Magnus took hold of her arm and turned her to face him. With a loving touch to her cheek, he stared at her with a combination of frustration and longing. She held her breath, wondering what he meant to say before they entered the hall. Instead of speaking, he gathered her close and kissed her hard. Barely lifting his mouth away, his urgent whisper thrilled her like a lover’s touch. “Say ye will be my wife. Soon as the priest can say the words over us, aye?” The need in his eyes held her captive as he waited for her answer. “We are meant to be one, mo ghràdh. Do ye not feel it as well?”
“Aye, I feel it.” Life could be so fragile and short. She suddenly regretted making him wait as long as she had. “I will be yer wife, m’eudail.” She sealed the promise with a tender kiss, then smiled up at him. “As soon as the priest can join us.”
With a resigned sigh, Magnus glanced toward the hall, then back at her. “But for now…to battle.”
“To victory,” she corrected with a squeeze of his arm.
They stepped through the archway, and both her steps and her heart stopped. “God help me,” she prayed under her breath, then crossed herself while fighting the urge to run.
“What is it?” Magnus steadied her as he glanced around to see what had caused her reaction.
“Well, bless my soul,” boomed an oddly high-pitched voice for a man. “My little virgin whore came to welcome me to the Highlands.”
All sound, all movement in the great meeting room ceased as the tall, broad-shouldered British officer sauntered forward with a self-assured air. A menacing smile twisted his strangely distorted mouth as he gave an arrogant tilt of his head toward one and all. “Awfully kind of you to plan such a surprise for me. Really, it is. However, I have already had this one, you see. I’ve really no interest in using her again.” He tapped a finger on the wide scar splitting his bottom lip. The puckered red line continued down his chin and across his throat until it disappeared behind his neckcloth. “I’m sure you understand. After all, maidenheads don’t grow back to be ripped through again at one’s leisure.” Flipping a hand toward the handful of soldiers behind him, he continued, “Of course, these men might feel differently if you’d like to offer her to them.” With a gloating chuckle, he fixed a lusty smirk on Brenna. “I know my men at Wickhaven enjoyed her wares once I tore open her package.”
With a guttural roar, Magnus whipped out his sword and charged forward. “Enough!”
Barricourt drew his blade, as did every soldier with him. “You dare draw upon an English officer?” he screeched. The man sounded more like a shrieking hag than a warrior.
Gunfire sounded, halting the clash of steel.
“Ye will leave this keep at once,” Alexander roared, his smoking pistol still pointed upward as he held the other trained on Barricourt. “The English are always welcome here, but not when they come bearing insults.”
Graham stepped to Alexander’s side, both his pistols aimed at the man, as well. “The MacCoinnich guards will be happy to see ye out, Commander.” A band of brawny, armed warriors stepped out of every archway, stairwell, and shadow in the room.
“Do you have any idea what you risk with such behavior?” Barricourt sneered. He pointed the tip of his sword toward Brenna. “Over a whoring, little bitch?”
“He is defending our own,” Lady Mercy said, rising from her seat and moving out from behind the head table with more grace than any sighted person. “While I have not been to court in quite some time, I still have connections there, Lord Barricourt. Do not make the mistake of thinking I will hesitate to use them.”
The commander stilled, glowering at Lady Mercy, as if trying to decide if she spoke the truth. “Lady Mercy. Daughter of the late Duke of Edsbury and favorite of King William—who is also dead, I might add.”
“And well-acquainted with Her Highness, Queen Anne.” Mercy held herself with a calmness Brenna found amazing.
“Ye are dismissed, m’lord,” Alexander said. “Leave of yer own accord, or ye can be escorted. The choice is yers.”
“This is not over.” Barricourt shoved his sword back into its sheath, then spit at Brenna. “All over a whore—and a sorry one at that. She was barely an amusement.” Whirling about, he stormed out the double doors, his men following close behind.
“Have them followed,” Alexander told Graham. “Make sure they leave our land.”
“Done.” Graham sent forth the guard, pausing halfway across the room. He turned and gave Alexander an arch of a brow that spoke volumes. “Ye know there are a great many ravines betwixt here and Fort William. A body could be lost. Forever.”
“Not yet,” Alexander said with a coldness that promised he wouldn’t hesitate to make that decision if needed.
With a tip of his head, Graham departed.
More ashamed and humiliated than she had been on the day that Barricourt and his men had so brutally used her, Brenna bowed her head and covered her face with both hands. “I am so verra sorry to have brought such misfortune to Clan MacCoinnich. Ye have all been so welcoming. So verra kind.” She closed her eyes tighter, cursing the day she was born. “I promise to leave immediately, but please allow Keigan to stay. None of this is his fault.”
Magnus took hold of her shoulders. “Brenna…”
“Nay.” She twisted away, covering her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see how much he despised her. “I have brought shame and danger to Clan MacCoinnich. I am sorry, and I shall leave at once.”
“Everyone out!” Alexander bellowed. “Leave them their privacy or deal with me.”
Chairs and benches scraped the floor. Hurried footsteps shuffled loudly, then faded away. Brenna kept her head bowed and her face in her hands, waiting for whatever punishment Magnus chose. She would not weep or beg for mercy. This betrayal was hers. She should have told him all. His anger was well warranted.
“Brenna.” Magnus gently squeezed her arms. “Look at me, lass. Please.”
Lass. Not his usual Gaelic endearment of my love or my heart, but lass. After a deep breath, Brenna dropped her hands and lifted her head. The compassion and sorrow in his eyes touched her like warmth from the sun. It nearly shattered what little control she had left. She didn’t know which was worse, his pity or his hatred.
“Please protect Keigan as much as ye can,” she said. “I know how folk can be.” She looked back down, unable to face him any longer. “Dinna do it for me, but for him. I fear he’ll meet with cruelty because of what was revealed here today.”
“I will not.” Magnus swept her up into his arms, cradling her like a babe. After three long strides to the nearest table, he sat her down on top of it and planted his hands on either side of her. Leaning close, he forced her to meet his gaze. “I willna do so because ye’ll nay be leaving Tor Ruadh unless Keigan and I go with ye.” His jaw flexed then tightened, making her lean away. “Or did ye lie to me when just moments ago, ye said we would wed immediately?”
“Ye would wed a woman revealed as a common harlot in front of yer clan?” Trembling, she tried to scoot away and escape him, but to no avail.
He took hold of her and forced her back in front of him. “A bloody Sassenach insulted ye. Ye think I give a damn about what that man said?” He thumped his chest and bared his teeth. “Or that I care what anyone but my heart thinks?”
“But it is all true,” she choked out, turning her face aside. Shameful tears escaped and, once started, refused to stop. “The weaver nor the stables would pay me any longer for my work. They feared Wicklow, vile tyrant that he was. All in the village feared him.” She closed her eyes, still able to hear her precious wee one crying clear as day. “Dear Keigan was so verra hungry,” she whispered. With an angry swipe at the tears, she stiffened her spine, determined to finish her confession. “Wicklow said I would work for him or no one. Then he threatened his wife and all in the village if they gave me any food for my precious tot. Even made sure I couldna steal any scraps.” Rage burned through her, as hot and fierce as it had that day. “The cruel bastard hated
that I had held him off as long as I had. Him and every customer he wanted to sell me to.” Fingernails digging into her palms, she stared down at her trembling fists as every sensation from that terrible day rushed back to her.
The shame. Bile burning at the back of her throat. Coppery taste of her own blood. Barricourt and his men had used her for what seemed like forever. “I didn’t know their names. Not any of them. When they finished, each of them threw a crown on the floor beside me. Barricourt gave me a guinea.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “Said my maidenhead was worth a guinea.”
“Wicklow thought to take the money.” She lifted her chin but still didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she kept her focus locked on a banner fluttering from the railing of the gallery across the room. “I kept the money by stabbing the bastard with his own blade. Then Keigan and I ran away.” It took all her courage to look Magnus in the eyes. “I dinna think I killed him, but I wished him dead—so, I’ll burn in hell for it just the same.”
Magnus stared at her, hands still planted on either side of her hips, muscular arms hemming her in. He didn’t blink, just looked deep into her soul with those cold, steel eyes her sister had so oft described with wonderfully romantic words. If only her sibling could see the doubt in those eyes now.
“Say something, damn ye,” she uttered, unable to stand it any longer. “Give me leave to go, beat me, or kill me. I no longer care, as long as my precious Keigan is safe.”
Magnus straightened and threw back his head, staring upward. A startling growl started somewhere in the back of his throat, then roared free, echoing to the rafters.
Brenna cringed, bracing herself for whatever his anger brought next.
He lunged and pulled her into a crushing embrace. “Forgive me, my dearest one, I beg ye. Please, forgive me,” he said in a ragged whisper. It took a long moment for her to realize the trembling came from him and not her.
His heartbeat hammered hard against her as he rained kisses into her hair and across her forehead. “Dinna leave me, mo ghràdh. Search yer heart, I beg ye. Can ye find it in yer heart to forgive me and still be my wife, even after all the suffering I caused ye?”
“Ye have gone daft.” The words escaped her before she could stop them. But surely, he must be tetched in the head to still wish to wed her. Had he not heard a word she had said?
“If wishing to make such a rare, courageous woman my wife means I am addled, then aye, that I am.”
“But what about…”
He stopped her with a finger to her lips and gave a sharp shake of his head. “All that matters is that the two of us and Keigan are together as a family. Nothing else, ye ken? Well…that and yer forgiving me. Yer forgiveness matters to me more than ye will ever know.”
More damned tears fell, unbidden and uncontrollable. She hated the weakness they betrayed. “The only thing I canna forgive ye for is making me cry. I hate to cry, damn ye.”
“Keigan mentioned that,” he said with a faint smile.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, still unable to believe his reaction. “I have placed everyone here in grave danger. Yer clan will never forgive me, and I dinna blame them.”
“They will forgive ye, and I swear, all will understand if ye choose to tell them all that happened.” Magnus helped her down from the table but kept an arm tight around her waist. “This isna the first time this keep’s been at risk, and I daresay, it willna be the last.” He half led, half carried her to the long cabinet behind the head table, and poured her a drink. “Besides,” he said as he handed her a whisky. “None of this wouldha happened if I hadna fathered Keigan and left Nithdane. The fault isna yers, m’love. It is mine.”
“If ye make me cry again, I’ll smack ye.” She didn’t mean it, but it was so much easier to say that than admit how much she loved him. God help her. She did love him. Loved him fierce.
“I love ye, too, my dearest one.” He leaned in for a gentle, whisky-flavored kiss. “Through this life and the next,” he added. “Nothing, not even death, shall part us.”
Chapter Eleven
“I fear there’s a problem.” Alexander offered him a glass filled with a generous portion of MacCoinnich’s best.
If that much whisky was needed to start this conversation, it couldn’t be good. “What problem?” Magnus accepted the liquid bribe, downed it, then held it out for another.
Alexander hesitated, then refilled both glasses to the brim.
“That dire?”
After sidling a glance toward the library door, Alexander picked up his drink, then stepped back and pointed at Magnus’s. “Get yer own. I dinna wish to waste a drop of this. Damn near spilled this one.” As he sipped, he looked toward the entrance again.
Magnus left his whisky untouched on the sideboard, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword instead. A hot tingling, one that had nothing to do with the drink, stirred his hackles. “Who waits beyond that door, Alexander?”
The fidgeting chieftain worked his jaw as though tasting something bad. Without a word, he thunked down his glass, strode to the door, and yanked it open. “Get in here. The lot of ye. I refuse to do this alone.”
Magnus braced himself as Father William, Graham, and Ian filed in, each of them giving him a look that clearly marked him as doomed. With the priest present, this had to have something to do with Brenna. Brothers in battle or not, if they thought to have their holy man dissuade him from marrying her, he would enlighten all of them on just how wrong they were. Then he, Brenna, and Keigan would leave Tor Ruadh. Forever. “What is this?”
Father William, short and gnarled as an ancient walking stick, marched forward with the boldness of a beast about to attack. “I informed the MacCoinnich that I willna perform the marriage ceremony betwixt yerself and Mistress Brenna.”
Magnus managed a forced calm, but his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. He had never killed a holy man, even though he had been sorely tempted a time or two. Christianity. He snorted at the word—what a hypocritical religion. Preached kindness and forgiveness, then tormented poor innocent souls. “Dinna make me kill ye, priest. I’ll not allow a wonderful woman like my Brenna upset by yer deceitful beliefs that cause more harm than good.”
The father’s determined look puckered into a scowl. “I am nay refusing because anything’s lacking with Mistress Brenna.” The bushiness of his wild brows knotted tighter. “I am protecting the woman. She is a fine Christian lass. Confessed her sins and, from what she has told me, has more than paid her penance.” With one hand clutching the large wooden cross dangling from a cord around his neck, he chopped the air with the other as though preaching to a crowd. “I refuse to bind her to a heathen such as yerself.” His large, knobby nostrils flared. “Repent now or face eternal damnation, I say!” He dipped his chin again. “And face it alone because I’ll be telling that poor lass to run as far from ye as she can get.”
“What?”
“Ye heard me,” Father William declared, lifting the cross higher as he stalked closer. “Repent!”
Alexander, Graham, and Ian all stared at the floor, clasping their hands in front of them. The three of them looked as guilty as lads caught stealing pies.
“Are all of ye such cowards that ye let a priest run this clan?” Magnus tossed back his drink. He had never expected such a ridiculous attack. “Ye know damned good and well why I dinna follow yer God,” he continued when no one had the courage to answer him.
“Ahh,” Father William cracked a smile. With a smug nod, he shuffled another step forward. “So, ye do believe in the Almighty. That’s a fine start, my son.” He pulled a vial from the pocket of his simple brown robe and sent the cork flying with a flip of his thumb. “Now, might I assume ye also believe in our Lord Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit?”
“All I believe is that yer followers murdered my mother!” Magnus stormed toward the wiry little man, burning to knock the holy relics aside and throttle the arrogant fool. But something held him back. Something inexplicable. A tolerance instilled
in him long ago by his beloved mother stayed his hand. “Lying hypocrites, inciting hatred. That’s all the lot of ye do.”
Father William looked up at him with so much compassion it made him even angrier. “I am truly sorry about yer mother, my son.” He gave a sad shake of his balding head. “No Christian is perfect. And I freely admit, there are those who use God’s word for their own cruel benefit. But ye mustn’t blame the Almighty for the wicked ones who walk this earth. They shall receive their judgment, I promise ye.”
Magnus turned away. He couldn’t bear the sight of the man or his meaningless babbling any longer. He poured himself another drink and went to the wide window overlooking the chieftain’s private garden below. Walled in and a guard at the gate since Barricourt’s visit, the youngest of the keep’s children played among the trees and flower beds, Keigan among them. His son. His precious son.
The sight of the lad romping with Alexander’s youngest twin boys eased Magnus’s soul better than any Christian version of a promised hereafter. His son’s maturity bothered him. No bairn his age should possess such wisdom because of all he had witnessed. Where had Father William’s God been then? Why had the Almighty allowed so much death and suffering? Magnus shifted his gaze to the last dredges of whisky in his glass, swirling them in the sunlight. Of course, to be fair, he should also ask why his mighty gods hadn’t protected those he cared about, either. Every entity had failed him.
“We live in a broken world, my son,” Father William said as if reading Magnus’s thoughts. Somehow, the wily priest had moved to stand beside him without his even noticing. The man smiled down at the children playing. “Only when our Lord and Savior returns will all pain and suffering end. Come now. Ye believe in Almighty God. Allow me to baptize ye.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe one day ye’ll be on speaking terms with our wondrous Creator again.”
The Ghost Page 15
