by R. L. Syme
Peter arrived with the materials Kensey had requested from Lydia and took Robert riding, after the boys managed a promise from Broccin that he would learn to play shatranj when they returned. This seemed to be a theme with Broccin, promising that he would be here when someone returned. She wondered if he truly might just slip out and be gone, and she would be the only one surprised.
Something deep in his eyes told her he wanted to stay. She knew each time she saw it, she wasn’t imagining. He might be deeply hurt, but he longed for this.
“You have a charming lad, there, Kensey MacLeod.”
She laughed and fished around on Lydia’s tray for all the things she needed. “He can be charming. Or he can be a little rascal.”
“But you love him anyway, do you not?”
“Of course I do,” she said, her voice softening. “He’s all I have right now, except for...” she stopped, unsure of what she was about to say. Except for my dying mother, except for my imprisoned and dethroned father… except for you? But that could not have been it.
“You do well by him, I think,” he said, staying seated on the bed while she pulled the freshly boiled cloth strips from the tray Peter had delivered. When she stood in front of him, she pulled at his good arm.
“You’ll have to stand up.” She leaned on the table and covered a yawn. “Do you have the strength to stand?”
“Aye.” He held the bedpost as he stood. “Do you?”
“What?” She untied the tiny knot under his arm and let the bandages loosen.
“You look tired, lass. You mustn’t have slept for days.” Broc sucked in a breath and peered down at his side. “Does it look any better?”
“I’ll be fine.” She took a step nearer, flustered by his constant attention. “You are healing as I expected, and my sleeping habits are none of your concern. Just lift your arms.”
He cringed as he lifted his arms to shoulder height and had to brace his left arm against the bed again. The remains of his tunic rode dangerously low on his lean hips and Kensey hoped she didn’t disturb it at all in this process, lest it fall right to the ground and then she’d be in a terrible predicament. She wasn’t sure she could concentrate on the task at hand if she was faced with all his nakedness.
She untucked the bandage, grazing his abdominal muscles with her fingers in the process. He flinched and she looked up into his eyes.
“You’ll tell me if it hurts?”
“Aye.” His jaw tightened. “I’ll tell you.”
“Because I can give you something for your pain.
He repeated that to himself. She belongs to Duncan. I should not take liberties with this lass. She belongs to my brother. Feeling suddenly conscious of his desire, he looked away from her.
“It is called verbena,” she said, softly, ignoring his insinuation, and looking down at his wound. “If you apply it to the area of the wound, it will bring down the swelling, which should help with the pain.”
She continued to touch his skin while unwrapping the bandages and each time she touched him, he drew back as if she’d burned him. Once the bandages were completely off, he stood, almost completely bare, in front of her. The remains of his plaid tunic hung on gingerly, and still rode much too low on his hips, although he didn’t seem aware of it.
So instead of worrying about his nakedness, she attended to the wound. From what she could tell, it seemed to be healing. She took the verbena salve Ete made her carry and applied a bit to the stitching with a careful hand. He flinched under her fingers, but did not say a word. She picked up the clean bandages and began to wrap his midsection once again.
“You have the touch, lass,” he whispered as she reached behind him to grab the bandages out of her other hand. Her face was almost pressed against his heart, as her arms barely fit around his broad chest and she daren’t go any lower than that as she was forced into closeness with his rigid body.
“What?” A brief second of electricity passed between them, their heads mere inches from one another and her cheeks flamed.
“The healing touch.”
“Oh, I see.” She lowered her head, but felt no more comfortable in this position. Now she was staring directly into his chest, her nose could have fit into the groove between the muscles of his chest. She wished she had waited for Duncan or Malcolm to help her, because she was growing entirely too fond of the way she felt when she was close to him.
Quickly, she finished wrapping his midsection and knotted the ends of the bandage. He lowered his arms to his sides, slowly.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Before either of them could answer, Duncan stepped inside the room. His eyes widened and went immediately to her hands resting on Broccin’s chest. She stepped back, averting her gaze and wishing to be turned into something tiny and scurrying before anything more ludicrous passed between them.
***
Kensey and Duncan refused eye contact and Broccin immediately wished for clothing. Instead, he backed up to sit on the bed, throwing his legs up and lying down again. He pulled the blankets over his chest as Kensey had done.
“I thought you could use a change of clothes.” Duncan stalked to the bed and laid a pile of clothes next to Broccin’s twitching fingers. He then took Kensey by the arm, gently. “I wish to discuss… something with you, my dear.”
Kensey turned away from Broccin and walked through the door on Duncan’s arm without even a glance in Broc’s direction. Duncan turned as they exited and added, “I will return. I wish to speak with you as well.” He gestured to the clothing. “After you have finished dressing, which I assume you can now do on your own, since you are up and out of bed. I will return when I’m through with the lass.”
Broc groaned as the door closed. Picking up the clothes, he wondered what Kensey and Duncan could be discussing. Certainly not you, he thought to himself. Then, remembering his ravenous thoughts as she stood beneath him, he shuddered.
You made an oath that you would never again come between a man and his woman, he thought. Remember that. Broc shook himself and picked up the tunic and plaid overshirt Duncan had left for him. He certainly couldn’t go traipsing around the house bare-chested anymore, as much as he preferred it. But there were ladies present.
Once he’d tied up the belt, careful not to cinch it too close to his wound, he set about finding his boots. The bending and leaning down hurt the most, so he managed a half-laying position and slid his now-clean feet into not-only-clean-but-shiny boots.
The door opened again and Duncan slid inside. It closed with a loud crack and Broc noticed the tension in his brother’s jaw. This wasn’t a social call.
“What are your intentions?” His tone was as tight as his demeanor. No room for affection here. So much like Magnus.
“I hadn’t intended to be here at all, and I wouldn’t be here, if it weren’t for that lass of yours.” Broc propped himself against the pillows and sat up, facing his brother, who had opted to take the chair instead of stand.
“She saved your life.”
“I realize that.”
“And you’re not grateful to her for it?”
“I asked her not to bring me here.”
“Why?”
“Because I do not want this life back. I do not want the restriction and the obligation that comes with this title.”
Duncan gazed into the fire, but all the spite went out of his tone. “You want to be able to run off to Andrew and Elizabeth whenever you see fit, is that it?”
“That’s part of it, yes. After Magnus disowned us, we swore allegiances—”
“And a much bigger part than you’ll ever admit, I’d wager,” interrupted Duncan.
A ball of frustration rose inside Broc’s chest that could have snuffed out any residual pain. Duncan had spent too many years with their father. “Andrew saved my life.”
“And you saved his life at Carslile, I hear. Is that not enough?”
“Stop this, now.” Broccin
pressed his hands into his thighs. The pain in his side intensified as he leaned over in frustration, and he sat back again. “I do not wish to speak of it.”
“But you must,” Duncan insisted. “It is your title, now, whether you want it or not. And you have to take the responsibility for your rights.”
“So the exile counts for nothing? Breaking with Father, and taking men… and boys! Into the wilderness? We starved there, and most of them would have finally died if Andrew de Moray hadn’t found us. And Father stayed locked in his castle, passing judgment on us because we would defend our country.”
“There is no country!” Duncan stood from the chair, coming to the side of the bed, spitting as he spoke. “Scotland is a dream. We have no king. We are on our own, and as the Laird of your clan, you must do what you can to protect it. Father may have made mistakes in his lunacy, but knowing his place wasn’t one of them.”
Broccin could not speak. He could still see his father’s face at their last meeting, red with anger, spitting hateful words at him. Broccin had done his best, he thought, to make his case, but his father had been beyond reason. You are a disgrace to me, his father had screamed. Those were the last words his father had ever spoken to him.
“I do not wish to remain here.” Broc moved to stand, but Duncan stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder and forcing him back down against his pillows.
“You don’t have a choice, Broccin, and stop trying to fight it. As the eldest, it is your duty. We’ll keep you here if we have to tie you to father’s chair.”
Broccin turned his head and looked toward the fireplace. He saw the board with its tiny, carved pieces, sitting on the table near the fire. He thought of Kensey, and of her desire to save him, to bring him here.
“Very well. If it is your wish, I will not fight it.” Broccin turned back to his brother. Duncan stood and walked over to him. “I will stay here with you and I will take my place.”
“When you have rested more, I will bring up Brigid, Alana, and Morainn.” Duncan picked up the tattered tunic Broc had shed before donning these new clothes. “Kensey said to drink this.” He passed Broccin a warm cup from next to the fire. “She said it will make you sleep.”
Broccin drained the cup and placed it back in Duncan’s hand before he could withdraw it. He finally garnered the courage to look into his brother’s eyes.
“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. I wish I would have known about Father…”
“Even if he were the only reason,” Duncan began, an injured look on his face, “it would have been enough to have you back where you belong.”
“I missed you.” The words felt strange in his mouth, but an ache inside pressed him forward. “I missed all of you.”
Duncan considered this, then shrugged. “Not enough, I guess.” He walked through the door and shut it behind him, leaving Broccin alone with his own thoughts, which was worse than almost anything else he could have done.
Chapter Twelve
“Am I disturbing you?” Malcolm entered the solar without even a glance at his sleeping brother. Kensey sat near the fire, reading a book, and put her finger up to her mouth in case he hadn’t noticed Broc wasn’t awake yet. The rest of the room was dark and empty, the fire being the only light.
“No, Malcolm.” She placed her book in the middle of the table and gestured to the chair opposite her that Robert normally occupied. After several days, Robert was beginning to find other things to do, but Kensey spent most of her time in this chair. “In fact, I’ll be glad for the company.”
“Good.” Malcolm took the other chair. His long red hair lay straight down his back, braids gone. As Kensey took in his appearance, she was amazed how much he looked like Broccin in the face, and equally amazed that she hadn’t seen it before. Of course, Broccin’s thick beard obfuscated much of the detail that made them the same, but she could see it now. The same rugged cheekbones and roughly hewn jaw line. Malcolm, when he smiled, had small dimples that brought out the brightness in his eyes that she’d never seen in Broc.
His brows knit and he leaned toward her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I was just thinking how much you look like your brother.” She tried to be as nonchalant as possible about the remark, realizing as it came out, that it may have been an inappropriate intimacy to admit that she had been staring at him.
“Oh.” Malcolm grunted, looking at the bed. “My mother used to tell me that when I was young. I don’t remember much of Broccin. I was only fourteen when he left.”
“My goodness, how long has he been gone?”
“Close on four years now.”
“So you’re only eighteen?” Kensey tried to mask her shock. Malcolm may have looked like a boy in the face, but his body was so solid and strong, fully formed, just like his brothers. “I would think you were older than that.”
Malcolm’s chest puffed up for a few seconds. “I’ll be nineteen in less than two weeks. My birthday is just before Michaelmas.”
“How wonderful,” Kensey exclaimed. “Robert was born the day before Michaelmas, nearly ten years ago now. Your birthdays will be so close to one another. He will like that.”
“Then we’ll plan a wonderful meal for him.”
“And you too,” she reminded him. “It’ll be a great birthday for you, Malcolm, I’m sure.”
His gaze shifted to the bed where Broccin had turned onto his uninjured side and lay there, still sleeping. There was a distinct frustration on Malcolm’s face that troubled Kensey.
“I’m sorry, Malcolm, I didn’t mean to make you uneasy.”
“If I seem uneasy, it’s for a different reason entirely, lass.” He relaxed a bit, but she could still see an intensity in his gaze that frightened her. It was almost predatory. For a moment, she wanted to sit on the bed, between him and his brother.
“Now I must apologize, lass, for I’ve made you feel uncomfortable.”
“You could never do that.”
“I hope not.” He slid forward in his chair and reached for her hand.
A deep moan came from the bed and both of them turned just in time to see Broccin roll over and fall off the side farthest away from them. Kensey sprang to her feet and ran over to the other side of the bed, dropping to her knees.
“Help me, Malcolm,” she called out. “We must get him back up on the bed, at once.” Malcolm lifted his shoulders, and Kensey his feet, and they had him back up on the bed with a little effort. Broccin hadn’t even woken from his deep slumber.
Kensey stepped back and put her hand on Malcolm’s arm. “Thank you. His sleep is more fitful today than I expected. It is good that you were here.” When he put his hand on top of hers and looked into her eyes, she smiled, although a little bird in the back of her mind chirped danger. “You love him very much, I see. And I’m glad that he has you.”
Malcolm shifted and pulled at the sleeve of his brown brat, arranging the heavy cloth into folds as it hung loosely around him. “I don’t know exactly what draws me to him. Family, partly. But curiosity, more so.”
“Whatever makes you love him. I’m glad he has you and Duncan and Brigid and Alana. It will make his healing so much easier with loving family around him.”
“Broccin hasn’t been a part of this family for some time. It will be difficult to adjust to him.”
Kensey removed her hand from his arm and turned to the bed. Thinking of her mother, she said wistfully, “Love can heal many wounds. Both real and not. He’ll need that around him if he is to heal physically. If you just remember that family is stronger than anything else, you’ll all get through this.”
“It’s not just family that is helping us with this, lass.” Malcolm placed light fingers on her arm. “It’s you as well. Without you, we wouldn’t have been able to help him. He never would have come back on his own. You brought him here and by that, you help us as much as him.”
Kensey remained silent and looked at his hand, nervously. He’d s
eemed so purposeful when he arrived and she’d assumed he meant to collect her or bring her something. The intimacy of his conversation, reflected in the consistent desire to put his hands on her, raised more of an alarm inside than she’d felt around him before.
Something had changed in Malcolm since they arrived and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was.
“I should go down and see what Robert is up to,” She moved for the door. “No doubt, he’s stirring up trouble.”
“Would you like me to walk down with you?”
“No, please stay with him.” She gestured toward the bed. “He needs you right now. He needs someone.”
Malcolm focused his attention on the floor. “If that is what you wish. I will do it.”
Kensey walked through the door, leaving the brothers to be alone.
***
Once he was certain Kensey had passed out of earshot, Malcolm leaned over his brother’s sleeping frame. He considered the ease of his breathing. How fitful was the sleep of the new laird? Malcolm cleared his throat and spoke his mind.
“I love her, and I’ll not let you take her from me.” He waited, almost expecting his brother to leap out of bed and challenge him for her, but he remained fast asleep, oblivious to anything that was happening around him. “You have Anne de Cheyne, an Earl’s daughter, as your duty. And Duncan will have his Fiona, or forever wish he did.
“When you went away, you became someone foreign to me. So I don’t know you like a brother should. But I know you want her. I can see it in your eyes when you look at her. But you can never love her as I do. So stay away from her.”
His voice darkened, “I’m warning you now. Stay away from her.”
Chapter Thirteen
“She’s beautiful.” Broccin had to steady his breath as young Morainn walked toward him. The young girl stood next to the bed, eyes wide with curiosity, silent as a mouse. The two of them studied one another, gaping. “She looks so much like father.”
