Sleep claimed her within the hour; the warmth of the fire and full belly had put her back to sleep easily. Still extremely weak from the blood loss, Broderick knew it would take her a while to build her strength back up. He was simply delighted to see the young woman awake and coherent once again.
Several hours slipped passed; he had enjoyed sitting in peace beside her. Resting his eyes and enjoying the warmth, he’d open his eyes long enough to cast his gaze over to her ensuring she slept comfortably in his large chair throughout the night as he sat next to her in his chair. Hearing her shift in the chair he eventually he stood up and gently lifted her up with ease. He walked softly across the room towards his bed; he didn’t want to wake the sleeping beauty in his arms. Setting her down, he pulled the two tartans over her slim figure, followed by his warm covers. Conn and Isla had chosen a spot at the end of the bed on the floor, curled together the two great shaggy hounds settled in for the night.
She had impressed him tonight; she was not demanding, nor vain. She did not order nor complain. She was humble and curious, well spoken and obviously intelligent. He could see her pain, physically and emotionally in her face, yet she never complained once. Either she had a hard time masking her emotions or she simply let her guard down and showed him who she truly was.
He almost expected her to act like royalty, to be snobbish and demanding. Instead, she was the exact opposite. Granted, she was weak as a wee kitten, but she had not acted like what he expected. For a woman known to be hell on the battlefield, he expected her to act like she was in charge, like a spoiled royal.
He knew she would continue to push to join his army when they went south to wage war; he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Time would tell if she could regain strength enough to hold a weapon again, if she couldn’t, there would be no way he could let her join. It would be a death sentence.
Even without the peace treaty between the MacMillan and the Drummond clan, he would have still sought out justice for the fallen clan. It was his duty to ensure justice was dealt. Broderick and Kendrix, along with their elders agreed to wage war once the frost thawed.
Walking back to his leather chair he had occupied only moment ago, he sunk down and sighed. Now that she had awoken, he felt somewhat uncomfortable crawling into bed with her. Although she had not protested his protection, he figured it was best to keep his distance. Protecting her was quite different than sharing a bed with an unwed maiden.
Crossing his arms he closed his eyes and allowed the crackling fireplace to lull him to sleep, he was exhausted, mentally and physically.
Hours later the shuffling of his dogs awoke him from his restless slumber, looking across the room he saw both of his wolfhounds standing up with their heads lying on the bed next to Elisabeth. His dogs heard his movement and swung their heads to look at him before turning back to Elisabeth, once again laying their heads next to her.
Concerned, Broderick slowly stood up and quietly walked over to the bed. He saw her shedding tears in her sleep, lost in another nightmare. His heart ached for the lass; he knew she dreamt of the massacre of her family and people again. It would stay with her soul forever. Over the past week she had suffered though endless nightmares, screaming for her parents and Duncan, for her people, tonight was no different. He silently wondered if she would be haunted for the rest of her life.
Pushing away his dogs gently, he sat down on the side of the bed and pulled off his huntsman kneeboots. Standing back up he pulled off his linen shirt, tossing it aside on the floor beside his boots. Pulling back the blankets he slipped in beside her like he had each night since he rescued her. His soul couldn’t bear to see her cry; locked in a nightmare he scooped her into his arms and kept her warm, attempting to talk her out of her nightmare prison.
In her nightmare, blood and smoke were surrounding her. The screams of innocent children and women called out to her, shadowy faces haunted her, as she stood alone in the ruins of her home.
In the far distance she heard his voice, she sensed his presence, his nearness made her demons vanish. She could hear his velvet voice whisper to her I’ll never let anyone hurt you again Elisabeth, come back to me lass, I need you.
Awaking to the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around her she tried to stop her tears from falling. Her back was flush with his chest, his muscular arms wrapped around her chest holding her tight as tears fell down her face.
She couldn’t explain it, she didn’t understand it, but every part of her soul trusted this man. She was so alone, her family was dead and this pain in her heart was paralyzing. She had never let another man this close to her ever before, yet she needed his comfort. Giving in that fate had designed this man to be her protector, she let her tears fall for her slain family members, her faithful servants and village people. She was not worried to appear weak or womanly; her grief was real and raw.
Broderick knew she was awake when he felt her small hands reach up and squeeze his arms as she continued to cry; her small body shook as she silently grieved her loss.
Squeezing the bonny lass in his arms gently enough not to hurt her shoulder, he leaned close and whispered into her ear, “Grief never ends, but it changes. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor lack of faith Elisabeth; it is the price of love.”
He understood. She knew he understood with those simple words. He too had lost his parents at a young age; treachery and deceit had taken his parents as well. She knew his tale well, all of the highlanders did. She knew he spoke from experience.
With her back to him, she lay wrapped in his arms and cried herself back to sleep.
Broderick held her throughout the night, and eventually feel asleep with the injured warrior angel in his strong arms.
The next morning Broderick woke on his back, in the crook of his arm he held the still sleeping Elisabeth, her injured arm lay across his bare chest, her bare legs entangled with his. Her long silky red hair fanned out across his bed behind her. With the sun on the horizon, he watched her sleep. The dark circles under her eyes were slowly fading away. Her eyes swollen and red from crying last night, he had thought long and hard about what to do with the lass this past week. He still didn’t know. Lying with her snuggled against his chest, he felt that familiar pull he’d been pushing away all week.
He knew the lass needed to marry, but he also knew if she hadn’t gotten married by now there was a good reason. Last night she had repeated his answer, marriage was not for her. He couldn’t force her to marry, especially if her own father and brother hadn’t done so. The thought of her marrying anyone upset him; he had grown very possessive of the lass since they rescued her. His possessiveness of her irritated him. He himself had sworn off marriage after one failed betrothal and the heartbreak that Fiona had caused years ago.
He did know that the longer he slept next to her, the harder it would be to keep his hands off her. He knew he couldn’t marry her, yet he wanted her. He was sworn to protect her, but who would protect her from him? He wasn’t sure if he could resist the temptation. She was siren; her hair and eyes were captivating, her voice was soft and arousing. Her skin was perfection, and her battle scars made her all that more attractive to him. Talking to her last night made him even more intrigued by her; she had intelligence to match her beautiful face.
Waking up with her lying on his chest made him feel at peace. For years he dismissed women after being jaded by Fiona, his trust in women was nonexistent for years, with the exception of Old Rhona his old nursemaid.
He thought over Rhona and Caitriona’s strange words of destiny, lying with her in his warm bed, he wondered if the old hens were right. He had felt like he was fighting destiny anytime he walked away from her. The pull to her side was overpowering to him. There was something overly alluring to him about her being able to wield a bow and a broadsword with deadly precision. Her intelligence added to her overall enchanting package, she was his personal siren. He almost wished she were vile; it would be easier to push her out of his mind if he didn’
t like her. His head and heart were fighting, something he was unfamiliar with. Growing irritated with himself, he detangling himself out from under her small frame. Slipping out of his bed he quietly walked over to his wardrobe. Pulling out a clean shirt he adjusted his kilt and pulled out a fresh tartan and secured it over his shoulder. Grabbing his dirk he walked over to the mantle and lifted his broadsword down, securing it in his leather holster. Running his hands through his hair he silently signaled for his hounds, he had yet to look back at his bed.
Conn and Isla were close behind him as he turned to walk out the door, when he heard her velvet voice behind him.
“Broderick?”
Standing before his door, he turned to see her sitting on the edge of his bed. Clearly in pain and too weak, she clenched her jaw as her body screamed in agony.
Walking over to the bed, he swung her bare feet back into bed, “Elisabeth, you know you are not ready to walk yet. This will take time. You were almost cleaved in two lass,” tucking her bare legs back under the warm sheets he saw her close her eyes as she leaned back.
Rubbing her face with her small hands, she groaned, “How long must I stay in this room?”
“Until you can walk confidently on your own again. It will take time Elisabeth. Meet the MacMillan clan as a strong healthy woman, not a knock-kneed fawn,” he countered, “it is a miracle you are alive Elisabeth, you will get there. I’ll have Rhona come up and bring you a bath. You will like her, she’s been with my family before I was born, old and interfering bat. She will be most pleased to finally talk to you, she and my brother are the only ones who know your true identity, and you are safe with her.” He said with a humorous smile. “Please do not think of this as prison, you are a welcome guest here lass, when you are well you can have the freedom to go wherever your heart takes you.”
Bowing her head, “I am sorry Broderick, I meant no disrespect. I owe you far more than I ever can repay.”
“I’ll return later today, rest easy Elisabeth, you will recover.”
Chapter 4
Ten days later Elisabeth was able to walk with ease again, granted, she hid her pain from Broderick the best she could. There was no denying her wound caused her great strife. She slowly was able to get out of bed and walk around the room with no help at the end of ten days. Her wound pained her when she tried lifting her left arm to high, deep breathing still made her chest ache.
Her ten days consisted of sleeping, eating and visiting with Old Rhona during the mornings and afternoons. The healer, Caitriona, had visited daily to change her bandages as she rattled on about destiny and fate. Broderick had been accurate, she liked Old Rhona immensely, and the elderly woman was enjoyable entertainment. They had talked each day about her slain family, about her childhood and how she had come to learn the sword and bow from her brother.
Rhona helped her through the grieving process more than she could have imagined, the wise elder had soft words for her when she cried, and a warm embrace that held her like a grandmother during her trying times. She told Elisabeth, warrior or not, tears were not weakness and to let them flow. They had bonded within the walls of Broderick’s room.
As each day passed, her fatigue lessened and slowly her strength started to return. Rhona made sure Elisabeth didn’t push herself during the day; taking small steps and making the lass take small walks around the room each day with her help.
Each evening Broderick would come to check on her and dine with her in the privacy of his room As soon as he was done outside, he would spend the evenings talking of their families, they had never lacked for discussion.
Broderick had taken to sleeping in the chair by the fire the past week; she hadn’t pushed the issue of obtaining her own room as she truly enjoyed his company. She was afraid if she had her own room, she’d be overly lonely. She looked forward for her evenings with Broderick. Although she knew she couldn’t continue living in his room forever, she would have to approach the subject eventually. Assuming he was waiting for her heal enough to be alone through the night she figured he was simply waiting until she was ready.
Near a fortnight after awaking from her coma, she awoke with cheerful determination. Waking before Broderick, she padded across the room quietly as to not wake Broderick who slept in the leather chair. Walking over to his wardrobe, she quickly donned an ivory gown quietly in the corner. Pulling a green tunic overtop that was embroidered with Celtic knots along the bottom. Old Rhona had shown her the plethora of lovely fresh clothing for her earlier this week that hung in Broderick’s wardrobe. She was overly thankful to finally have clothing to wear instead of being in a chemise when Broderick came back each night.
Slipping on the new leather boots Rhona had made her, she brushed her hair as she thought over the words she would say to Broderick. Since she had begun to start walking again, he had made it a point to leave the room before she woke. She was starting to begin to think he was avoiding her.
With her long coppery locks flowing over her left shoulder she plaited her hair as she thought over her words. Lifting her left arm a tad too high, she swore under her breath as pain lanced through her entire chest.
Broderick woke to the sound of Elisabeth cursing; opening his eyes slowly he looked over his shoulder to see her standing fully dressed in a beautifully fitting gown across the room. Her long silky red hair fell over her shoulder down to her waist in a single plait. The gown hid her injury from view and hugged her frame perfectly. She looked like the picture of perfect health, she looked irresistible, there was no way to avoid saying no.
He knew the day had come.
“Good morrow Elisabeth, you look lovely this morning. Are ye going somewhere lass?” he asked as he slowly sat up, his neck sore from sleeping in the chair. Standing up he saw his two wolfhounds sitting at Elisabeth’s feet by the door.
“I was hoping you could give me a tour of the castle if you were free this morning. I’m feeling much stronger; I need to stretch my legs. Even a small walk outside these four walls, surely you understand Broderick, it has been weeks,” she asked sweetly, smiling at him.
Standing up, he stretched out his sore muscles and nodded and grinned, “Aye lass, I do. Would you like to walk with me to take the hounds outside for their morning run?” he asked as he walked over to his wardrobe and placed his dirk in his belt, and then walked over to the mantle to get his broadsword.
Smiling brightly, “Aye, I would love that!”
“Come on here lass, we need to discuss a few things first,” he crooked his finger.
Walking gracefully over to the fireplace, she stood so closely her soft skirt brushed against his legs, “Yes Laird MacMillan?” she teased politely. She had grown to know him quite well these past ten days; she was pleased to know he knew how to laugh.
Smirking at her, “You may call me Broderick in public Elisabeth, so enough of that,” running a gentle hand over her injured shoulder, “If the pain becomes too much, you are to tell me, do you understand?” he asked, “I will take omission of fact just like lying to me Elisabeth. If you want to be viewed as a warrior and an equal in my eyes, you must always tell me the truth, even if that is admitting weakness. I despise liars; never lie to me Elisabeth, ever.”
Nodding to him, she understood. A warrior could not protect that which he didn’t fully understand. She had a deep need to have his respect and trust, she knew he had little faith in women; she meant to change that, starting with her. She too hated liars, vowing to herself to always be truthful to him, no matter what.
“Aye” she agreed to easily enough, his simple touch set her on fire. It had been days since he had made physical contact. He had slept in the chair for over the past ten days, never once did he join her. Her nightmares had disappeared, thus he had no reason to lie next to her.
“The clan knows we rescued a Drummond survivor, they dinnae know you are the daughter of Laird Drummond. Only my brother Kendrix and Old Rhona know your true identity. As you meet my people, word will spread. Are you prep
ared to rise from the grave? All of the highlands believe their Warrior Queen to be dead.”
Standing up a little straighter she looked into his eyes, ignoring the painful pull in her shoulder, “Aye Broderick, tis time.”
“Let’s go lass, the hounds need to run.”
Winding her arm around his without hesitation, she walked with him out of his room and down the winding stairs to the main keep, the dogs running in front of them.
Taking the steep stairs slowly, Broderick took a moment to speak with Elisabeth of a few matters, “MacMillan clan has been anxious to meet you Elisabeth, if you become overwhelmed, please tell me.”
Smiling up at the dark haired highlander, “I am excited to meet your people Broderick; my family spoke highly of your clan.”
Walking into the keep, still very early morning it was empty. Conn and Isla patiently waited by the massive wooden doors that led out into the bailey.
Taking in all the sights, Elisabeth was greatly impressed with the castle. Large and warm, the smell of fresh bread wafted through the halls. Rich tapestries hung along all of the walls. She familiarized herself with the castle as they had walked downstairs; it was a beautiful keep, warm and inviting. Everything about the castle was personalized, down to the candleholders bearing the MacMillan crest, to the intricately carved arched beams that lined the castle. Soft runners lined the stone floors, ornamental shields hung upon the hallway corridors. The MacMillan plaid and crest was prevalent throughout the entire castle. It was warm and inviting, it was a place of peace and sanctuary, and no one pierced the walls of Castle MacMillan.
Walking next to the handsome warrior she looked up at his face. His skin was still tanned from the warmer months; his brilliant green eyes sparkled. He was very tall and built like stone; she barely came up to his shoulder as they walked. She felt safe by his side. It almost felt like she had her own bodyguard, the thought made her grin. His demeanor had changed when they had walked out of his room. He seemed even more protective.
Branded by a Warrior Page 6
