Highland Grace

by K. E. Saxon

  He felt Branwenn’s gaze on him as she walked toward him. “I suppose our walk together must wait until another time?” she said in a low voice once she’d reached his side.

  Bao looked down into his sister’s all-too-aware eyes and narrowed his own. “You know!” he accused. “How?”

  Color shot up her neck and washed over her face. She turned her gaze away from him. Then she coughed and cleared her throat several times, an old ruse, he knew, to stall for time. “Sorry,” she said hoarsely, “I swallowed wrong.”

  “Braaanweennn,” he drawled in the same tone he’d used on her as a bairn when he knew she was lying to him about some mischief she’d gotten herself into.

  Her shoulders drooped. Wringing her hands, she walked away from him and stood facing the hearth. “I was there that day. At the waterfall,” she said in a barely audible voice. “I saw everything.”

  Bao strode over to her and grabbed her by her upper arms, turning her to face him. His voice shook when he said, “You watched us? I can’t even begin to find the words to say how wrong that was.” He shook her ever so slightly as his grip on her arms increased. “This is exactly why I insisted that you stay on here to receive training from my grandmother. No decently raised young lass would ever do that!”

  Her eyes filled as her throat worked. Finally she said in an anguished whisper, “I’m sorry!” before her face crumpled and the floodgates opened in earnest.

  With a jerk, Bao released his grip on her arms and turned away. Needing to gain control of his anger before he hurt his sister’s feelings further with more harsh words, he strode across the room, cupping his hands behind his head. He stopped and stared at naught, his mind focused on the events of that fateful day. “You followed me?” he finally asked.

  When she didn’t answer, he turned and looked at her. Her face was a mask of misery, soaked with her salty tears. She was such a tiny thing; she always had been. Since the moment of her birth on the four-wheeled cart his father had stolen from some pilgrims he’d murdered on one of his many freebooting rampages. Branwenn’s mother had been stolen in a raid by Bao’s father as well—and then the man had been violently angry when he’d discovered she was carrying her husband’s babe in her belly. But, somehow, the woman had survived his father’s beatings and kept her babe inside of her. But when she’d delivered Branwenn into this world, she’d taken her last breath. Jamison Maclean had been intent on dumping the babe on the side of the road, but Bao had convinced him to allow him to keep her—for a price. That had been the night he’d agreed to work the venereal trade for his father. And it hadn’t been many hours past that time that he had been initiated into the darkest side of human bondage.

  With a mental shake, Bao shrugged away those dismal memories and focused once more on his sister. He’d kept her innocent. Innocent of that side of his life, and certainly physically innocent. He’d wanted a better life for her, and he’d made sure she’d had a clean and stable home, as well as plenty of food and clothing. But, being raised as she was near the court, and having a brother who was gone much of the time on the king’s campaigns, had allowed her to develop her already independent nature to a level that had been troublesome, to say the least, much of the time he’d raised her. And was this latest mischief so unforgivable? Nay, ‘twas not. Especially since he must admit his own culpability in her behavior.

  He walked over to her and took her in his arms, holding her and stroking her silky hair. “Do you know what your first word was? ‘Twas my name. Well, not exactly my name, but quite close,” he said, reminiscing in the age-old way he’d used all her life to comfort her.

  She nodded beneath his palm. “I called you ‘Gow’. I remember,” she said wistfully.

  Bao smiled and kissed her forehead. “Nay, you can’t possibly remember. You were too young.”

  “Well, it seems like a memory since you’ve told me of it so oft,” she replied.

  Bao hugged her more tightly and let out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly to you. I was just shocked, but I’m calmer now.”

  She relaxed further into his embrace. “I know I shouldn’t have stayed and watched, but I was just so curious. Why is it so awful for a lass to know how ‘tis done before she is expected to do it the night she’s wed?” She pulled back and looked up at him, ire at the injustice of society’s rules written on her countenance. “Lads are encouraged to learn how ‘tis done, ‘tis so unfair!”

  Bao’s lips came together in a grim line as he pressed his finger and thumb against his eyelids. After a moment, he shook his head. “I know not.” He looked into his sister’s upturned face once more and continued, “‘Tis just the way things are—and always have been, as far as I know.” He shrugged. “Well-bred, unwed lasses must remain virtuous and ignorant of those things.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he said gravely, “I’m sure it has quite a bit to do with keeping the lass from finding herself in the same condition Jesslyn is in right now.”

  She bowed her head and nodded. “Aye, I suppose you are right.” She stepped away and sat on one of the stools next to the hearth. “What are you going to do? Will you wed her?”

  “Aye.”

  Branwenn squealed with glee. Bounding to her feet once more, she flew to him and threw her arms around him again. “I cannot believe it! You swore you’d never wed!” she said, her cheek pressed tightly against his chest.

  Bao chuckled and scrubbed his knuckles across the crown of her head, knocking her filet even further askew. “Fate, it seems, has made that vow one I will have to break.”

  She slapped at his hand and leapt out of his reach. “Then you’ll be staying on here?” she asked as she righted her hair ornament.

  “Aye, so it seems. But first, I must obtain the mother’s agreement.”

  “She’ll say aye—she obviously likes you—otherwise, she wouldn’t have”—she fluttered her hand a few times—“you know, with you.”

  Aye, he knew. ‘Twas that thing, however, that he would forget. “I suppose I should be off now to speak with her.” He turned and strode toward the doorway, but swung back to Branwenn before he departed. “I truly am sorry for treating you like a bairn in front of the others earlier. ‘Twill not happen again. And I still want to spend some time with you later—I want to hear how you have truly been getting on here.”

  She nodded. “I’d like that as well. Mayhap, after supper this eve?”

  “Aye, after supper,” he replied. “I missed you.”

  Her eyes misted again and she blinked. “I missed you too. Now, go find the mother of your babe and set a date to wed.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER 4

  Jesslyn pulled the fur-lined mantle tighter around her arms and shoulders as she paced in front of the opening to the shallow cave where she and Bao had first met—the setting of their last private talk, as well, before he’d left last summer. The vines, that had once been so full of leaves, serving to cloak the entry, were now dry brown stems—a somewhat sinister version of their former selves, or so it seemed to her. Thankfully, the snow flurries had stopped some time earlier, but there was still a thin layer of frost on the ground, and it weighted down the pine and juniper branches as well.

  Where was Bao? She’d been waiting here for what seemed an half-hour. Mayhap, he’d changed his mind. After all, his reaction to the news of the babe had been distress and alarm. Exactly what she’d expected after the cool reception she’d received from him. Mayhap, he was afraid she would confirm that he’d fathered the babe and he would feel honor-bound to wed her.

  But he had naught to fear, for she had no intention of wedding him under these circumstances. Nay, he’d made it more than plain last summer that he desired an unfettered life. And with his distant manner today, this course seemed even more imperative. Besides, she had little doubt that he’d resent her for forcing him into an unwanted union, and a life filled with anger and bitterness was not the life she would have for her babe, her
lad, or herself.

  Deciding it would be foolish for her to wait for him any longer, she turned to leave. She hadn’t walked more than two paces when the sound of a horse whinnying brought her up short. Her gaze riveted on Bao as he walked with masculine grace over the snow and ice-covered forest floor toward her, leading his stallion by the reins.

  “I hope you haven’t been here long,” he said, his tone rigid, when he was close enough for her to hear him. “It took more time than I’d expected to delay the walk I’d planned with my sister.” His breath formed puffs of gray misty fog as he spoke, his movements stiff as he tethered his horse to the trunk of a nearby pine. When he’d completed the task, he turned toward her and his eyes swept her violently trembling form. “‘Tis bitter cold out here, I’d best make a fire before you become ill.” All his words were right, but his voice remained steely.

  “My thanks. I should have made one myself, but I wasn’t aware of the cold until just now.” She heard her own overly cheerful tone and berated herself. Why do you care if he likes or hates you? You’ll not be seeing much of him after today.

  An awkward silence ensued as she watched him build a fire near the opening to the cave before pulling back the bare stems of the vines and bringing the two stools made from portions of pine trunks forward.

  Hating the silence, she asked, “I’ve often wondered: How did you manage to make those stools and the table while you dwelled in the forest? Did you actually travel with such cumbrous tools?”

  Bao looked toward her. “Nay, we brought only a few satchels filled with the minimum for our needs—and my weapons, of course.” He shrugged and shook his head. “The stools and table were here when I found the cave. I know not from where they came.”

  “Hmm,” she replied with a nod.

  “Come, sit by the fire.” Bao unclasped the circular gold pin at his shoulder. “Take my mantel,” he said, shrugging one shoulder out of the heavy brown covering.

  “Nay, the fire will be sufficient to warm me.” She settled on a stool and leaned forward with her palms raised toward the heat of the flames.

  He refastened the pin and crossed his arms over his chest, his look once more brooding and tense. It made Jesslyn glad that she could hide most of her visage within her own mantel’s fur-lined hood.

  “We’ll wed, of course,” he stated.

  Jesslyn’s heart slammed against her ribcage. She shook her head. “Nay, we will not.”

  “We will.”

  She swallowed hard. “‘Tis not yours.”

  His eyes widened. “‘Tis not mine?”

  “Nay, ‘tis not,” she said with more force. “I knew you’d think it was the moment you heard of my condition,” she rushed to say, “and that is why I wanted to meet with you forthwith...to explain.”

  “Whose else could it be?” he asked harshly, tugging her hood down off of her head. With narrowed eyes, he studied her, then shook his head. “You lie.”

  Jesslyn rose and strode away from him, her hands clasped over her belly. “Nay, I do not. I told you after we...”—she shrugged—“that I’d just past my monthly courses.”

  “If I didn’t father this babe, who did?” There was a note of angry disbelief in his tone.

  “It matters not, the deed is done and the man is miles away and wed to another.”

  “Wed to another?” There was a long pause and then his eyes narrowed once more. “Are you saying ‘tis Callum’s bairn you carry?” After only a slight pause, he said, “Nay, I think not. ‘Twas clear when I had you, you hadn’t been with anyone since your husband.”

  Oh, lord. Of course, he would be able to tell whether she’d lain with anyone recently. A man with his sordid experience. “I only lay with the father once.”

  “Aye, that, at least, is true.” In the next instant, he was behind her, swinging her around to face him, tipping her chin up, forcing her to meet his eye. In spite of everything, her body betrayed her, sending a tremor of awareness across her nerve endings and making her womb pulse. She darted her tongue over dry lips.

  She saw his reaction as well. His eyes widened then settled, their coal-black centers a near eclipse of their surrounding umber. She heard his harsh intake of breath, saw his nostrils flare and before she knew what was happening, he enveloped her in his strong embrace and devoured her mouth. No gentle kiss, this, but open-mouthed, tongue-thrusting, teeth-grinding near-brutal domination and pleasuring.

  And her body responded. Hot, hard need burned her insides. This. This was what she’d once dreamed of having with him. After their time together. Before he’d dashed all her hopes of a marriage between them and returned to his life of soldiering and pleasuring of ladies in the King’s court.

  Which he would return to again, quickly and with relief, once she’d convinced him about the babe. She twisted her head to the side and broke the kiss. “Nay! We mustn’t.”

  As if scorched, he let go of her and took a step back. She stumbled, but managed to right herself without falling. His breath harsh and loud, he pressed his arm to his mouth. After a split moment, he said, “Aye, that much is true.” Then with a glare that pierced through her, made it impossible to breathe, he added, “But wed, we will.”

  She felt her alarm like a swift silver-cold tide rush up her spine and into her brain. Crossing her arms, she said, “You want no part of marriage! Why do you demand it now, when I’ve told you the babe I carry is not yours?”

  Arms akimbo, he stood with legs spread, like an ancient statue of some conquering god of war. “Because you lie. It is my babe you carry in your belly.”

  “I do not! The father is someone else entirely. Why will you not believe me?”

  “Because, though you may own other loathsome faults, this I know: You would never lay with a married man, Jesslyn.”

  Loathsome faults? Which are? She didn’t have the courage to ask. And besides it only proved her belief that they should never wed. But he was right about her and married men. Another tack then. “All right! I’ll tell you the truth.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest as if in judgment. “Finally.”

  “I’ve told no one who fathered this babe because I wanted to speak to the man first, which I have recently done.” Feeling chilled once again, she moved over to stand by the fire and lifted her hood back over her head. “The babe’s father is Steward Ranald.”

  “Steward Ranald! Daniel’s fleshy, foolish steward?” He snorted and strode to the other side of the fire so that, once again, they faced each other. “He’s old enough to be your father!”

  “He’s agreed to wed me,” she said, keeping her eyes on the fire. “So you see, there’s truly no reason for you to sacrifice your freedom for me.” And tho’ she hadn’t in truth spoken with the steward yet, the man had been so avid for her that she was sure that she could convince him to wed her—and lie about his fathering her bairn. And it wouldn’t be such a bad match. Oh, he was a bit too zealous in his attentions to her. But surely, over time, his enthusiasm would wane, would it not? And a mature man would be good to have as husband because he wouldn’t require the same amount of attention—would he? Nay, surely not. And, really, his portliness was not so unattractive, now was it? Nay, ‘twas not.

  “So the steward is now miles away and wed to another,” Bao said, his voice jeering. “Was it his twin who showed me into the great hall earlier, then?”

  Jesslyn nibbled on her bottom lip. Damn! She’d forgotten she’d said that. “Nay. I confess, I lied about that. Pray pardon me.” With more strength, she added, “The steward is the babe’s father, however, and he is quite free to wed me.”

  “I see,” he said. “Hmm. So...you and he…lay together only once? Or was that a lie too?”

  Jesslyn began to feel as if she were walking into a trap, but had no idea how to get herself out of the mess. She fidgeted with the pin that held her mantle together. “Nay, ‘twas no lie.”

  Bao crossed his arms over his chest. “Under what circumstances? I’m curious how he won
your favor, as I would never have had the pleasure had you not believed me, in the beginning, to be your husband back from the dead.”

  She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “Of what matter is it? We did the deed and he fathered my bairn—'tis all that you need to know.”

  “Beg pardon. I’m just having a hard time seeing the two of you together, ‘tis all.” After a brief, but tension-filled moment, he rose from the stool. “Well, I suppose there’s naught else to be said, then.” He turned his attention to the fire, kicking snow onto the flames. “You should leave here first and I’ll follow a bit later after I’ve put this out and taken the stools back inside the cave.”

  “Aye, that would be best.” Relieved, and aye, a bit saddened that she’d so easily convinced him that she wouldn’t wed him, she turned and moved quickly toward the break in the trees that led into the glen.

  * * *

  “I spoke with Jesslyn after the meal this morn. She told me Steward Ranald fathered her bairn,” Bao said to his brother later that day. It’d taken a while after his meeting with Jesslyn to map out a course of action.

  “So now she’s saying the father is my steward? Ha! I trow that’s even more fantastic than her tale that a traveling minstrel fathered the bairn!” Daniel replied before turning his focus back on his sword.

  The two were seated near the hearth in the great hall, each using the time to clean their weapons while they had their discussion.

  Bao cocked his head and regarded his brother. “She told you that the bairn’s father was a traveling minstrel?” He shook his head and rearranged the oiled cloth against the steel blade. “Why does she bother lying? ‘Tis clear she’s quite bad at it.”

  “I know not,” Daniel replied.

  “I intend to wed her,” Bao stated.