Broc, Colin knew, had more right than any to loathe them. His own father had been murdered by one—Cameron’s, as well—in defense of their land. Broc had made a lifelong vow to avenge his da. Whatever had happened to change that, Colin didn’t know. He hadn’t seen Broc at all since their return from England where they’d gone to retrieve the MacKinnon’s son from FitzSimon’s treacherous clutches. But somehow, his friend seemed changed upon his return.
“’Tis what Cameron asked me as well.”
Colin studied his long-time friend, looking for some clue as to his change of heart. “And what did ye answer?”
“I have no love for the English,” Broc admitted. “But I do not think they are all evil.” There was a pause of reflective silence. “Not anymore.”
Colin had heard rumors about Lagan and Iain, that they were in fact brothers and not cousins. He was curious, as was everyone, to know what had really happened that night when Lagan had gone over the cliff, but he wasn’t certain whether to ask. He didn’t like to put Broc in a position to have to refuse him confidence. Friend or nay, Broc’s first loyalty was to Iain MacKinnon and it was unswerving. As it should be. Colin accepted that, and more he respected it.
“Did ye ever find Lagan’s body?”
Broc nodded, wincing, but wouldn’t elaborate. He eyed Colin pointedly, changing the topic. “You’d do well to give Montgomerie a chance, Colin. He canna be so bad if Meghan loves him.”
Colin turned away. “Mayhap, but I do not like the way he wooed my sister. My sister deserved better than to be carried away like some sack of meal! I know Meghan, and she did not want to wed at all!”
“Aye, but she did,” Broc countered. “And she did it of her own free will.”
Colin scowled. “Aye, she did.”
“Then mayhap she found something in Montgomerie to love?”
Colin said nothing to that because it was true.
“She did not look to me like a woman forced into her marriage bed,” Broc pointed out. “She looked to me like a woman in love.”
Colin cast his friend a beleaguered glare.
“Ye know… I wasna willing to give FitzSimon’s daughter a chance, either… in the beginning. But she proved to be true of heart and Iain canna have found himself a bride so fair and kind, and brave, as she is. Mairi, God save her rotten soul, could not have walked in her shadow.”
Iain’s first wife. MacLean’s eldest daughter. Mairi died after giving birth to Iain’s son, flinging herself to her death from a tower window right in front of Ian’s eyes. Still, Colin has never met a Sassenach he’d ever liked. He turned to look at Broc, raising a brow.
“’Tis the truth,” Broc persisted. He leapt to his feet, ready to do battle though none was waged. His overreaction took Colin by surprise. Merry too. Startled, she bolted away. “Any man would be proud to call her wife, Sassenach, or not!”
Colin watched the dog bound away, tail between her legs. She halted at a safe distance and turned to look with confusion at her master. Colin did as well. “Christ and be damned, Broc. Settle yourself down. It sounds to me as though ye have more than a liegeman’s heart for the wench.”
Merry whined.
“Nay!” Broc denied at once, though without anger, seeming to realize suddenly how his reaction might have appeared. “I do not,” he assured Colin.
“Are ye certain?”
Broc grinned suddenly, changing the subject. “As certain as your balls are not shriveled!”
Colin screwed his face. “Whoreson bastard,” he said without anger, then laughed.
Broc sat once more and Merry returned to her spot between his legs. Broc resumed petting her and she turned on her back, offering her belly. She wagged her tail happily, and Broc peered up at him. “Though I do hope to find someone like her some day,” he confessed, red faced. “She’s beautiful, she’s brave and full of spirit!”
Colin sat as well. “Och, now, but I do not know a single woman I would call brave. Soft and sweet, mayhap… even canny… but brave?” He raised a brow at Broc.
“Aye,” Broc maintained. “Brave! Ye should have seen her!” He grinned. “She did not cow before Iain, nor did she blink an eye to look at me.”
“Hate to tell you, but you’re not so bloody frightening, Broc,” Colin countered, grinning. “You like to think so, but your face is as sweet as a lassie’s.”
“Page called me a behemoth,” he said proudly in defense of himself.
Colin’s smile widened. “Baby-faced behemoth.”
Broc narrowed his eyes. “You’re a bastard!”
Colin laughed.
Broc lapsed into silence a moment, then said, “Imagine what it might have done to you to be spurned by your da. That bastard did not even want her, Colin.” He shook his head in disgust. “He told us to keep her or kill her, he cared not which. What sort of man does that, tell me!”
Colin didn’t have to imagine it. His da had never been satisfied with his sons. He’d found fault with everything Colin had ever done. Nothing ever pleased him. Meghan and Gavin had been spared his wrath and heavy hand, but he and Leith had borne the burden of their father’s expectations. Still, not even his own da could have been so cold. “A cruel man,” Colin replied.
“Well, Page never let it conquer her spirit,” Broc said, with admiration. “The lass has the heart of a saint behind the armor of her tongue. Och, but she can kill with a look. I pity Iain when her temper is roused!”
Colin chuckled at the image of Iain MacKinnon cowering before his lovely wife, and he was reminded suddenly of his mystery woman. “Saucy wench,” he said, remembering her cutting glances and snappy tongue.
Damn but those lips had been sweet… even if her tongue was not.
He’d like to have tasted that tongue, he thought, and felt himself stir at the images that came to mind.
Who was she?
“Aye, she is,” Broc said, thinking Colin was still speaking about Page. “Ye should have seen her challenge Iain. Och, but, nay… ye should have seen her challenge the bloody lot of us!” He chuckled to himself. “The pawky wench! She kept us awake singing lullabies and stole our bloody horses, had us chasing her bare arsed across the border!”
Colin frowned, too preoccupied now with his own thoughts to focus upon his friend’s tales.
Whatever had happened to the girl from last eve? He’d looked for her all night, listened for her voice, searched through the crowd to no avail. She had simply vanished.
And then he had become sotted with drink, and had made a bloody fool of himself. What was wrong with him that he’d had to prove himself… unmarred?
He winced as he recalled the rumors… shriveled nuts had he? Who would say such a vicious thing? Who would be so spiteful as to cast doubt upon his ability to father a child and bed a wife?
But it angered him more that he seemed to need to prove the rumor a lie!
He should have let them all think what they would, and carried on as he had always done! Why should he care what anyone thought?
He didn’t like that about himself, that he was constantly proving himself though no one asked it of him.
“What the hell is taking him so long?” Broc asked, casting impatient glances at the woods. “He said he was only going to piss—how long does it take?”
“Ehhh, leave him be. Mayhap he drank too much and finds himself in need of a good purging.”
Broc made a disgusted a face. “Aye, well, ye ought to be spewing your guts out this morn, too, ye drunken arse!”
God’s truth, he might still. He was suddenly not feeling so well. Damned rotgut uisge.
The sound of the arrow as it embedded within the tree sent Cameron stumbling backwards on his arse.
He saw it belatedly, wobbling ominously mere inches from where he had stood relieving himself. He hadn’t had time even to feel the leap of his heart before he was at once surrounded.
Englishmen.
Dressed in tunic and breeches and armed to the teeth, seven of the
m stood glaring down at him. He might have been afraid in that moment, except that he recognized the oldest, stoutest of the group. He met the man’s eyes, not bothering to rise from where he sat.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” the older man said smugly.
“’Tis no way to greet a man!” Cameron spat, annoyed by the smirks upon their faces.
The older man’s brows shot up. “Man?” he said, and turned to look at his companions. “Did he say man?” The rest of them laughed. It grated on Cameron’s nerves.
“I see no man here!” said one of his lackeys, and then the man sniggered.
Cameron glowered up at them.
Stinkin’ Sassenachs, all of ‘em!
It didn’t matter. They were his means to an end. And they needed him as much as he needed them. With that in mind, he rose, unfazed by their leers. He slapped the dirt from his hands and then his bottom, meeting their leader’s gaze with as much swagger as he could return.
“FitzSimon,” he said in greeting to the man. “You’re a bloody fool for not taking her last night when ye had the chance!”
“I’m thinkin’ ye’d like to keep your tongue, Scot!” another of his lackeys said.
FitzSimon raised a hand to the man. “MacKinnon never left her side,” he said plaintively. “What would ye have me do? Walk up and wrench her from his arms?”
“You’re her da!” Cameron reminded him.
“Aye, but my daughter has lost her wits over this man. He steals her from my home and she somehow manages to lose her heart to him! Little fool! She would not see reason two months ago, why should she now? Nay, you must bring her to me, instead.”
Cameron screwed his face. “Me!” He pointed to himself incredulously. “Ye expect me to drag her out of my laird’s bed?”
FitzSimon narrowed his gaze. “You are a bright boy. You’ll find a way to lure her out from his sight.”
“Not me!” Cameron refused. It was one thing to make FitzSimon aware of Page’s whereabouts so that he might take her himself, and another entirely to take a hand in her abduction. Iain would skewer him through! “I’m no boy,” he said, casting daggers with his eyes, “and neither am I a fool!”
The man’s brows lifted. “Ho ho!” He walked forward and stood before Cameron. “Are we not?”
Cameron refused to be cowed though his gaze shifted nervously from one of FitzSimon’s men to another. All stood watching, grinning, their rotten teeth flashing. FitzSimon reached out for him suddenly, and he couldn’t help himself. He flinched. The men’s laughter rang in his ears.
Gently, he slapped Cameron’s face. “Soft as a maiden’s breast,” he remarked, and a chill passed through Cameron, despite his rising fury.
FitzSimon’s men laughed in unison.
Cameron shoved FitzSimon’s hand from his face.
“Tsk. Tsk. I should never have expected a boy to do a man’s job,” FitzSimon said, and shook his head. “Go home to your mother, Cameron.”
Cameron’s face and neck heated, though not so much in chagrin as in fury. He was not a boy, and he hadn’t had a mother in so long he’d forgotten what one was! No one gave him any respect! He was not stupid and he had a rotten feeling in his gut about FitzSimon and his daughter both. As far as he was concerned they could both go back to hell from whence they came!
“Dinna fash yourself… I’ll get her to ye!”
FitzSimon’s eyes glimmered suddenly. Satisfaction curled his lips.
“If you swear to take her—all o’ ye!” Cameron made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Back to your bloody Sassenach land and be done with us forever!”
“Of course.” FitzSimon nodded. “Ye’ve my word.”
Cameron spat upon the ground. “That’s what I think about the word of an Englishman!” he told FitzSimon.
“Why you!” FitzSimon’s man lunged forward, but FitzSimon placed himself between them, shielding Cameron. The man halted, casting Cameron malevolent glares. It was clear to Cameron what he would have liked to have done to him had he had the chance.
FitzSimon turned to him. “You’re not too quick-witted, boy, are ye?” He spat upon the ground after Cameron.
Cameron glowered at him. “I’ll get her to you, FitzSimon!” he swore, his feet planted firmly and his shoulders squared. “But then I want you out of here forevermore!”
The two of them stared at each other a long moment, and then FitzSimon nodded in agreement. “Get my daughter back to me… and aye, we’ll go.”
Cameron gave a nod. “’Tis done, then,” he agreed.
The older man smiled and reached out to grip one of Cameron’s shoulders.
Cameron shrugged away, giving him a malevolent glare. “Dinna ever again touch me!” he declared and spun on his heels, walking away.
“Let him go,” FitzSimon said when his men moved to stop him. He waited until Cameron was gone. “I want him dead once my daughter is returned,” he said casually.
“Aye, my lord,” said his captain.
“Arrogant little Scots bastard! No one—no one takes what is mine!”
Seana couldn’t stop Constance long enough to ask the child where Broc was. Her cheeks stained with dirt, the wee one was chasing chickens in Merry’s absence, laughing impishly as they protested when she managed to seize a feather.
Seana sighed, following behind the naked child.
“Constance, where is your brother?” she persisted.
Constance giggled, plucking another feather from a squawking hen. “I dunno,” she managed to reply, then tripped suddenly and fell upon her belly. “Ouch!” Her lips turned into a pout, but she held her prize feather in front of her, and the pout didn’t remain.
Seana fell to her knees beside the child. “Are you all right?”
Constance nodded and smiled.
“Good,” Seana declared. “Constance, where are your clothes?”
The child shook her head. “Dunno!”
“What do you mean, ye dunno,” Seana returned.
The child again shook her head.
Lord, didn’t anybody ever seem to notice she never wore clothes? People passed them by, hardly sparing the child a glance and Seana thought that when she wedded Broc, it would be her duty to give the child a proper home… and proper clothes.
Only the MacKinnon’s bride seemed to notice her lack. She came to where Seana and Constance were and said, “Constance where are your clothes, dearling?”
Constance peered up at Page and flapped her arms like a chicken. “I dunno!” the child persisted and Page reached down to scoop her up into her arms, smiling down at Seana.
Seana smiled back at her.
Page had never treated her unkindly, had always seemed pleased to see her. “I’ve not seen Broc at all this morning,” she informed Seana.
Did everyone notice her attention to Broc, except Broc? she wondered.
Sighing, Seana rose to her feet, dusting off her dress. “Oh, well,” she declared.
“Down!” Constance exclaimed. “Down!” And she wiggled out of Page’s arms, dropping to her feet. “Merry!” she shrieked.
Page let her go, shaking her head. “That child!” she proclaimed, and both of them watched as Constance ran after Merry who stopped suddenly, then turned and fled once more into the woods from whence she had come.
“There he is!” Page announced, and Seana’s heart began to pound. She had come to see him, but she suddenly felt like fleeing with Merry into the woods.
Constance ran giggling after the poor dog, and Page and Seana both turned to one another, laughing at the sight of her running naked as the day she was born. Page shook her head, then said, smiling, “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
Seana returned a shy smile. By the time Broc reached her, Page had gone, and she stood, feeling like a fool.
“Seana!” Broc exclaimed, and reached out to hug her fiercely, though his gaze was still upon MacKinnon’s bride. He swept Seana from her feet, and twirled her about, setting her down afterwards and pattin
g her upon the head like he were patting his dog. “What are ye doin’ here, lass?”
Seana shrugged. It would seem to her that the answer was obvious, but Broc never seemed to figure it out.
Tongue-tied, she sighed.
Even as long as they had known each other, there was lately an uncomfortable silence between them. Seana thought mayhap it was her fault. She never seemed to know what to say to him anymore. Broc’s gaze sought Page once more, and Seana wished she were more like Page or Meghan. Neither of them ever seemed to starve for attention, though neither of them ever sought it.
He cocked his head in apology. “I need to speak with my laird’s wife, Seana. Will you be around later?”
Seana shrugged.
“’Tis about Cameron,” he explained, and Seana knew he was concerned about his cousin.
“Don’t be silly!” She waved him away. “Go on with ye now, and I shall speak with ye another time. I need to go and see to my da, anyhow.”
He reached out, seizing her head and embraced it. He kissed the pate of her head and released her. “I knew you’d understand,’ he said. “I’ll talk to you later, sweet one!”
Seana nodded as she watched him go, and sighed once more, wishing she knew what to do to make him understand.
Much as she loathed the thought, Colin Mac Brodie seemed her only chance and for her sake and her father’s, she mustn’t put it off any longer. She didn’t have to like him, she told herself. But she did need to speak with him, and bolstering her courage, she went in search of Colin Mac Brodie, determined to enlist his help once and for all.
“Eat, Da,” Seana commanded her father. “Leave the cat and feed yourself!”
Instead of going to Colin, she had come directly back to the cairn, telling herself that she would go find Colin just as soon as she cared for her da… and checked the uisge, of course… and fed the cat.
She couldn’t very well go to tend to her own business until she knew her da was cared for—at least that’s what she told herself.
But the truth was that she was a bloody chicken heart and deep down she realized that if she didn’t just go, she might never.
Highland Brides 03 - On Bended Knee Page 4
