by R. L. Syme
They began to move to the rhythms of the music and each time Kensey came close to him, Broccin could feel his physical reaction to her. He could feel his blood racing and his heart pounding, his breath catching in his throat and refusing to loosen. He thought of how horribly he’d fumbled his chances with their first kiss. Perhaps this was at the core of his recent idiocy.
Why he would be afraid of bedding a woman was beyond him. But bedding a wife. This was altogether different. This was the first of forever.
Such high expectations.
Surely, he told himself, surely you will be able to show her your love tonight. She will understand then. The thought of holding Kensey in his arms and making love to her made his head swim and he caught a glimpse of her through his swirling thoughts. She smiled at him as they danced. It was all he could do not to take her up to his bed right that moment.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he said.
“I am, my lord.” She bowed her head. So much deference. My lord, my husband, and all the bowing. Perhaps because they were in public, and she the laird’s wife, she felt some responsibility to be formal, but he wanted her to drop the pretense.
He wanted to swing her around and laugh and kiss her. Instead, she parried and advanced, just as the steps called for. They linked hands. But never more than that.
“You dance well, my lord.” Kensey curtsied at the end of the song and took his hand to walk back to the table.
“Please, Kensey.” He pulled her toward him, halting her progress. “Call me Broccin.”
“Very well, Broccin.”
As he escorted her back to their plates, Broccin caught some bustling toward the back of the room. A man tore free of Fitzmagnus’ large hands and sprinted toward the table. Broc’s first instinct was to be on his guard, but the man carried nothing more than a missive, and no visible weapons.
“Who goes there?” he asked.
“Is Miss Kensey MacLeod present?”
“No, but the Lady Kensey Sinclair is present,” Broccin said, his voice booming. He gestured to his wife, “This is the woman whom you seek. Now, state your business.”
“I have here a letter from Lady Fiona Ross with instructions that it be given only to the lady specified.”
“I am she,” Kensey stated. As she spoke, Broccin took a protective step in front of her.
“I mean you no harm,” promised the runner. “I’m Roderick of Sutherland and I was given this message by Moira, one of the kitchen servants with express orders that I deliver this only to Miss Kensey MacLeod.” At Broccin’s low grunt, Roderick amended, “Sinclair.”
“Roderick?” Kensey exclaimed, stepping around Broccin and placing her hand on the young man’s arm. Broc flexed his hands, trying not to make fists.
“What do you have for me?” she asked.
“A letter from Lady Fiona herself, one we received only this morning and I was given strict instructions to ride here as fast as my horse would carry me to deliver this to you.” He placed the folded paper into her outstretched hand and stepped back into a low bow.
“Thank you, Roderick.” Kensey placed her hand on his arm once again and smiled kindly. “It was good of you to bring this to me so quickly.” Broccin thought he would explode in fury if she touched the man one more time.
This was not a day she should be touching other men.
“’Twas naught but my duty, madam,” he said from his continued bow. “Congratulations on your marriage, my lady and may your life together be long and happy.” When Kensey gestured to him and walked away, he turned and ran out the doors to the great hall as quickly as he’d entered them.
Kensey made for the back stairs, the letter in her hand and turned when Broccin called after her.
“Kensey, where are you going?” Broccin’s voice boomed and several near guests sidled out of his way. But he didn’t care if he scared people. He wanted to know where his wife was going without him.
“I must read this letter, my lord,” she said. “It sounds as if urgent news is enclosed and I would like to know of my friend, since I’ve not heard from her in so long.” With that, she turned on her heel and ran through the doors as well, leaving a hoard of shocked guests staring after her, no doubt wondering how she dared speak to the Laird like that.
“You should go after her.” Duncan pushed his brother toward the stairs.
“She needs to be left to herself now.” Broc crossed his arms but did not return to the table. Around him, chatter resumed. He signaled to the minstrels to begin playing once more. “She must read her letter.”
“Well I will go, if you won’t,” Duncan growled, brushing past his brother. Broc stared at his retreating form and shook his head. What had he become, anyway? A husband? Or a ghost? No one seemed to pay him mind. His wife treated him as though he were invisible. His orders were ignored.
By the blazes of hell, why was everyone ignoring his orders? Broc punched the stone wall and winced through the pain. He should follow them both.
“What’s wrong with Kensey?” Robert slipped his small hand inside Broccin’s as he stepped beside his new brother-in-law.
“Nothing, lad,” Broc assured him. “She’s just received an important letter and went outside to read it.”
“Then she isn’t mad at you yet?” Robert asked, his question seemingly impertinent but his voice sincere.
“No, lad.” Broc laughed quietly to release some tension. “Not just now, anyway.”
***
“What does the letter say?” Duncan approached his new sister-by-law with care as she stood in the hall, taking deep breaths.
“Please, Duncan, leave me be.” Kensey pulled the letter to her chest and hid the words on the page. She wished she’d told Broc to keep Duncan at the feast. Something about the arrival of this letter set her on edge. One day, she’d learn to listen to herself.
“You must tell me the news of her,” Duncan ordered, stepping around her to block her exit. “And why did she not write to me?”
The look of pain that contorted his face pulled at the compassion she’d always held for their relationship. Here were two young people, so in love, promised to each other, then ripped apart. Duncan had been a shell since she’d seen him again and Fiona was not only brokenhearted, but without protection. The depth of their love was at once frustrating and enviable.
If she were in his position, she would need to know everything. If someone had captured Broc or held him against his will, she would brave hell and fire to get to him. Surely, Duncan could handle a little bad news from a letter. Before he tried to take it from her, she held it open for him to read. After a few seconds, a roar came from Duncan’s throat that was so low and agonizing that Kensey almost jumped out of her skin.
Duncan tore out of the hallway and back into the great hall before returning her letter or explaining the contents. She scurried after him, hoping to catch some of the details. But she was unable to hear anything he said and when she finally approached he and Broccin talking in the corner of the hall, with the music playing around them, they were silent. Broccin was staring at the ceiling, his lips pressed together and bloodless, and Duncan was staring at his brother, his eyes brimming with angry, unshed tears.
“Something must be done,” Broccin said gravely, avoiding Kensey’s gaze. He continued to stare at the ceiling as he spoke.
“I must go after her,” Duncan insisted, wiping the stray tears from the corners of his eyes. “I must go after her. And this time, I will force her to come with me.”
“I’ll go with you, brother,” Broccin assured him. “We will leave immediately. And we should reach Balconie before sunrise if we ride hard.”
“Aye, we must,” nodded Duncan. Broccin was already on his feet with his hands in the air.
“Unfortunately, we must away,” Broccin announced to the confused guests. “We have received alarming news, and I will need all willing, able-bodied men to come with Duncan and mys
elf to their horses. We ride for Balconie immediately.”
The men, especially the ones who had gone the first time, cheered and began to file out of the room while the women looked stunned and shocked. Duncan followed with the men, but Broccin stayed behind, and took Kensey’s hands.
The somber look on his face tugged at her heart. She didn’t know how best to excuse her behavior and wondered if she should even try, but even with all the frustrations of that day, she still felt it might all melt away if he would hold her.
“We will return, wife.” He strode from the hall. Kensey followed him through the castle out into the courtyard and stopped as he swung up onto Gaidel, still dressed in his wedding finery.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, looking from Broccin to Duncan.
“Read the letter,” Duncan spat. “That monster is going to pay.”
“Please, Broccin,” she begged, coming forward and placing a hand on his knee while she looked up into his face. “Must you leave on our wedding day?”
“I must lead my men to Balconie and destroy the foul pig that lives there.” His eyes were hard and cold as he looked down at her.
“But it is our wedding day,” she whispered, on the verge of tears.
“If I really thought it was that important to you, milady, I would stay,” his words bit into her very soul.
“But, Broc,” she began, the tears choking her. She realized it was no use. The hard set to his close-cropped jaw showed her that he meant to do this and would not be swayed from his course.
“We will speak when I return.” Broc reined his horse onto the stallion’s hind legs and called over the group of riders. “We must be off.” The shout that followed ensued shouts from the other men and the group was soon riding south and away from the castle.
Kensey stared after them, confused about what had just taken place. The men were gone, along with her husband. But where? To war? They’d already been to Balconie once to rescue Fiona and she wouldn’t leave Colin. What had changed?
She searched for the letter. Surely Duncan had left it. She ran back into the great hall and found the letter open on the ground, and half-crumpled. Brigid came up behind her and placed a kind hand on her shoulder.
“My brother can be a fool at times,” she warned. “But don’t hold that against him, please.”
“I must read this letter. I just don’t understand.” Kensey held it open for Brigid to read over her shoulder and the entire hall faded into silence.
“My Dearest Kensey, I’m writing this in a last desperate attempt to get any word to you, as all previous attempts have failed. I write this letter, not because I need your help, but because I want you to know what has happened. I do not want you to worry about me or to try to save me. At this point, I am beyond saving. All I ask is that you look after Duncan for me. Love him and care for him, as you would your own love. As I would have. I sent him a letter telling him of my love and promising that I would be happy here, but the truth of the matter is, I have been enduring unspeakable atrocities at the hands of my lord and master. The beatings have extended since before Malcolm was here in what must have been a rescue attempt, but I cannot leave. Colin has made it clear that if I attempt to escape again, he will kill me. I can no longer walk, and I find it difficult to garner the will to live anymore. Colin insists on punishing the will out of me and loves nothing better than to abuse what my father gave him without question. I am not his wife. I am the Scot he keeps in a tower to amuse himself with blodsport. And I am my father’s dowry. But even then, Father has a new son and heir, so what is a daughter to that?
In addition to all of this, I carry Duncan’s baby inside me, and Colin’s new favorite torture is to elaborate upon all the ways he will mutilate my child once he is born. He would love nothing more than to kill me with grief, to break my heart until I die of the pain. I live in fear of the birth with every passing day. I do not know if I will survive this.
What I do know is that I love you and Duncan very much. I want to ask you two favors. Please, tell Duncan that I do not love him anymore. Use any means you can to entreat him to give his heart to another. I hope that other will be you, but I know you still mourn over Albert and I will not take that from you. Second, please do not ever tell him of this letter. The housekeeper here has taken pity on me in my last days and instructed a page to find Moira, my old maid, who will know to get this letter into your hands and to make sure it was delivered only to you, in person, and in private. I have given up hope of ever finding happiness in this world. So I am choosing to leave it of my own accord. When Colin returns, I do not doubt that he will kill me for sending this letter and with my legs unhealed, I cannot hope to escape now, even as he is again in London.
My darling friend, I entreat you if you are able, since Albert broke your heart so profoundly, to give it to Duncan. He is a wonderful man, the best any woman could ever find for herself. And I know the two of you will be happy together. He will love your spirit and you will adore his kindness. I know you will find fulfillment together. My only happiness is that I know I leave the two of you together. Please pray for my soul as I will go to my grave with two mortal sins on my hands. I must bid you farewell, now, for my strength wanes. I have faith that you will receive this well and with haste. As Always, I Remain Forever Yours, Fiona.”
By the end of the letter, Kensey’s eyes flooded with tears and she wept so that she could barely read the words written on the page. Even though she recognized her friend’s handwriting and diction, she had a hard time believing Fiona Sutherland would willingly embrace death. Colin’s violence must have been so severe and her imprisonment within the walls of Balconie so complete that she thought there was no escape.
Brigid placed her hands on Kensey’s shoulders once she put the letter down. Feeling the presence of someone near her, Kensey turned, clutching her new sister tightly around the waist and sobbing into her dress. Brigid held her as she wept.
“What she said must have been horrible for you to read.” Brigid smoothed Kensey’s hair.
“It isn’t just that.” Kensey sobbed, clutching the sides of Brigid’s dress to stabilize herself. When she looked up, she realized that she was in the very place that she and Malcolm had been standing when Duncan saved her. She thought of Broccin and Duncan, and their mission to rescue Fiona. She thought of herself and Duncan, and the look on Broccin’s face when he rode away, leaving her alone on her wedding night. It wasn’t just Fiona. It was everything. She had made a shambles of everything.
“Then what is it, lass?”
“I can’t explain it,” Kensey said, looking up into her sister-in-law’s eyes.
“Are you afraid of your wedding night, lass? Because I can assure you that Broccin will be gentle and loving with you.”
Kensey blushed, thinking for the first time exactly what her duties as Broccin’s wife would be. Until now, she hadn’t really considered sharing a bed with Broccin, not as anything more than a vague fantasy. She’d thought about waking up next to him every morning and how much she longed to have him hold her in his arms. But she hadn’t really considered the actual mating and what that would be like for her.
“No.” She said pushed the thoughts from her head. “That’s not it at all. I’m not worried about… that.”
“Whatever it is, you don’t need to worry, now that you are married to my brother. He will care for you and protect you and you don’t have to worry about a thing now, lass.”
But Kensey could do nothing except worry. This nebulous future, without her parents, now without Fiona. The look on Broc’s face when he left her. That letter had done more than anger his manhood. The piece about her with Duncan. He would take that to heart. She needed to convince him that she didn’t want Duncan. That she only wanted him.
Chapter Eighteen
“I assume the lass is in her own room,” Broccin asked quietly, as they arrived at Kensey’s door. He was tired from the ride, and heavy with the
stink of horse. “We must get her at once.”
“I believe she waits in your bed.” Brigid’s downcast eyes and half-smile told him all he needed to know.
“My bed?” Broccin repeated. “Why?”
“She’s your wife, or don’t you remember?” Duncan whispered.
“Aye, I remember well enough.” Broc sneered at his sister and pulled off the dirty cloak, unwinding and unwinding. He would be warmer now, in his room. In his bed. With his wife.
He could see, as they turned the corner, the door to the solar. How many times he had approached this door, his heart beating like hooves on hollow ground. Yet this time, a woman waited inside. His wife waited. She would likely be sleeping. And being woken by two sweating, stinking men might not be the most pleasant experience.
“What if she sleeps? It’s after dark now. Should we wake her?” Broccin asked, stopping in the hall before their voices became audible to her. “Will Alana be able to tend to her wounds?”
Duncan pulled a thick hand up to his red hair and ran it through, pensively. “It is nothing that Alana is incapable of caring for. But I thought Kensey would want to see Fiona as soon as she arrived. I’m sure she’s been all nerves since we left.”
“Perhaps we should wait to wake her, after all. We may give her a fright, bursting in the two of us, and with news that will unsettle her. Why don’t we wait for the morning?”
Still considering, Duncan looked back the way they came, his gaze anxious. “It will be several hours before sunrise,” he said. Then he nodded his head and turned back to his brother. “Let’s give the lass a few more hours of sleep. You can wake her in the morning and bring her to my room.”
“Your room?” Broccin asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you certain that is a safe place to keep her?”
“Safe?”
“She is not your wife, after all,” warned Broccin. He had no love for Colin Ross, but the man was Fiona’s husband, in the eyes of the law and the Church. And although they had rescued her from her captivity, as Duncan put it, she was the daughter of one nobleman, and the wife of another. The last thing Broc needed was a war with other clans when they needed to go to war with the English. “Perhaps it would be best to keep her in Brigid’s house. I will post a guard.”
