by Amy Jarecki
Lady Anne faced her with a broad smile. “You never told me about that.”
“Aye, well, I was lucky enough not to get with child until after the ceremony.”
***
Enya deliberated over how she should break the news to Bran. She contemplated waiting until after they were married, but two things made her decide against the idea. First, Bran was the type of man would want to know straight away, and second, she was too excited to hold it back. Besides, with her morning sickness growing worse, he just might figure it out.
She packed a basket and took him to the cottage—the place where they would spend their lives together.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Bran nuzzled her hair, as he often did when they stole away for the solitude of the tiny home. “I wanted ye to meself all day.”
“I thought I’d never lure you away from Calum.”
He ran his lips along her neck. “He’s driving us hard—afraid we’ll go soft while we wait for attack.”
“Do you really think they’ll come? It has nearly been a fortnight.”
“Aye, they’ll come, and the longer it takes them, the more guns they’ll have.”
“Do you think we’ll be able to defend the keep?”
“Brochel? No walls were built stronger than our solid stone outer bailey. Twelve foot thick it is.”
Enya walked into the main room and set her basket on the table. Bran stepped in behind and slid his hands around her waist.
“I want ye.”
She looked toward the bed. It could wait for a moment. That’s all it would take. She pulled a white linen infant gown from under the basket’s cloth and held it up for him to see. Lady Anne had given it to her, saying it had been Ian’s. “Do ye like this?”
Bran buried his nose in Enya’s hair and slid his hand into the top of her bodice. “Aye, but ’tis a bit too small for me.”
“That it is…but not for a bairn.”
His body stiffened against her back. Grasping Enya’s shoulders, he turned her around. His eyes were wide and filled with happiness. “Are ye?”
“With child?”
He nodded.
“Aye. ’Tis why I’ve not taken the morning meal.”
He drew her into his arms and squeezed. “We’re going to have a bairn. When?”
“I think mayhap I conceived the first time we joined. The babe should come in seven to eight months.”
“’Tis a miracle.”
Enya slid her arms around his waist and inhaled the masculine scent that had become so familiar. “I love you more than you could know.”
“I think I have a good understanding of how ye feel.” He led her to the chair and had her sit then knelt beside her. “We must take precautions.”
“I’m fine, truly. I hardly even know it’s there except in the mornings.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “We mustn’t tell a soul. Not until we are properly wed.”
Bran nodded. “Does Heather know?”
“Only Mara and Lady Anne—they figured it out when I complained of queasiness.” She held up her hand. “But they’ve taken an oath of secrecy.”
“Very well, if that’s what ye want. We shall avoid a scandal for certain.” He pulled her into his lap. “Now kiss me, woman.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
As the days passed, the tension in the keep grew. Bran had prepared for battle too many times to miss it. Fortunately, the evening meal always provided a needed reprieve.
When the tables were pushed aside, the fiddler and the piper tuned their instruments for the evening’s festivities. Calum filled Bran’s tankard with ale. “Ye’ve had that pretty lassie to yerself for far too long. ’Tis time I had a turn with her on the dance floor.”
Bran lifted his tankard and gave Enya a wink. “Ye think yer old bones can keep up, m’laird?”
“Stick it in yer arse.” Calum offered Enya his elbow. “M’lady.”
“A strathspey ought to be a tempo ye can handle,” Bran called after them.
Calum eyed Bran over his shoulder. “I can still out-dance ye.”
Bran cupped his hands around his mouth and raised his voice. “Mayhap I should challenge ye to a sword dance.”
Bran thought Calum wouldn’t hear him, but the laird stopped and turned. “Ye’re on, Sir Bran. Just as soon as I finish showing this fine lassie how the laird of the keep dances.”
Lady Anne laughed and clapped her hands. “You’ve gone and done it this time.”
“What do ye mean? I can sword dance as well as any Highlander.”
“Of course you can, but you threw a challenge to Calum—one he cannot resist.”
Bran was crushed. “Ye think he will out-dance me?”
“I cannot say, but he will try.” Anne nodded toward the dancers. “Enya is glowing tonight. I believe the brisk Highland air agrees with her.”
Bran gave her a knowing wink and then looked at the others. No one appeared the wiser. He watched Enya smiling and laughing, wearing a new yellow kirtle. She did glow, her face alive with color, her lovely ginger tresses worn loose, swaying across her bottom with her every step. She was as beautiful as a rose in bloom.
Anne reached over the table and covered his hand. “It is wonderful to see you so gay.”
“I am happier than I’ve ever been.”
“I can tell.” She smiled thoughtfully. “Remember the day when I wrapped your arm on the Flying Swan? You were but twelve at the time.”
He rubbed it as if he could still feel the pain of his fall from the ship’s rigging. “Aye, I’ll never forget.”
“You have always been like a son to me, Bran. I hope you know that.”
“Thank ye, m’lady. Yer blessing means a great deal.”
The strathspey ended and Calum beckoned Bran with a wave of his hand. “Come up here, ye young buck and lay yer sword on the floor.”
The hall erupted in a roar of hollers as everyone pounded the tables with their dirks and eating knives.
Bran strutted down the steps and gave Enya a peck on the cheek.
She gave his hands a squeeze. “Don’t be too hard on him. He is your lord and master, after all.”
“I’ll only give him a dose of what he deserves.” The laird thought he could jump higher? This would be fun. Bran strutted onto the dance floor. “Ye remember the steps, do ye, m’laird?”
Calum set his sword down and rested his scabbard across it. “Stop yer swaggering and line up yer claymore.”
Bran did as asked and Calum nodded to the piper. Bran chuckled. The laird was known throughout the Hebrides for his high-leaping sword dance. The piper launched into the familiar tune and, heels together, they bowed with their hands on their hips.
Alexander and Ian filled the side benches with their young mates, stomping their feet and clapping. The entire hall followed suit, clapping a beat that nearly drowned out the bagpipes. Bran held his hands up and out as he kicked to the side and leapt.
Calum leapt through the air with the spring of a young man, his rolling laugh reaching Bran’s ears. Bran used all his strength to match the laird, not quite laughing as hard, but enjoying the challenge every bit as much.
As he rounded the corner of the imaginary box made by the sword and scabbard, Bran thought he heard the ram’s horn sound. But he had no doubt when Calum stopped. Calum sliced his hand through the air and the drone of the pipes brayed into a clash of unharmonious notes as the bellows emptied of air. The hall fell silent. The horn sounded again.
Bran’s pulse raced. William MacLeod burst through the big double doors. “An armada just rounded Aird of Sleat.”
“How many boats?” Calum asked.
“Twenty galleys all filled with pikemen.”
“And cannon?”
“At least one per boat, m’laird.”
Calum scratched his chin. “Four hundred men and twenty guns. They could be here before daybreak.”
Bran picked up his sword and scabbard. “They may have us outnumbered, but we have them ou
tgunned.”
Calum looked him in the eye. “Pick yer crew. I need ye aboard the Sea Dragon.” He raised his voice for all to hear. “Norman, ye’ll man The Golden Sun. Board tonight and sail round the south end of the island. Robert will light the southern torch once they’ve sailed into our cove. The big ships will flank them and we’ll have them surrounded.”
Benches scraped across the floor as everyone set to task.
***
Enya raced down the steps of the dais and into Bran’s arms. “I want to go with you.” She clutched his shirt in her hands, terrified to release him.
Calum sheathed his sword and placed his hand on Enya’s shoulder. “We need ye here, lass. I’ll post ye on the battlements with the other bowmen.”
Enya started to object, but Bran held her at arm’s length. “Ye must do as Calum says. Ye’ll be safer here.”
Her stomach clenched. She wanted to be with Bran, but knew nothing of ships. She looked at the hard, determined line of Calum’s jaw. He appeared completely changed from the jovial man she’d just danced with. He took charge of the keep, bellowing orders. Every single person in the hall jumped into action. She had no doubt they would be ready to face her father when he arrived.
Enya cast a worried glance to Bran. “You cannot kill my father.”
Bran grasped her arm and led her up into the antechamber off the great hall. He closed the door. “I only have a moment. It would bring the clan a great deal of strife if we kill one of Scotland’s barons. But dunna take me wrong. He’s the one attacking us and we’ve a right to defend our home.”
“But he’s my father, and Robert could be there too.”
“I’ll do what I can to see to their safety. But ye dunna come to Brochel with an armada of ships filled with fighting men and expect to return home.”
Enya couldn’t breathe. Bran enfolded her in his arms. She knew this moment was coming, but never expected the wave of emotions crashing over her. The man she loved was facing her father and brother in a battle that could see all three of them killed. And she would not be by Bran’s side. She wanted to drop to her knees and retch.
Bran squeezed her tighter. “Ye must be strong for me. ’Twill all be over afore ye ken.”
He cupped her face and kissed her. Enya ran her hands around his waist and pulled him against her body. His fingers slid over her shoulders. With his lips, he showed her the depth of his love, claiming her as his own.
Bran pulled back and smoothed the rough pads of his fingertips along her cheek. “No one shall ever part us.”
Enya squeezed his hand and held it to her lips. Closing her eyes, she kissed the hand that could wield his sword with ruthless and practiced fury, and then caress her gently as if she were as delicate as a rose.
“I must away. Remember I love ye, lass.”
A tear streamed down her cheek. “I love you too.”
It took all the courage Enya could muster to release his hand. Bran headed toward the courtyard, and Calum caught her arm as she exited the antechamber. “Ye proved yerself in Glasgow. I want ye with yer bow and arrows in the crenel notch over the main gate. William has command of the wall-walk. Ye’ll report to him.”
Enya nodded numbly. All her life she’d dreamt of what it would be like to be a man and fight in battles. But now the time had come for her to be a part of a conflict, she wanted to take Bran and run. Her palms grew slippery with sweat. The great hall was spinning. Enya ascended the winding donjon stairs, feeling withdrawn from the activity around her. Clansmen raced past, laden with arms, but somehow everything moved slowly, as if she were watching the frenzy from the rafters.
Would the king’s men pursue Bran and Malcolm if she wasn’t there? Would her father ever give her up? He’d already proven how much he hated Bran, and Enya was fully aware he considered Highlanders barbarians.
***
Bran and his crew launched their skiffs to board the Sea Dragon, Calum’s carrack. Though heavier in body, which made it slower than the racing galleon, The Golden Sun, it carried forty-one guns and could blast any armada of Scottish galley ships out of the sea.
A full-rigged ship with a rounded stern, Bran usually enjoyed taking the helm of the Sea Dragon, but this assignment left him with no control. Enya would be at the castle and he wouldn’t be able to protect her if something went awry. He wanted to argue with Calum when the laird assigned him to the carrack, but he would never shirk an order from his chieftain.
The skiff thudded against the Sea Dragon’s hull. With no pier, Bran and his men used the rope winch to board, and then hauled the skiffs aboard for the return journey.
The men worked quickly to unfurl the sails. Bran was about to give the command to weigh anchor when a thud from a skiff echoed from below.
“Ahoy the ship.”
Bran strode to the wooden rail and peered over the side. John and Friar Pat waved from the skiff and Murdoch had begun his ascent to the deck. “What the blazes are ye doing here?”
Murdoch swung his legs over the rail and hopped from the wooden seat supported by ropes of rigging. “Calum sent us.”
“Doesna he ken I can handle this on me own?”
Murdoch shrugged. “I didna ask him.”
The winch started creaking again as John worked his big frame up the side of the ship. “Calum wanted more men for the guns. Said our greatest weapons are at sea, where his men should be.”
“Bloody hell. That leaves him with William’s archers and a few fighting men?”
“He’s confident we’ll take them by sea.”
Bran didn’t like it. “Who’s watching the laird’s back with all of his best swordsmen aboard his ships?”
“Malcolm’s there.”
Dragon’s teeth. Yes, Malcolm was a warrior to be reckoned with, but it was only a few weeks ago he’d been one of Ross’s men. Though their friendship had been rekindled, Bran wasn’t sure he liked the idea of him standing beside Calum if Lord Ross stormed the beach.
When John tied off the winch, Bran glanced over the side. The friar had turned the skiff around.
John followed Bran’s line of sight. “There was no use winching another skiff onto the deck just for two men.”
Bran thought to row back and ask Calum what the bloody hell he was thinking. He sucked in a deep breath and looked up at the three masts—the wind billowed the sails, the rigging groaning against the force, asking to be set free. “Weigh anchor!”
Though they were only sailing to the southern tip of Raasay, a mere two leagues away, the fresh salt in the air and the wind on his face helped to shed some of the anxiety that had Bran’s gut twisted in knots. He had only respect for his laird. But still, he worried about Enya’s safety, though he had faith Calum would act in the best interests of the clan. Owing to their engagement, Enya was now a member of Clan MacLeod of Raasay.
Bran’s chest squeezed taut. If anything happens to her I’ll nay forgive meself.
It took less time to sail to the southern point of Leac than it did to start the ship underway. Bran climbed to the poop deck and pointed his spyglass toward the Brochel Castle lookout. He couldn’t see it, though he knew the tower Calum had built was tall enough to be seen once the fires were lit. Yet that knowledge didn’t give him peace.
He cuffed the cabin boy on the back of the head. “Climb the crow’s nest.” He hollered over the deck, amassed with men working to secure the ship. “I want a lookout in the crow’s nest all night. Spell the watch every two hours and leave the sails unfurled. As soon as the cauldron is lit, we sail back to Brochel.”
***
Lord Ross choked back his bile. He hated the sea. Since they sailed from the protected waters of the Firth of Clyde, he’d had his head hung over the side of the galley while he puked his guts out. He glared over his shoulder at the men behind him. If anyone said a word, he’d make an example of them. He wished they would. He’d been waiting over two weeks for blood.
When the armada rounded the tip of Skye, Ross gave the comm
and to strike the sails and wait until just before dawn. He’d surprise the filthy MacLeods as they were waking to take their morning shite. He’d purchased twenty new muskets and found the best shots to man them. Twenty guns ought to be enough to take the Highlander down. He wasn’t about to waste his time chasing him with sword and pike.
Ross reclined in the bow of the ship and waited.
After a night without sleep, his insides raw, Ross shivered under his cloak as he watched the horizon until a grey-blue glow arced over the eastern sky. At last he would have vengeance. He would show the beastly Highlanders he was not a man to reckon with, and then he’d take his wayward daughter and lock away her in the nunnery. At this stage, he couldn’t care less if Claud Hamilton returned. Besides, the man’s lands were forfeit. What good would an alliance between their families be now?
Chapter Twenty-nine
Calum sat before the hearth in his chamber. Guilt needled up his spine. He should be on the wall-walk with his men, but he couldn’t face them. What he was about to do would make him appear ruthless in the eyes of the clan.
Lady Anne placed her gentle hands on his shoulders and squeezed. “I’ve not seen you this agitated since you took me to Carlisle all those years ago.”
“Och. I always end up on edge before a battle.”
“I know you too well. With your plan of surprise, this battle is all but won. Something else is bothering you.”
He couldn’t look her in the eye. “I should be out there with the men.”
“But you’re not.” She kneaded harder. “My guess is it has something to do with the fact you sent Bran to the Flying Swan, leaving Enya to stand with the archers.”
“She’s an excellent archer.”
“She’s Lord Ross’s daughter.”
Calum clenched his fists. “She will be hidden well enough.”
Anne walked around him and confronted him. “What have you got planned?”
He dared glance at her face. “All I ask is ye do no’ judge me until this is over. I can live with the clan’s ire, but no’ yers.”
“You’re not going to fight, are you?” Christ, she was too smart for her own good, and she could not leave well enough alone.
