Caelen nodded absentmindedly. “I see your side.”
“Truly?” Manus straightened. “Do you jest with me?”
“Nay, I can listen to various opinions especially from those who aren’t against me.”
“Like Tavish?” He flicked back his black hair.
Caelen frowned down at his cut knuckles. “This Oran. What do you make of him?”
Manus clenched his jaw. Caelen heard his heavy breathing before he said, “I don’t care for him. He doesn’t know his place.”
“Because he pays regard to Alastronia. Your jealously is not needed. If you cannot give me the information without prejudicing your opinion, then you are useless to me.”
Manus pushed off from the wall. “I will do as you wish. I’ll find out more about his character.”
“Also, Manus, you must know father wished you to wed the Stuart lass.”
“He told me. I will not. I have spoken to Alastronia. I must wed her.”
Caelen pushed off the wall and straightened. “You erred. You must speak to her. Let her know that you have obligations to the clan.”
“Father is dead. You do not have to act upon it.”
“Manus, Father has started negotiations, and in breaking them off a feud will begin.”
“Are you afraid of fighting? Afraid someone might put a sword in your back?”
Caelen clutched a handful of his leine, lifting Manus to his toes. “Do not test me, lad. You will wed the Stuart lass and know this, you shall never wed Alastronia.”
* * * *
“I had been ordered never to ride again,” Brenna said, beaming at him, overly pleased to throw his order back at him.
“I shall control Thor. You may ride this time.”
She laid her hand over her chest. “Nay, I cannot disobey my lord husband.”
“Come on, wife, before I throw you over arse up.” Caelen pulled her playfully toward his waiting horse.
Laird Grant had already mounted. “Brenna has never been a rider. Not since she was nearly trampled under their hurried hooves.”
“A fear she no longer possesses. I am pleased by her riding skills.”
Brenna steadied herself with her hands on his shoulder as he gave her a foot up. Once Caelen mounted, she snuggled against him. For the briefest of moments, he rested his chin on the top of her head.
With his mother, the council and Laird Grant, they rode to the games. Reaching their seating, he set Brenna down before handing Thor to a groom. Father Murray ambled to them.
“It is good that you were able to come for the laird,” Laird Grant said.
“I was here for another reason. The bishop sent me.”
The skin around Grant’s eyes tightened for a blink before he recovered. “Aye, I think for the time we can forget that.”
“I know what is proper.”
Caelen jerked his head back. Father Murray never lost his even-temper countenance.
Grant made a motion, something between a nod and a shake of his head. Caelen escorted his mother and Brenna to their seats before he motioned for the games to begin. A cheer went up.
On the flank of the crowd, he spotted the new members. Each donned the MacKenzie plaid. They stood about, watching but not joining in the fun and just behind them stood men from the garrison.
Caelen rose. Lined up where boys and girls. Their ankles tied to one another with a cut of rope. He held the piece of linen. The children leaned forward, ready to set off. He let it drop.
The adults began to cheer for their team.
The children set off. The ones who worked together were faster, while those who failed toppled to the ground.
Two girls crossed the line. A man ran from the crowd and lifted up the girls while some folks groaned and others cheered. The betting had begun. Caelen presented the first prize to them.
The morn passed and the betting increased along with the drink and food. There were bowls, horseshoes, and mock battles that left a few men bloody and all bruised.
Then came time for the hammer throwing. “Come, your lordship. Let’s see if any man can best you.”
“Aye, Caelen do join in,” Brenna said.
Caelen picked up the hammer. He flexed his hand about the handle, getting the feel for the smooth wood. He went to his spot and swung the weapon above his head. The whoosh of the hammer cutting through the air encircled him. With the proper flick of his wrists, he released it with a grunt.
It landed, buried in the ground. He dusted his hands off. “Can any best me?”
Manus stepped up next. He fell short of Caelen by a distance. “One day, brother, I shall best you.”
“Not this day.”
With each throw, Brenna drew closer. She clutched his forearm, digging her nails into him. Next, her father joined the challenge. Caelen watched. His hammer went through the air and landed beyond Caelen’s.
From the corner of his eyesight, he caught one man throwing a fist in the air. “It seems I am better skilled at the game.”
“It appears so.”
Brenna placed a peck on his check. The crowd cheered. “You did great.”
“As long as you think so, then I am happy.”
For how long?
Chapter Nine
Brenna watched as the targets were set out. She had thrown horseshoes and had even played tag with the children. This game captured her attention. She watched with rapt attention. All the talk around her faded to a low hum. She narrowed her eyes on the center marked with an X. She stood up. “Brenna, what are you doing?” Caelen raised his brows to her.
“I wish to join in. Do not look so surprised. I am skilled at this. Your father taught me when I was fostered here.”
“Truly?” Caelen said, disbelief stretching out the simple word.
“Aye, he said it was the only way to keep me from mischief.”
“I believe that.”
She strolled to the pile of arrows leaning against a quiver crammed with bows. She picked one up, and finger by finger, curled her hand around the wood.
Caelen strolled to the center. The crowd fell silent. “The Countess of Wester Ross will be joining in. In tribute to my father, who taught her this skill when she was but a lass.”
She stepped to the wood stick placed on the ground. She licked her lips. She drew back the bowstring and set the arrow. She raised it up. Her muscles pulled at the force. The crisp highland air brushed against the tip of her nose. She inhaled, drawing the scent of freshness and cattle that always lingered. The feather of the bow stroked her cheek. She released the arrow. The tip buried into the center. The edge quivered, and then stilled.
Caelen hurried to her and embraced her. His chest puffed with pride. He kissed her, and then he did so again. She beamed at the clan folk.
“It seems our Lady is a fierce woman.” Gilroy took the bow from her.
“She is a fitting wife for me.”
Laird Grant glanced at Father Murray.
Finian came up. “Great shot. Ye shallna be bested.”
“Wait and see, Finian. I may be. There are many fine MacKenzie warriors yet to take their shot.”
“None can best ye.”
“Do not say that. I may have to go to war then.”
“Och, my lady, ye canna ride,” a women from the crowd called out.
Brenna laughed even as her face heated. Over Finian’s shoulder, she watched her father approaching. He was clapping. He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her to him. He placed a kiss on her head.
“You have always amazed me,” her father said. His wide mouth spread, crinkling his eyes so she couldn’t see the deep blue color.
“Not always in the best of ways.”
“I never thought you could pick up my sword. The floor still bears the groove. You wishing to cook surprised me as well. But the kitchen was rebuilt. And I never quite knew how you escaped from the castle to go adventuring. I am thankful that you were a lass. If you had been a male…I shiver at the notion. But th
is—a great skill. We could have gone hunting together.”
A heaviness settled on her chest. Her father had always loved her. He had been stern, but never cruel. It would have been easier if he had been. She could easily turn her back on him and set herself firmly on Caelen’s side.
“Shall we see your competition?”
All stepped away from the line and then watched each man take a shot. The last person up was a lass.
“Caelen, we do have fierce lasses in the clan. We mae ha’e to take them to fight.” Finian liked his comment so much, he slapped his hand on his thigh.
She took her shot. Her arrow landed beside Brenna’s. The crowd’s gasp echoed.
Finian walked over for a closer look. Gilroy pushed himself up from his chair. “Finian, you couldn’t see a hawk if it landed on your nose.”
“Ye na better.”
Both men stretched out their necks and squinted at the arrows. “Her ladyship won.”
Finian scratched his bald head. “I canna tell.”
“Because you cannot see” Gilroy’s beard shook as he laughed.
“I can. ’Tis too close to tell.”
“Caelen, do something,” Brenna said, yanking at the sleeve of his leine.
“Such as?”
“Pull both of them away and award her the prize.”
“But maybe you won.”
“I do not need it.” She shook her head.
Caelen sighed. He pulled away Finian and Gilroy. “The winner is Fearchara.”
“My lord, her ladyship won,” Fearchara said, her young voice quivering.
“Do you refuse the prize?”
Fearchara stared at the sprigs of spice and herbs. Before she could answer, Brenna cut in, “I have a solution. Fearchara is granted the prize and the highlands can brag about the fierce Countess of Wester Ross.”
“Aye, thank ye, my lady.”
Brenna presented it to her and smiled brightly. She unpinned the brooch. “It is a simple one, made of silver. I wish for you to take it.” She placed it in Fearchara’s hand and curled her fingers around the Celtic knot and thistle brooch. “You deserve something for the perfect shot.”
Fearchara teared up. “Thank ye, my lady.”
Caelen put his arm around her. Missing was the hard gaze that always graced his face. In its place was a look she never saw before. She peered beyond the beautiful blue to a budding emotion shining within him. If she could believe, he cared for her. Cared, nay, it was deeper. Was it love? Aye, love mixed with pride.
Behind him stood her father.
Two men she loved…two men demanding her loyalty. How could she please them both?
She turned back to her seat. Halfway there, Oran caught her eye and called her over. She turned direction.
“Neasan has been speakin’ to Rodachan.”
Rodachan was her father’s commander. She scanned the crowd but failed to see Neasan. During her journey here, Neasan had stayed far from her. He hadn’t even spoken. He was the one man she hadn’t understood his reason for leaving the clan. He was part of the garrison, taking his meals in the Great Hall and quartered in the castle boundaries.
“There has been many a talk that halts when I’m near.”
“Between Neasan and who?”
“Taran.”
“Truly?” she asked. He seemed thrilled to come to the land, able to toil more land than back home. “Why? What do they plan?”
“I can watch them.”
“Aye, especially with my father about.”
“Forgive me,” Oran offered.
“Do not worry. My father has plans and ambition. But I have my own as well.”
* * * *
Alastronia watched the children run about, this way and that, circling or zigzagging as they screamed after each other. Her head spun a little and she looked away, needing to steady. A hand rested on her shoulder. The heady tingles exploded within her. Oran. She spun around. Her smile died.
“Manus,” she said. She hated the way he viewed her as if she were a prize to be claimed. He didn’t see her and never noticed that she deflated at his appearance. He loved her appearance. That would change when her beauty was not as ripe, changing into a grayer and creased version of what she once was. Nay, she wished for someone who saw beneath the outside. Like Oran did.
“I must tell you something. No matter what you hear, I will wed you. Do not fret. I shall not let you go.”
Her heart plummeted. She looked toward her feet, swearing she would see it there. She glanced about her—for a place to escape to, perhaps. He grabbed her hand. He mustn’t feel the chill within her. He dropped her hand, but her arm still dangled in the air.
She watched him walk away. He looked back, and then he became smaller and smaller. She threw her shoulders back and straightened until her spine stretched to the point of shattering.
“Alastronia.”
She flinched at her name. “Forgive me, my lady. I dinna hear ye.”
“I did not mean to frighten you. I am here because I am in need of your help.”
“I shall help ye any way I can.”
“I am in need of servants up at the castle. But that is not all. Oran has spoken of you and I will require a task. You cannot tell anyone. I see I have frightened you. Let me explain. There are events that are happening and I need someone to be a messenger between Oran and myself.”
“I’d be betraying his lordship.”
“Nay, you shall not. Oran has come here to build a life and have a family. You can share the information with Caelen and no one else. It must remain between the four of us.”
If she helped, Oran could marry her. She could be happy. Though, she’d be in Manus’s company more.
“Wat aboot my father?”
“Knowing how much he wishes this union between you and Manus, I imagine he would be most glad to be on his own. One of the women will help care for him. That is how a clan works.”
“I will help ye.”
Brenna clasped her hand in appreciation. “You have helped me more than I can convey. You shall be rewarded for this. I promise.”
“Then I shall think hard aboot wat I want.”
“Do that,” Brenna answered. “Come once you depart from the games. I will need you tonight.”
Brenna started across to the stands. Alastronia turned halfway and then she spotted Oran. He stopped her ladyship. From an onlooker, it appeared as they had a jovial conversation. That was until one looked closer. Oran’s posture stiffened. He crossed his arms, listening to her ladyship speak, and planted his feet. He nodded at something Brenna said and then marched straight toward her.
Even with him in a temper, her heart soared and she couldn’t kill the smile. This time, there would be no disappointment even if he berated her. Why and how could a highland lass, with a streak of stubbornness and a great deal of personal strength, weaken at even the smallest of attention?
Oran moved so fast that he rocked when he halted before her. “Please dinna do this.”
“Why nat? I ha’e naught to lose.”
“I dinna want anything to happen to ye. There is a power play at the center of this.”
“Explain this to me,” she said.
He looked about. “Laird Grant is seekin’ the land the Grants reside upon. The marriage between Brenna an’ the new laird was a way to secure dat land. Wit the old laird’s death, there is turmoil. I dinna ken which of the men is sharin’ information. Men like dat might try to harm ye if ye learn too much.”
“Yer scaring me.”
“Good. I canna ha’e anything happen to ye. Alastronia, I am loyal to Brenna, but others are na.”
“If I dinna do this, I may ha’e my life destroyed. ’Tis better that I do it. I shall be careful.”
“That isna enough. I love ye an canna risk losing ye. Dinna gae that look on yer face. I’m still mad at ye. But I’ll always protect ye.”
* * * *
A few hours and two days, and then her life would bec
ome mundane again. Outside, the winds had picked up and the fire warmed the great hall. Rain would be coming soon, again. She did a final inspection of the hall. The trestle tables were step up. The benches were pushed beneath them. Candles lined down the length. The tapestries were brighter since the servants had given them a good beating to rid them of dust and smoke. No smoke blackened the hearth. The floor had been swept, and the hounds had been put away somewhere near since the echo of their cries could be heard. She climbed the dais. The tablecloth was spread flat, and the cups had been set up. The candles were lit. The chairs were waiting. She fluffed them up again. All was in order. Soon, the table would groan under the weight of the feast.
Perhaps her days would not be as mundane as she expected. The stores of candles, foods, spices, and some other small thing she wasn’t noticing at this moment, would demand her attention. That meant counting, seeing the chores completed, and seeing the stores replenished.
Thankfully, she did not have to set off on a search for a servant, as she entered. “Ah, Jinny, fate may be on our sides. There are details that I want seen to.”
“Brenna, perhaps I can help,” the lairdess said.
The purplish hue swelling beneath her red-rimmed eyes twisted her stomach. Brenna could not ask her to spare her strength on such things. She could not deny her. “If you wish, I welcome your help. Though, if you wish to rest—”
“You can handle this without me.” She waved a hand, encompassing the hall.
“Aye, you have trained me well.”
She massaged the nape of her neck. “I shall go rest, especially since you have seen to all. I do need to rest.”
“You do. All shall be well.” Brenna longed to hug her. The lairdess appeared as if she could use the touch of another.
“Now that you are here.”
Brenna flinched at the blow she heard in her tone. The lairdess spun around and departed.
Brenna smiled to erase her hurt. Jinny bowed her head, and then she looked back up at her. Her watery eyes goggled. “Are you well?”
“Rushing aboot, but I can do my duties.”
Claiming the Highlander Page 14
