s eyes flashed as he glanced at the true object of Liam’s thinking. In a steely voice spoken between gritted teeth, he rejoined, “Are ye proposing that I am too feeble ta tend me own mount… or mayhap addle-pated? Be gone lad before I rethink me choice of squires!” he snapped at him with a slash of his arm.
Liam gulped stammering, “Nay m’laird...I -I mean aye m’laird.” His mouth gaped as he grasped that neither of his answers were good. He spun toward the horses, leapt upon his palfrey and galloped away. “And do nae kill your horse getting there!” Garrick shouted after him.
Angus roared with laughter. Garrick spun on him still clenching his fists. Angus’ eyes crinkled with merriment as he sputtered, “Me thinks young Liam may need ta stop and change his braes afore he returns ta Castle Brodie.” Garrick’s lips began to twitch as the tension seeped from his muscles.
“Aye, do ye think so Angus? Still, the lad must learn ta accept me orders without question. Lives could depend on his response.” His dark eyes began to sparkle as the thought of Liam soiling his braes molded in his mind’s eye. He chuckled beneath his breath.
“Well I trust ye put the fear of God in him this time.” he cackled slapping him on the back. His eyes sobered as he glimpsed at Seonaid. “The lad is just besotted with her.”
“Aye. I ken it. I will h
ave ta resolve what is ta be done with her. I can nae permit a lass that looks like her ta run about me castle unattached. Twould be endless fighting amongst the men.”
“Aye ta be sure she would be a huge distraction. Ye could wed her ta one of the men if she has nae clan or kinfolk.”
Garrick’s head snapped up at the proposal. Wed her to someone else? His eyes narrowed. Nae while I still draw breath! He swore to himself.
“She has a father. She carried a parchment on her from him.”
“Who is she then, Garrick? Mayhap your problem is resolved.”
He shook his head. “Her name is Seonaid and she be a maiden still... with nae attachments. But her father did nae sign the message and there was nae seal. From the worth of her gown she must be a chief’s daughter. But nae a rich one.”
A sly mien crept across Angus’ face. “Then keep her if the lassie does nae ken her relations.” He shrugged. “Have her even if she does. They did nae guard her very well. Tis shameful ta leave one such as her exposed ta peril.” He paused allowing the thought to take root. “Were nae we just on a wee trip ta search ye out a bride? Twould nae be unheard of for a highlander ta steal one...and this one fell right in our lap.”
Garrick’s eyes moved over Seonaid. Angus was right. Her family had not protected her at all. He was, similarly, correct about bride stealing being a common practice. Hell, he was right about everything. So why was his honor flinching at this notion? He required a wife and he coveted Seonaid. Still... “Tis nae honorable!”
“Nae honorable?” Angus spat on the ground. “Tis nae honorable ta nae protect her! And bride-stealing is one of the most honorable traditions a highlander can uphold!”
Garrick studied Angus’ weathered face to see if he was jesting but he was dead serious. He meant what he had said.
“Bah! Do what ye will, Garrick! Just remember what I said about letting the one slip away.” He stomped off to find his uisge beatha to settle his ire. If he was nae cautious, Garrick’s notion of honor was going ta make him miserable! Bah!
Blessing The Highlander Page 3
