“And maybe just a wee mite of stubbornness,” Brenna couldn’t resist adding. She could tell Magnus was still a little disgruntled she had disobeyed him.
“A wee mite?” he interjected, giving her a look that said all might be forgiven, but it would not be forgotten.
She slid her hand through his arm, then patted it. “I would attempt meekness in front of Lord Crestshire, but we would all know it for the lie it was.”
“That we would,” Magnus agreed.
Crestshire pulled a small silver watch from his waistcoat pocket and gave it a glance. “Duty calls,” he said as he returned to his saddle. Reluctance and a sad wistfulness shadowed his tone and his movements. “As much as I’m tempted to leave Fort William in disarray for Barricourt, I dare not for my well-being.” With a half-hearted shrug, he grinned. “I am already considered a sympathizer.” His smile became more willful and broadened even more. “And I am damn proud of that reputation.”
“May the gods protect ye and send ye happiness, my friend,” Magnus replied. “Ye may not be a Scot by blood, but ye are one at heart.” He lifted a hand in farewell. “A brother, forever.”
“A brother, forever,” Crestshire repeated, then gave a gallant nod to Brenna. “God bless you, madam. May you both be gifted with happiness and good health all your days.”
“And ye as well, m’lord,” she said, deciding that Lord Crestshire wasn’t so terrible after all, even if he was English. As he rode away, she sent up hope and a prayer that the man would find happiness.
“I sent ye to the keep,” Magnus repeated, his deep tone bristling with irritation.
“Aye. Ye mentioned that earlier.” She turned to face the scolding head-on. It would be interesting to see what he had to say since he had become so leery about choosing the wrong words. “And I shall give ye the same answer I gave before, ‘I came back to save yer sorry arse from the English.’”
Fair brows knotted over his narrowed eyes. He swelled with a deep inhale, then snorted it out.
“Ye know ye look like a Highland bull when yer nostrils flare like that.” She pointed at his boots. “All ye need do now is paw at the ground.”
“Disobeying me when I am trying to protect ye is not a jesting matter, lass.”
She stepped closer, giving him a stern look of her own. “Ye best learn now that I dinna ‘obey’ well. I trust my instincts when it comes to protecting myself and those I care about. They have yet to fail me.”
His demeanor immediately changed. It relaxed. Warmed. He closed the remaining distance between them. “So, ye do care about me then?”
“Aye, I do.” She swallowed hard, nearly choking on the admission. How could she not? He had made it damn near impossible not to…to…dare she even think the word? Name that dangerous emotion? “I am not a fool. Ye think I would promise myself to someone I despised?”
He slid his hand along her cheek and laced his fingers in her hair. “It’s fallen loose,” he whispered.
“What?” Between the intensity of his touch and his intoxicating nearness, she struggled to concentrate on what he meant.
“Yer hair.” With both hands, he fluffed her waist-length tresses through his hands. “Ye must ha’ ridden hard to come back and save me.”
“I did.” She rested both hands on his chest, then slid them up the warm, muscular expanse to his shoulders. “Now, ye must give me time to tend to my hair, or yer kin will surely think ye have brought them a mess of a woman.”
“I like it loose,” he said as he leaned closer. “And I dinna give a damn what they think,” he added in a husky whisper against her mouth. “May I?”
“Ye may stop asking permission before each kiss. I promise ye will know well enough when ye’re not welcome to proceed.”
His smile tickled across her lips until the heat of the kiss seared the tickling away. Never had she felt as safe and cared for as she did at that very moment. Surrounded by rock-hard muscles but held as gently as a babe, a breathtaking combination of fierce strength and warm tenderness swept her away on a wave of happiness. The longer the kiss lasted, the more she wished it never to end. Disappointment filled her when he lifted his head.
“We…should go,” he forced out, his breathing ragged. “The lads.”
“Aye.” She blinked, struggling to pull free of the delicious daze. “The lads.” With a reluctance born of few pleasures ever received, she stepped out of his embrace. A long ribbon snagged in the neckline of her shift reminded her of her hair. Hands flying to repair the damage, she turned and looked in the direction she had left his horse hidden. “Yer horse is that way. Straight through those bushes. Ye might fetch him whilst I sort out this mess.”
He stilled her hands and fixed her with a look that also stilled her heart. “Not before ye swear ye will do as I ask from now on when I’m trying to keep ye safe.” He paused, his gaze fierce and searing. “Ye forced me to acknowledge I still have a heart. Dinna rip it in two by getting yerself killed because of foolish stubbornness, ye ken? What if it hadna been Lord Crestshire? What if it had been a detachment of soldiers, and they laid claim to both of us? Where would that have left Keigan? Do it for him, if ye willna do it for me. In any other matter, I dinna give a rat’s arse if ye do as ye damn well please, but when I fear for yer safety, I need ye to do as I say. Will ye do that for me, mo chridhe?”
As much as it hurt her to admit it, he was in the right, and she had been wrong—for all the reasons he had stated and more. “Aye, I admit I didna use good sense.” Any other man would have beaten her for disobeying, and rightly so. But not Magnus. He had made his point painfully clear by speaking to her heart. “Will ye forgive me?”
“Aye, love.” He framed her face in his hands but didn’t kiss her. Instead, he arched a brow. “This time, ye ken?”
“I ken.” She smiled, then nudged him away. “On wi’ ye now, while I tame this rat’s nest.” She returned to smoothing back her blonde curls and twisting them into a neatly plaited bun.
A low pounding, loud as thunder and steadily growing stronger, startled them both.
“Come!” Snatching hold of her hand, Magnus plowed into the nearest thicket, then balanced them both as they slid down the hillside and took cover behind the broad base of a mighty tree uprooted and half fallen. He covered her body with his as he peered upward, watching the road.
Brenna recognized the sound now. Horses. Many horses. Galloping at a hard run. But then she heard an even more frightening sound: silence. The drove of riders had stopped just above them. She held her breath, praying it was Lord Crestshire’s men and not followers of the tyrant he had said would soon be in their midst.
“There!” came a shout. “See the branches?”
“Thank the gods,” Magnus muttered as he pushed himself to his feet and offered her his hand. His reassuring grin calmed her pounding heart. “’Tis Alexander. The chieftain.”
“Praise God Almighty.” She held tight to him as they slogged up the steep hillside that had been much easier to slide down than climb.
“The MacCoinnich guards,” Magnus announced with pride as they crested the shallow ravine and stepped out of the bushes. “Alexander!”
“How many men set upon ye?” asked Alexander, a large man with hair blacker than Satan’s waistcoat.
“Are either of ye hurt?” asked a second man, who had to be a brother since he and the chief shared such a striking resemblance.
Pulling Brenna to his side, Magnus held up a hand and shook his head. “Ease yerselves, my fine brothers. All is well. It’s naught but a wee misunderstanding.”
“How wee?” Alexander asked.
“’Tis my fault,” Brenna spoke up. “I thought Magnus set upon by redcoats and told Evander as much when I sent him to the keep. I didna discover until I returned to fight them that the man was a friend of yer clan.”
“I thought the same, lass,” Magnus said.
The chieftain winced, then scrubbed a hand across his mouth. “Lord Crestshire?”
“Aye,” she said.
“It is both my pride and pleasure to introduce ye to my lady love, Brenna Maxwell,” Magnus said as he gently pulled her closer. “It is all right, mo chridhe,” he whispered. “Chin up, my brave one, so they can meet ye proper.”
Inhaling deeply, she lifted her head and faced the men staring down at her from their fully armed warhorses.
The chief blessed her with a genuine smile and a noble nod. “I am Alexander MacCoinnich, chieftain to Clan MacCoinnich, and it is my true honor to meet ye, m’lady.” A warm chuckle escaped him. “I am more than a little glad our brother Magnus, here, has finally found someone willing to watch over him.”
“None of us thought that would ever happen, I grant ye that,” said the man who looked so much like Alexander. “And I am Graham MacCoinnich.” He tilted his head toward the chieftain. “Brother to this one, here, and clan war chief.”
Her cheeks still burning, Brenna made a shallow curtsey. “Again, I am sorry. I didna mean to cause such alarm.” She felt like a fool.
“Ye had no way of knowing,” Alexander reassured. His gaze traveled across the several men they had brought with them. “And it did us good.” His expression hardened. “With Lord Crestshire leaving Fort William, we no longer have an ally among the English. ’Tis best we be prepared for the worst.” Settling his scowl on Magnus, he asked, “Did ye speak with him and learn of what I speak?”
“Aye.” Magnus resettled his stance and stood taller. “But it didna surprise me. We were lucky to have a sympathetic ear at Fort William for as long as we did.”
Agreement rumbled through the gathering of men.
Alexander motioned back toward the direction from which they had come. “Back to the keep, men.” As the group milled around to head out, he looked back and smiled at Brenna and Magnus. “We shall see the two of ye at Tor Ruadh. Catriona will be delighted to have such a fine reason for a grand feast. Dinna tarry, aye?”
“We will be right along,” Magnus promised.
Watching the fearless guard ride away, Brenna shook her head. “Word will spread, and the entire clan will think me a careless fool.”
“They willna think such.” Magnus kissed her hand and tugged for her to follow. “If anything, they’ll think ye the perfect addition to the clan since nearly every MacCoinnich wife wouldha done the same were she to find herself in yer place.”
Chapter Eight
“Auntie! Auntie!”
“Thank the Almighty,” Brenna whispered.
Keigan’s shrill cry reached her over and over as they passed through the final stone arch of the protective barbican with its series of iron gates and entered the main bailey. The crowd’s stares stung like biting midges, but with her dear lad charging toward her, she ignored them all and focused on him.
“Help me down, aye?” She patted Magnus’s arm, eager to gather her precious child into a fierce hug.
“Down ye go, mo chridhe.” He swung her to the ground as though she weighed less than a cloud, then dismounted and took his place beside her.
Keigan hit her at full speed, clutching her tighter than bark on a tree. “I was afeared, Auntie! Sore afeared the Sassenachs had gotten ye both.”
She gathered him up and hugged him as tight as he clung to her. “It is all right, my dearest one,” she shushed, pressing kisses to his cheek. “We are safe here. Safe as can be.”
“I feared for the both of ye. Feared I would be all alone,” he repeated in a hiccupping whisper. Keigan rarely cried. Whenever he did, his emotions came from so deep within, hiccups always followed. “I dinna want to be alone, Auntie. Not ever.”
As much as she had dreaded meeting Magnus’s clan, it struck her how right he had been to bring them here. With this new extended family, Keigan would never find himself alone if anything should ever happen to her. Aye, this decision had scared the living daylights out of her. Still did. But it was good. Holding Keigan close, she turned to Magnus. His pained expression showed how much he hurt for the lad. It also told her he watched with rapt attention to see what she would tell the child. Crouching down, she pried the boy loose and stood him in front of her. With a swipe of her thumb, she brushed aside his tears, then pulled a square of linen from her sleeve and held it to his nose. “Blow.”
Keigan complied.
“Now, look me in the eyes, dear one. Look at me, so I know ye understand what I am about to say. Understand it without a doubt, aye?”
After a deep shuddering sniff, the boy nodded, then jerked with the force of another hiccup.
“Yer da brought ye here so ye would never be alone.” She gently squeezed his hands and smiled. “Clan MacCoinnich is yer family now, too.” With a nod toward the men, women, and children gathered around them, she forced herself to speak with a conviction she didn’t yet feel. “Ye have cousins, aunties, and uncles by the droves now. None of these folks would ever leave ye out in the cold. And as soon as they get to know ye, they will love ye, true. I promise.”
“As much as ye do?”
“No one could ever love ye as much as I do,” she said. “But they will love ye, and should anything happen to yer da or I, they will take care of ye.” She forced a calmness to hide all her doubts and fears. “I promise ye, Keigan. Ye know I would never lie to ye.”
Magnus knelt beside her. He took hold of Keigan and turned him toward the crowd. He pointed out a beautiful, red-haired woman made even lovelier by the kindness of her smile. “Yer Auntie Catriona over there promised me before I left to find ye that she would take ye in as one of her own if need be.” He chuckled. “With five bairns already, she said a sixth wouldna even be noticed.” Then he motioned toward another lass with curly hair as bright as polished copper. “Yer Auntie Gretna there promised the same.”
“And so did yer Auntie Mercy,” said a woman whose empty gaze did nothing to diminish her loveliness. Tall and willowy with silky black hair and a serene smile, she held an ornate cane in one hand and stood with her face lifted as though sensing everything in the air. “Forgive me for interrupting,” she hurried to add. With an arm around the shoulders of the wee lass beside her, she tilted her head in the child’s direction. “My daughter, Effie, wanted to be sure and get in her bid for another brother since she has decided that her current sibling is no longer suitable.”
“Ramsay is rude and tells me to go away when he wants to play swords wif William and Finn.” The tiny girl, the image of her mother, puffed up her chest and folded her arms with a haughty jerk. “Thinks he’s too good to play wif me. Ramsay’s a mean old arse, he is!”
“Effie Marsalla!” Mercy exclaimed with a stamp of her cane. With a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, she turned the child toward the keep, then firmly swatted her behind. She paused and partially turned back toward Brenna and Keigan. “Please forgive us. We shall welcome you properly once we have discussed yet again what words are appropriate for a young lady’s usage and what words are not.” One hand on the child’s shoulder, the other swept the cane back and forth across her path as she marched the pouting tot inside the keep.
“Auntie Mercy’s a bloody Sassenach,” Keigan whispered loud enough for all to hear.
Brenna suppressed a groan as laughter rippled through the crowd. They would surely think her a terrible guardian for her nephew if he forgot to use his manners. As she rose from crouching beside him, she tapped his shoulder. “Keigan!”
“Leave the lad be,” Graham said with a hearty chuckle. “She is a Sassenach, my boy, but a good one. Ye’ll see.”
Magnus took his place beside Brenna. The warm weight of his touch on the small of her back made her stiffen. It was time for the adult introductions. Please help me say the proper things, she prayed. For Keigan’s sake, she added. Always one to speak her mind, she had never done well in social situations. Healing folks was her strength—not getting along with them.
“Catriona, Gretna.” With a proud smile, Magnus nodded at each of the ladies. “’Tis my pleasure to present Lady Brenna Maxwell,
my betrothed.”
“Just Brenna Maxwell,” she hurried to correct. Not only had the title never brought her anything but ill luck, the MacCoinnichs might think her arrogant or putting on airs.
Both women stepped forward and scooped up her hands, a genuine welcome beaming from them both.
“Welcome to yer new home, to Tor Ruadh,” Catriona said. “I canna tell ye how pleased we are to have ye here.”
“Aye, that we are,” Gretna agreed with a friendly squeeze of Brenna’s hand. “And we’re even happier that Magnus willna be alone any longer.” Her reddish-blonde brows rose to her hairline as the silver band on Brenna’s finger caught the sunlight. “A poesy ring carved with hearts and thistles!” She aimed an approving nod at Magnus. “Well done, sir. I didna think ye had it in ye.” With another squeeze of her hand, Gretna gave Brenna a smile that made her feel even more accepted. “I am so happy for ye, Brenna, but I’m even happier for us. Another woman added to the sisterhood. Yer strength will help us keep these stubborn MacCoinnich men in line.”
Thank goodness both women chattered on with little or no urging because Brenna was at a complete loss for words. She had never seen such a kinship in her life. And what a welcome. Good gracious. Not the slightest dark glare or spitefulness from anyone.
With a snap of her fingers, Catriona whirled about and scanned the crowd. “Grant! Maxwell! Where ye be?”
“Here, Mama.” Two young boys, both with hair as black as their father’s and looking to be about Keigan’s age, wiggled out from the sea of skirts and kilts.
“Ye can take Keigan to the kitchen now. He’s had a long journey and a bit of a fright. I am certain he would love some bread and jam, along with a cup of fresh milk.” Catriona coaxed the child forward. “Come, my lad, Grant and Maxwell will take good care of ye. Would ye like some of Cook’s finest jam to hold ye over ’til supper?”
“Auntie?” Keigan edged closer and tugged on her sleeve. “Should I go?” he whispered.
The Ghost Page 11
