Caelen's Wife, Book Two

by Suzan Tisdale

For reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, he felt he’d rather have his leg cut off than to ask this slip of a woman for any kind of assistance. Through gritted teeth, he replied, “I be fine.” He also could not fathom why he was irritated with her for she was only being kind.

  Just two steps before the top of the landing his leg, weak from all the walking and burning like hell itself, buckled and gave out. Had it not been for Nola, he could very well have cracked his head on the stone stairs.

  As soon as his leg gave out, he pitched forward, but before he could fall flat on his face, Nola lunged in front of him, wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tightly. She landed on her bottom before ending up prone against the stairs. Brodie landed with his face planted against her bosom.

  He felt his face burn red with humiliation as he lifted his head and looked up. Nola’s eyes were as wide as trenchers as her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink.

  “Are ye hurt?” he finally managed to ask.

  “Nay,” she said in a soft whisper.

  “I be terribly sorry,” Brodie said though he still hadn’t made any effort to remove himself.

  Nola seemed frozen in place as she continued to stare at him.

  She be quite bonny, Brodie thought, when she be no’ naggin’ him about his leg.

  Another long moment passed before he realized he needed to remove his person from hers. As he lifted himself up and away, Nola sighed, either with relief or regret, he could not be certain. He preferred to think it was the latter.

  * * *

  As Brodie leaned against her, Nola pushed open the door to his room and helped him to sit on the bed. “Lie back and let me check yer leg,” she said as she lifted his good leg up and spun him around as if he weighed no more than a feather. Caught off once again by her physical strength — or his own lack thereof — he fell back on the bed with an humph. Pain coursed up and down his leg, making him instantly angry. “Are ye tryin’ to kill me?”

  Nola smiled. “Nay, I be tryin’ to help.”

  She sat on the side of the bed and pushed his plaid up, just enough to afford her a glance at his injury. “It be fine,” she announced before pulling the plaid back over his thigh.

  “Fer a healer, ye’ve the bedside manner of a drunkard forced into sobriety.”

  Nola stood up and glared at him. “First ye do no’ want me help, swear ye do no’ need to be coddled like a babe, swear yer fine and can walk with no troubles, and curse me again fer helpin’ ye. Now, ye complain I’m no’ nice enough?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Yer a confusin’ man, Brodie McPherson. I pity the woman unlucky enough to be yer wife someday. Ye’ll drive her daft within a week.”

  Brodie scoffed at her assessment. “There be where yer wrong fer if the day ever arrives that I do marry, ’twill be a quiet, sweet, amiable lass. Not some cold-hearted shrew such as ye!”

  He saw it then, a flicker of pain in her wide, brown eyes. It was fleeting, just a flash really, before he caught just a glimpse of sadness before they turned to fire with fury. He’d crossed the line from complaint to insult, a line he should not have crossed.

  If he were to admit the truth, it wasn’t Nola he was angry with, but himself. He was still embarrassed that he’d fallen from his horse. He prided himself in his excellent horsemanship skills. To be thrown from his mount was humiliation enough. To be thrown and injured so severely was mortifying.

  “Curse ye, Brodie McPherson.” Her voice was steady, calm, and low. “I hope the good Lord curses ye with a loud, mean wife who is just as arrogant and obnoxious as ye.”

  He was about to apologize to her when the door to his room flew open and Phillip stepped inside. “We need to talk.”

  From the look on his face, Brodie sensed the man was about to deliver him bad news.

  “I’ll leave ye be,” Nola said as she headed toward the door.

  Phillip reached out and touched her arm. “Nay, ye may stay, Nola.” His eyes pleaded with her to remain. Against her better judgment, she looked over her shoulder at Brodie for his opinion. He swallowed hard before giving her a slight nod.

  Nola sat on the small stool by the bed and folded her hands in her lap. From the corner of his eye, Brodie could see that she was angry with him. Why she chose to remain instead of kicking him in his bloody stubborn arse was an amazement unto itself. He didn’t deserve her kindness, but he’d be glad for it all the same.

  “I’ve just received messages from Collin,” Phillip began, looking quite serious. “There was another raid on yer lands, Brodie.”

  Brodie sat forward, the action bringing about a deep ache in his thigh. Wincing, he asked for clarification.

  “Six or more men, two nights past. They killed two of yer people. Stephan and Mildred McPherson.”

  His chest constricted tightly. He’d known Stephan and Mildred his whole life. “What of their children?” he asked, afraid to know the answer.

  “The children are alive and stayin’ at the keep. Yer family is takin’ care of them, but that is all I know on that matter.”

  Brodie let loose with a sigh of relief in hearing that at least the children lived. He refused to allow his mind to wonder what they might have gone through. “Be there more?”

  Phillip looked first to Nola then to Brodie. He shifted from one foot to the next as if there was worse news than two dead friends. “Aye, and I be glad that Caelen be no’ here to hear it.”

  Brodie raised a curious brow. “What could possibly be so bad that ye’d no’ want Caelen to hear it?”

  Phillip cleared his throat before answering. “It has to do with yer sister.”

  Fear began to bubble up from the pit of his stomach. “Fiona? Is she injured? Ill? What be the matter?” he asked anxiously.

  “Apparently, she’s set to marry Bhruic MacKinnon in five days’ time.”

  Brodie swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood so quickly that he nearly fell onto Nola. “Who the bloody hell is Bhruic MacKinnon?” he shouted.

  Phillip took a step back. “Apparently the nephew of Edgar MacKinnon.”

  He was beyond confused. Fiona loved Caelen, he knew that and without a doubt, Caelen loved her. Why on earth was she doing something so foolish as to marry someone else? His mind reeled, wholly dumbfounded at this turn of events. “Are ye certain it be Fiona marryin’?”

  “Her name be on the banns,” Phillip said. “Be there another Fiona McPherson?”

  Brodie blew out a frustrated breath. “Nay, there be only one Fiona McPherson. And she be a fool if she thinks I’ll allow her to marry this Bhruic MacKinnon!” He began to pace, as much as the tight confines of the room would allow. “Why on earth are Collin and William allowin’ this?” he asked aloud to no one in particular.

  “Mayhap she loves him,” Nola offered.

  The two men looked at her as if she had no sense at all. “Nay, lass, she does no’ love him,” Phillip told her.

  “Well how do ye ken?”

  Phillip sighed. “Because she loves Caelen.”

  ’Twas Nola’s turn to look confused. “Then why marry Bhruic?”

  “Ye’ve no’ yet had the pleasure of meetin’ me sister, have ye?” Brodie asked.

  “Nay,” Nola admitted. “But I’ve heard she be a fierce warrior.”

  “Aye, she be fierce with sword and knife alike,” Brodie said with a smile. “But she be also the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met in me life.”

  Nola drew in her lips to stem a smile and compose herself before asking sarcastically, “More stubborn than me even?”

  Brodie drew his brows in and glared at her. “Aye, even more than ye.” He turned his attention back to Phillip. “Was there any reason as to why Fiona has decided to marry this man?”

  Phillip shook his head, “Nay, Brodie, no explanation, just the banns.”

  He began to wonder what else he had missed out on whilst recuperating at the McDunnah keep. Certainly his brothers could not be in support of Fiona’s decision. Mayhap they were now workin
g to get her to change her mind. Hope was probably futile. Once his sister made up her mind, ’twas next to impossible to get her to change it.

  Phillip looked to Nola. “Can he ride?” he asked with a gesture toward Brodie. “He may want to get back to his keep.”

  Before Nola could say aye or nay on the matter, Brodie spoke up. “I’ll no’ be goin’ to my keep,” he told them.

  While Phillip looked perplexed, Nola looked relieved.

  “I would no’ be able to change her mind,” Brodie said.

  “This will kill Caelen,” Phillip muttered.

  “Mayhap,” Brodie said.

  * * *

  As Brodie saw it, he only had one clear choice.

  He would not go home to the McPherson keep for he knew the chances were good that he’d not be able to talk his sister out of marrying Bhruic MacKinnon. Trying to talk his sister into or out of anything was pointless, especially if her mind was made up. Now, that wasn’t to say she could not be persuaded to see different points of view. But if she firmly believed her decision was based for good and just reasons, there was no changing her mind.

  Therefore, his only option was to get to MacDougall lands, give Caelen the news and hope that the man would be mad enough to put a stop to the wedding. If he knew Caelen as well as he thought he did, then he was making the right decision in going there and not back home.

  Only one obstacle stood in his way and it came in the form of a wee lass with dark hair and brown eyes, which, after closer inspection from their earlier fall on the stairs, had little flecks of gold in them. Nola.

  “I do no’ understand why ye’d risk yer leg, if no’ yer life by traipsin’ all that way when ye could just as easily send a messenger.” She was standing between him and the door, her feet firmly planted, her determination resolute.

  “Nola, I do appreciate your concern on the matter,” he tried explaining his reasoning to her, but she cut him off.

  “Nay, fer if ye did appreciate me advice or me concern, ye’d get back in that bed and stay there.”

  “Nola, I be neither yer prisoner nor yer hostage. I do no’ need yer permission to do anythin’, now please, step aside and let me pass.”

  She continued to stare up at him and refused to move aside.

  “Nola, this be far too important a matter to leave to a mere messenger. Me sister’s entire future be at stake.”

  “Ye do no’ ken why she be marryin’ the man, so why do ye feel ye must stop her? Ye make no sense.”

  He was growing frustrated with her obstinance. ’Twas truly none of her business why he was doing what he was doing.

  “Nola, I’ll no’ stand her any longer wastin’ valuable time tryin’ to get ye to understand me reasons fer goin’. Me sister loves Caelen and he loves her and right now, that be all that matters.”

  As if that somehow made sense, her full pink lips formed an ‘o’ shape and sudden understanding lit in her eyes. “Ye be a romantic. I would never have guessed that about ye, Brodie McCray,” she said as if she were greatly impressed with him. She stepped aside then, to let him pass.

  “Thank ye, Nola,” he said, relieved she’d given up on the idea of trying to stop him.

  “I hope ye will be able to find ye a sweet, kind woman to marry someday.”

  Believing she’d just offered an olive branch, Brodie smiled and bowed. “I thank ye kindly, Nola. And I wish fer ye a kind, good man someday.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Hopefully that sweet kind woman will no’ care that yer missin’ a leg.”

  ’Twas quite difficult to maintain his composure when the woman seemed hell-bent on infuriating him. He could have said any number of mean-spirited, spiteful, or rude things. Instead, he surprised even himself, by going to her and leaning in so close to her, that he could see her pulse throbbing happily in the vein of her very delicate neck.

  “Trust me, lass. My wife will no’ care about a missin’ leg, fer I’ll be too busy pleasin’ her in our marital bed.”

  He pulled away to see her wide eyed and stunned, he believed, due to his provocative statement. Just before he left the room, he bowed graciously and smiled deviously. ’Twas the first time since he’d met her that she’d been speechless.

  * * *

  Phillip needed very little convincing from Brodie that someone needed to inform Caelen of the banns. Within an hour of receiving the news, Brodie was on his way to the MacDougall keep, with fifteen McDunnah men. While Brodie road east, Phillip made plans to leave for McPherson lands in two days time. He had one simple order; if Brodie and Caelen had not arrived at the McPherson keep before the wedding began, Phillip was to delay it by any means necessary.

  As he watched Brodie and the other men leave, Phillip sent up a silent prayer. He seriously doubted he’d be able to keep Fiona McPherson from doing anything.

  Thirteen

  The entire McPherson keep was a whirlwind of excitement as they prepared for the wedding between Fiona and Bhruic. The kitchen was abuzz with people chatting excitedly as they made all manner of baked goods, meats, fruits — another meal fit for a king.

  Fiona, however, was unable to find within herself even an inkling of good cheer. The best she could do was paint a smile on her face to hide the misery in her heart.

  Everything she now did was for the betterment and safety of her clan. She would gain nothing from this marriage other than the sense of security in knowing she would have more than one hundred additional skilled fighting men and the chance to call Bhruic’s daughter hers.

  After signing the agreement and posting the banns, Fiona merely went through the motions of pretending she cared one whit about any of it. She allowed Isabelle and Mairi to make all the arrangements. The only caveat was that they could not spend all the gold in their coffers. Other than that, her sisters-in-law were given free-rein to choose everything from the food that would be served to the gown she would wear.

  While the days might have flown by for everyone else, they trudged on for Fiona at a snail’s pace. Sleep evaded her as if she were the devil incarnate. On those rare occasions when she did manage to doze off, her dreams were plagued with images of Caelen or Bridgett or Stephan and Mildred, and if not any of them, the two children left behind.

  The day before the wedding finally arrived and she could find no peace within the walls of her keep. The air was stifling, the clamor and excitement of her people preparing for a wedding roared in her ears. No matter which room she tried to hide away in, someone would come running with a multitude of questions for which she either had no answer or simply didn’t care.

  With the noise and commotion at a fevered pitch, Fiona had reached the end of her patience. Donning a cloak, she attempted to make her way through the front of the keep. As soon as people realized she was present, they swarmed like bees around a hive. “Ask Mairi or Isabelle,” was her pat response to any question thrown her way.

  In the end, she could reach neither the front door nor the back without being barraged with questions or well-wishes. After several failed attempts, she did the only sensible thing remaining. She went to her study, barred the door, and slipped out through the window. Unfortunately her study was on the main floor and there was no hope for a long fall that would break her neck. She escaped through the window without so much as a scratch.

  Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, she stealthily made her way around the side of the keep and headed for her mountain. ’Twas her fervent hope that no one would think to look for her there. And if they did, she had the option of jumping to her death. ’Twould be worth it just for a few moments of peace and solitude.

  Keeping to the outer wall, she made her way to the stones that her people had been using for centuries to climb Sidh Chailleann. The going was not nearly as treacherous as she would have preferred on this solemn day before her wedding. The rain had stayed away and the sun was doing a fine job at keeping the earth warm and dry. What she wouldn’t give for a torrential storm, a bolt of lightning, a huge gust of wi
nd.

  Mayhap all the stories of brownies and fairies her mother had plied her with in her youth were true and one of them would appear to take her away. Nay, she realized, she was not that lucky.

  She made her way to the very ledge she had shared with Caelen weeks ago. She sat, as she had then, with her feet dangling over the edge, and looked down upon her home. Too many people to count flittered about below. The MacKinnons hadn’t left since the day they had arrived to arrange the marriage. Whilst Edgar was given a room indoors, the rest of his people made camp inside and outside the walls.

  Yesterday, MacElroy the Arrogant had arrived along with dozens of his people. The McGregors followed not long after. The McKenzies and Farquars were due to arrive later. She prayed they’d all be thoughtful and bring their own food, the greedy sots.

  “Ye’ve got to pull yerself out of this, Fiona,” she murmured aloud. Didn’t people say that one of the first signs someone had lost their mind was when they began to talk to themselves? “Ye canna continue on this morose path, all sullen and full of despair. Ye knew when ye took yer oath that someday ye’d have to face some verra difficult decisions. Ye knew ye might have to sacrifice yer own happiness for the good of yer clan.”

  Knowing the possibilities existed was nothing compared to actually having to live through them.

  There was nothing to be done for it. Tomorrow she would don whatever monstrously revealing gown Isabelle and Mairi had come up with and she would walk into their wee kirk and exchange vows with Bhruic MacKinnon. She would do it with grace and dignity. She would do it for her clan.

  * * *

  When she dared not risk staying any longer, Fiona carefully made her way down the mountain and back inside the walls of her keep. After chastising herself for behaving so poorly — for it was, after all her own decision to marry Bhruic — she felt marginally better.

  She would marry Bhruic, but her heart would always belong to Caelen. In it, tucked away and hidden, she would keep her love for Caelen burning bright and strong, but only she’d be aware of it.