The Outcast Highlander

by R. L. Syme

“There wasn’t time,” Broccin lied. There had been plenty of time. Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to think about whether or not Elizabeth would be in the crowd when he took his wife.

  “Is the lass with child?” Elizabeth raised one eyebrow and Broc bit his lower lip.

  “Nay.” He held up a hand as Duncan stepped forward to defend Kensey’s honor. “I just did not see the need to wait.”

  “Well, then.” She clasped her hands and let them drop to her waist. “Congratulations.”

  A strained silence hung in the air. At the far end of the hall, footsteps sounded and all three heads turned, but they exited through another corridor. Elizabeth

  “So, what about Kensey?” Duncan repeated.

  “Yes, let’s discuss your wife while my husband rots in a dungeon.” Elizabeth’s face reddened.

  “Och, lass.” Broccin stepped toward her, but she retreated. “We’ve only just married.”

  “Surely she can part with her new husband for a short time to help rescue Scotland’s greatest hero and soon-to-be Guardian.”

  Duncan smiled tightly at Elizabeth and said, “Surely those newly wed can spend an entire night together uninterrupted and it will not effect the state of the union.”

  “Duncan,” Broccin warned, his voice low. “Do not worry yourself.” He turned to ascend the stairs with Duncan behind him. “You stay here.”

  Elizabeth swung her head and the long plait bounced as Duncan and Broccin left her presence.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Duncan insisted as they were out of Elizabeth’s earshot. “Kensey will not understand this, I mark.”

  “Aye, she will,” said Broccin. “She will and I’ll be back shortly. When Fiona can be seen, send Brigid to my room to retrieve Kensey. She should see her friend this morning.”

  “You’ll be back shortly? Is that what you said last time you left us? And how long were you gone then?”

  “That was different.” Broccin growled, turning to face his brother mid-stride. “I will return. I have new reasons to come back.”

  “Reasons that were not good enough before.”

  Duncan was so calm, and Broc’s throat closed with heavy regret. He felt more guilty for considering leaving with each passing moment. He wanted nothing more than to return to Kensey and lie beside her, watching her sleep, seeing her round with their child. But he had a sworn duty to Andrew de Moray and he owed Andrew his life, many times over.

  “I promise, I’ll come back.”

  Duncan stepped into his brother’s face, his breath short. “You think you leave on a noble cause, and I say you’re breaking one oath to keep another. You think about this.” His finger dug into Broc’s chest. “The noble heart will find no shortage of places to offer itself in martyrdom, but you cannot die on every battlefield, brother.”

  Broc couldn’t speak. Duncan’s words cut deeper than any sword or arrow ever had. He pushed the hand off his chest. “Leave, brother, before I say something I will regret tomorrow. Go to your woman. I will be no more than a few days at Berwick. Once Andrew is free, or I know he will not be released, I will return.”

  “Aye, I’ll leave. But you remember what you have here,” he said quietly. Without meeting Broccin’s eyes, he turned on his heel. “All of it.”

  Broc watched his brother retreat into the darkness and was suddenly struck by what Duncan had been trying to say. He’d never even considered that Duncan was hurt when he didn’t return to St. Claire. Or the fact that he might have taken issue when his older brother lived out in the wilds of the countryside instead of returning home to be with his family.

  Kensey wasn’t his only reason for returning, and all the more reason to be quick about this business with Andrew. Now that he’d come into his own right, there were responsibilities he couldn’t ignore for very long, even when he left someone as responsible as Duncan in charge of things.

  He would bid his wife quick farewell, for then he could return to her all the more quickly. Opening the door quietly, Broccin slipped into the semi-darkness of his room. The fire was a pile of smoldering embers and the only light in the room was the breaking light of dawn through the window. Even basking in the glow of sleep, Kensey looked perfect to him. It was all he could do to remind himself he had to leave her now.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. She mewed softly at him while she turned over and her eyes slowly opened to the darkness.

  “Kensey,” he whispered. “Are you awake, love?”

  She didn’t answer immediately, her eyes covering the corners of the room and settling on his face. Her lazy morning smile warmed everything Elizabeth’s presence had frozen inside him and he returned the gesture.

  “You’re up early.” She sunk down into her pillow as she stretched her arms, yawning.

  “We were both up early.” The warm tone in his voice reminded him of their morning and he thought if he could come home from every battle to find her in his bed, he would die a happy man whenever death claimed him.

  The red flush was barely visible as it crept up her neck, but he wanted to kiss it anyway. He leaned down and brushed his lips over the spot where her ear and jaw met, where he knew she was sensitive already. She squirmed beneath him.

  “It can’t be even dawn yet.” She yawned again. “Did you wake me for a reason, or may I return to sleep?” Kensey’s eyes fluttered closed and she seemed to sleep again.

  “I woke you because I have to leave now,” said Broccin, reluctantly.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, stifling a yawn and almost seeming to be unaware of the situation. He understood she was tired, but didn’t want to try to wake her anymore than she already was, for she’d need to get back to sleep as soon as he’d left her.

  “I...” he began, but he was interrupted by the door opening. Elizabeth pushed on the door and walked into the room. “Elizabeth!” he growled. “What are you doing here?”

  “Broc, we must leave now.” She came close to the bed, tears on her cheeks.

  “Lizzy, get out of here.”

  “Why?” Her tears suddenly stopped. Her voice had acquired a strange, hard tone. “Don’t you want your young wife to see me in your bedroom?” The implied sexuality behind that word fairly dripped from each word. If she had been a man, he would have smacked her clean across the face. She could not let a day pass without trying to create havoc somewhere. Today, she’d picked him and he would have no more of it.

  “Elizabeth, that will be quite enough,” he seethed. Turning back to Kensey, Broccin tried to deduce whether or not she was fully awake. But her eyes only fluttered and he was sure she would soon slumber again. He bent over her and kissed her lips softly, lingering for a few seconds.

  After pulling away, he whispered, “I’ll be back soon, love, I promise. Brigid will come for you after you wake. She has a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise?” she mumbled.

  “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Yes, and we’ll have porridge and honey and I can bake you a cake if you like.” She yawned. “Lydia is teaching me how.”

  He swept his lips across her babbling mouth and tucked the coverlet around her, tucking her back into the warmth of the bed. Turning to face Elizabeth, he clucked his tongue.

  He walked to the door and grabbed her arm, taking her from the room. She pulled free of him just outside the doorway and stopped in her tracks.

  “Thank you for coming with me when I so needed you.” She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. Broc, surprised by the gesture and afraid of the noise, pulled the door closed and freed himself from Elizabeth’s grasp. She often used their familiarity against Andrew as well. And against Broc himself, until he’d been wise to it.

  “I do this for Andrew,” Broc said. “Not for you.” As she followed, taking his arm, he rolled his eyes. “Not for all the gold in the treasury.”

  ***

&nbs
p; Kensey woke to the delicious taste of Broc’s lips on hers and lay in her warm bedclothes, reveling in his kiss with her eyes tightly shut. Still a bit unsure of what had been happening and what Broc had been on about, she pushed back the covers and sat straight up in bed, his name on her lips.

  Her first clear picture, upon waking to be truly married, was that of another woman embracing her husband. A strangely tall and lithe woman, beautiful beyond description, like something from an unknown world. Dressed in noble finery, the blonde flashed dark eyes in Kensey’s direction as she stood, framed by the torchlight in the hallway, body locked on to the man Kensey now knew she loved.

  Not only had another woman come to her very bedroom to steal her husband from her bed, but she had the audacity to embrace him so intimately, still in her sight.

  Kensey slipped quietly under the covers and turned to face the other wall, worried that Broccin would return and find her crying.

  “So he knows now.” She sniffled after she heard the door close. “He knows you love him.” The tears flowed freely and she could barely contain them as they came, though the sleeve of her nightgown worked along with her pillow to collect them. “He knows you love him and now he’ll move on to his next conquest.”

  This was the same way it had been with Albert. One day, he professed his love so fervently, she was almost carried away into his bed. Thank God she had not been, for at least she could come to her husband unspoiled.

  But she also bore no false hope for Albert’s next lover. Poor Margaret of Anjou. He may have thrown over Kensey’s heart and his family’s wishes, and professed his love, but Albert was at his core, only a man. He would be no more loyal to her than he had been to Kensey. Once a cheat, always a cheat.

  Deep in her heart, Kensey didn’t want to believe Broc capable of purposefully hurting her. He’d always shown such gentle love for his younger siblings, for Robert. Even for her. And his protective nature spoke of underlying virtue.

  But why would he allow another woman to embrace him in her bedroom? And then leave her? Perhaps he did bear some affection for her, as he claimed. Not enough.

  “And now, you couldn’t stop loving him if you tried, silly girl.” Kensey laughed at herself, wiping her running nose into her pillow. “It’d be easier to stop the rain or the snow.”

  Somewhere inside, she worried that, even if Broc was unlike Albert in temperament, his similar behavior was proof of a deeper problem. The common part in both situations perhaps wasn’t the male disposition. It was her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Kensey awoke again that morning lying across the broad bed with a headache that made movement difficult. Brigid sat near the fire, holding a steaming bowl to her mouth. When Kensey finally moved, her new sister set down the food and came to her side.

  “Are you awake, now, lass?”

  “I think so.” Kensey moaned, putting her hand to her head. “My head aches a bit, but I think I’ll live.”

  “I brought you a bit of breakfast to quickly eat before you left, so you’d have something in your stomach all day.” Brigid gestured to the fireplace, a tight wool smock covering what looked to be a growing belly. Kensey touched her own. She hadn’t bled in weeks. Perhaps even she could be with child.

  “Before I left?”

  “Aye, I thought you’d be up by now and with your cousin.”

  Kensey sat straight up in her bed, almost dropping the teacup. “Fiona? She’s here?”

  “Oh, aye. Broccin and Duncan brought her back with them when they returned in the evening.”

  “This morning?” She slipped out of the bed and searched for her shoes. “I wonder why Broccin didn’t tell me.”

  “Did he wake you last night?” Brigid’s tone rose slowly, no doubt trying to sound inconspicuous as she asked after the state of the bed. As everyone likely would want to know.

  “Aye. He did.” Kensey could feel the blush rising in her face as she fastened her robe and walked toward the door.

  “I wonder, then, where he is this morning.”

  “I don’t know where he is.” Kensey turned to face her glowing sister and tried not to think of babies. Or her husband. “He left early this morning with a strange woman and didn’t tell me where he would be or when to expect his return.”

  Brigid looked only slightly caught off-guard by the remark, but soon pretended as if she hadn’t heard at all.

  “Surely he told Duncan.” Brigid took Kensey’s arm and walked with her through the door. “He’s in with Fiona right now, and I’m sure he’ll tell you all that he knows.”

  “I can’t bother him with my husband’s whereabouts. Surely, he has enough on his mind.”

  Brigid slowed and turned Kensey to face her. “You should know, dear girl, Fiona isn’t herself. She’s barely even been awake more than a few moments since she arrived.”

  “Why did they not wake me to see her?”

  Brigid shifted. “They did not wish you to see her in the state they had to bring her.”

  Kensey pulled her through the hall. “I don’t care what state she’s in.”

  They came around the corner, toward the other family rooms, and Brigid clucked her tongue. “You would have, had you seen her.”

  A lump formed in Kensey’s throat. When she’d read Fiona’s letter, all she could think about was that they would arrive to find her dead. She’d cried herself to sleep that night and stayed abed most of the next day. And when her husband returned, it was so like a dream, she hadn’t even had her wits about her.

  But now, reality set in. This was no dream, no stolen moment. She was about to see what greed had done to her friend, and Brigid seemed to think she wouldn’t be the same after.

  She couldn’t swallow the lump and when they came to the door, Kensey was silent and dropped Brigid’s arm. Just as she moved to enter the room, Duncan slid open the door.

  “Duncan,” Kensey said, surprised.

  He raised his head and tried to smile, but it barely counted as an attempt, so sad was his countenance.

  “Can I go in and see her?”

  “You prepared her?” Duncan looked around Kensey.

  “She’ll have to see her, sooner rather than later.” Brigid took the chair outside the door and plopped into it. “I’m going to wait here. Too many nurses in the sick room.”

  “She’s still sleeping, but I’m sure she’d want to wake up to see you.” Duncan opened the door and escorted Kensey inside.

  The sight that met her eyes almost forced out the tears that had threatened when she first woke. Fiona was lying on the bed, her head bandaged, one eye barely visible and the other swollen in black and blue. Her arm was wrapped and splinted, and her breathing was so labored and raspy, it sounded as if she weren’t getting any air at all. The blood, thankfully, had been wiped from her face and body, and her clothes had been changed. But Kensey could see the bloody mess of clothing she’d been wearing piled on a chair in the corner of the room and it made her stomach churn.

  “Oh, Duncan,” Kensey breathed, laying a hand on his arm for stability. “Is she going to be alright?”

  Lydia spoke from her seat at the bedside. “She’ll live, lass,” came her quiet voice. “We’re still not certain whether the lass can walk, since she hasn’t been right enough to test it yet.”

  “But she’ll heal, won’t she?”

  “We think so.” Duncan patted her hand. “Although you probably know a sight more about healing and medicines then I do.”

  Kensey walked around the bed, placing a trembling hand on the bed coverings and running her fingers along Fiona’s sleeping form. She tried to remember happier days, but the memories wouldn’t come. Thoughts of Fiona’s letter came back to her and she sank into one of the high bedposts, wishing she could cry and expel this feeling in her heart.

  “Has she been awake at all?” Kensey asked.

  “Not really.” Duncan walked closer to Kensey, but waited just at arm’s length.
“She was barely conscious when we found her, and she hasn’t been much better since we brought her back.” He took a deep breath, as if fighting his own emotion. “But she’s been awake a few times, in and out. Called for you this morning.”

  “She did?” Kensey moved closer to the head of the bed, unsure of whether sitting would make it better or worse.

  “Aye, lass.” Lydia reached out her hand and offered it to Kensey. “I’ll wager her spirit will turn yet. And if you would excuse me, my lady, I must get some sleep now that you youngsters are here to watch over our little invalid.” Lydia pulled on Kensey’s balance as she stood. “I’ll leave the two of you and retire for the morning.”

  As she passed Kensey, Lydia placed her hand on the younger girl’s shoulder. “Do not give up hope, lass, on either life or love. For both will come out alright in the end.” Before Kensey could process her words or thank her for her kindness, Lydia had closed the door and was gone.

  “Broccin left last night.” Kensey took over the chair Lydia had vacated. She slumped against the back and sighed. “Or this morning, I should say, actually.”

  “Aye, I knew that,” Duncan said. Kensey stared at him.

  “And you just let him go?”

  “I couldn’t stop him from going.”

  “Apparently nothing could.” The cynicism in her voice surprised even her. She remembered the odd breathless silence of her bedroom when Broccin had embraced the other woman. She was almost loathed to ask, but needed to know the truth. “Who was she?”

  “The woman he left with?”

  “Yes.”

  Duncan paused. He traced the long lines on the bedposts absently, staring at the wall. “There’s more happening there than even I know of.”

  Kensey found herself chuckling. “I imagine so. When it comes to Broc, he’s been on his own so long, I wonder if even he knows his own mind.”

  “Her name is Elizabeth. She’s the wife of Andrew de Moray.”

  “I know of him.” Kensey sat forward. “The freedom fighter, some call him. My father used to speak of him.”