Protection By Her Deceptive Highlander (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 5)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “I barely know you,” Barra whispered. She could feel her neck tingle and her hands were wet with the sweat of fear. She looked around, knowing that it was essential to get away from this isolated place.

  “Aye,” he said with a harsh chuckle. “I know you don’t. That’s just what I was saying. Anytime, you can get to know me…”

  “No!” Barra screamed as he advanced on her. She took another step back, stumbled, and whirled to face the kitchen, running back. Her basket was tossed with running and she leaned back against the door as she shut it, wondering if she had spilled all her herbs.

  “That was fast,” the cook said.

  Barra said nothing, just took her basket off her arm and started to sort the leaves into bunches with shaking hands. She laid them down on the table and tried to focus on the task. She felt as if her mind was a whirling, screaming space of grayness. She wasn’t going to think about what happened. She was going to concentrate on the task at hand.

  “When they’re done, put them in the mixture,” the cook said, the sharp sound of her knife chopping turnips the only other sound in the room.

  Barra did as she was told, and was just heading across the room to fetch a little knife when she heard the door open. She froze as a tall man came in, but then she realized it was Tam, the cook’s nephew.

  “Barra,” he said softly, putting down the stoup of water he’d brought in. “Sorry…I thought that you needed help out there.” He jerked his head at the garden. His eyes were tense at the edges, blunt face concerned. She thought that he must mean help with Greer. She shrugged.

  “It’s alright,” she said, suddenly feeling the depth of fear and shock she’d been ignoring so assiduously all day. “I can look after myself.”

  “I know,” he said gently. “But…well…any time you need me, I’ll always be here to help.”

  “Thank you,” Barra said softly. She looked up at his square-jawed face and felt her heart melt. Had she not already been in love, she would have been falling in love with Tam, just on the strength of that caring alone.

  He looked away, pale skin coloring red. “Sorry…” he murmured softly. “Just thought I had to say. Did my aunt need anything brought in from the shed? More turnips, maybe?”

  Barra shook her head. “I don’t know.” She was feeling shaken and suddenly desperately tired and she wished she could just lie down.

  “I need another jug of water,” the cook said, and Barra wondered how much she’d overheard. “And somebody needs to check the apples to see if any are about to spoil.”

  “I’ll go,” Barra said, turning to go to the cellar. Tam lifted a bucket, heading back to the yard.

  “You’re not going back outside there,” Tam said firmly. “Not if there’s anything untoward out there.”

  “Thank you,” Barra said, looking up into his eyes.

  He looked down at his feet shyly. “Don’t mention it.”

  He headed out into the yard and she disappeared into the corridor, heading down to the cellar.

  In it, she found piles of apples and sacks of flour, turnips and grain all stored up along the walls. The air was dry and dusty. There was a lantern burning to shed a flow of gold light, but otherwise it was all dark and quiet. She bent down to the big barrel of apples and started sorting them, lifting them out and checking for any that needed to be used within the next few days. She built up a small pile and wrapped them in a handkerchief. As she finished, she stifled a yawn.

  “I should go upstairs.” She stretched. Ever since that encounter in the garden, something had drained her strength. She dragged herself to the kitchen, left the apples in a neat pile by the stone sink, then headed upstairs to bed.

  “Goodnight, Barra,” one of the maids called as she hurried past. Barra tried to recall her name – a pretty girl with blonde hair and red lips.

  “Goodnight,” Barra called back. She let herself into her own room, putting the bar of wood that served as a bolt across the door before sitting down on her bed with a sigh.

  She shut her eyes, running weary hands down her face. She couldn’t recall when she had last felt so tired. It had, she thought, been a long few weeks. Leaving the farm, facing danger in the wood, coming here…

  “I don’t know when was the last time I was safe between four walls.”

  She lay down on the bed, remembering in time to take her boots off. She curled up on the mattress, weariness overcoming her now that, finally, she was safe. She stifled another yawn.

  Brodgar was in her thoughts, tall and dark-haired, looking down at her with his eyes slightly wild, filled with longing. She reached for him in her imagination, holding him close, his lips on hers, her body pushed against his as he leaned on her, his hips thrusting against her.

  She felt her cheeks heat up even as her body responded to the thoughts. She could feel heat spreading to other parts of her, too – places she would never have imagined would respond to imaginings. She flushed.

  “Barra…you know you have no call for thinking that way.” She sat up, feeling annoyed with herself. Here, the soldier she had found in the woods was, well…so much more than a soldier. He was the nephew of the most powerful man in the castle. She was nobody.

  Yet, she thought, feeling her heart soften, he took liberties with her, not the other way around!

  “I cannot pretend that he feels nothing.”

  She had seen the way he looked at her and had heard the ragged tone of his breath. She knew that he felt as much for her as she for him – or at least, it seemed so.

  “I don’t know anything.” She stood, washing her face in the small bowl that stood on the nightstand. The water was icy, and she dried her skin again, feeling more awake. She sat down on the bed again, looking out at the night sky where it showed through the shutters. She guessed it was around seven of the clock. Her stomach twisted painfully, reminding her she hadn’t eaten.

  “I’ll go and find something to eat,” she told herself. She pulled her boots on again, trying to convince herself that was a good idea, that she would feel better with food in her belly.

  She didn’t want to risk running into Greer alone.

  She waited until she heard footsteps in the hallway, then reached for her shawl and tied it around her upper arms, heading down with the group of servants and watchmen who were also going down to the great hall.

  She slipped in through the big doors at the back. Supper was served here for all the castle folk, men at arms ate on the one side of the hall, the servants on the other, all of them seated at long benches. The laird and his family ate on the dais at the front, sitting at the high table. She felt her heart leap as the laird came in, waiting for him to be followed by his nephew.

  The laird greeted them all with a lift of his ale cup, and the men-at-arms started to shout and cheer him.

  “Fine fighting!” one of the men shouted, and others started to laugh.

  “You’re the one to lead us,” another man yelled.

  Barra felt her stomach twist, feeling a palpable tension start to build up, though she didn’t know the source. She could see nobles sitting at the table with the laird, solemn-faced men dressed in velvet cloaks and fine boots. She scanned their faces but could see Brodgar nowhere.

  “The young laird,” a man muttered from further down the table, reaching for a slice of bread from the central plate. “He’s been bested in a fight with that feller.” He indicated the Laird with a tilt of his head.

  Barra stared, feeling a sick uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. She realized that his worried look from earlier must have been something to do with that. She listened as a woman replied to him.

  “Aye. Well, it’s not easy, when a young laird returns. We’ll have to see what happens.”

  “Aye, Jessie, we will.”

  They resumed eating, but Barra couldn’t stop looking up at the dais, wondering why Brodgar wasn’t sitting there, eating his dinner with the rest of the nobles. She could feel the tension in the hall and it seemed as if s
ome of the men-at-arms were looking at the dais too, wondering where he was. The other, bigger, group of them were simply cheering and laughing, clearly pleased the man they supported had trounced his opposition.

  Barra tried to eat, but her stomach was unsettled and she drank a sip of warm ale, then stood up from her place on the benches, feeling her head reel in the stifling, loud hall.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured to the man sitting next to her. “I’m going outside for a few minutes.”

  “Aye,” he shrugged, more interested in eating. Barra wove her way past and into the night.

  Danger In The Garden

  Brodgar leaned against the wall, feeling the night air as it ruffled his hair. He cuffed at his cheeks, as a tear wound its way down them, leaving a chill on his face. He tried to forget the moment when his uncle had walked onto the dais, the sound of the men yelling and applauding him. He turned away, angry with himself for letting those cheers get the better off him.

  “It doesn’t matter what they think.”

  The men of the garrison clearly favored his uncle. It was unpalatable, but it was true and he should accept it.

  It was not, he thought with bitter sorrow, as if he hadn’t been given a chance to prove himself.

  He tried to forget the fight with his uncle, the desperate fear that he’d felt, the overwhelming desire simply to live. He had been pleased with himself for surviving, but the men, it seemed, wanted more. He turned away from the hall, trying to block out the sounds of feasting.

  The men were having a good time – he could see the silhouettes from here of people knocking back glasses of ale, people moving between the benches to reach for stew from the big central pots, somebody dancing. It was a fine party, and he was utterly excluded.

  It was only his own fault, he thought sadly. If he could have borne his uncle’s triumphing at his expense, he could have been sitting in there, eating and generally celebrating. He just didn’t think he could walk onto the dais in front of Barra when he’d not proven himself.

  “I might as well get some food.”

  His stomach rumbled. He’d taken some bread from the kitchen – Mrs. Miller, the cook, always let him take his fill – but he was still hungry. He was turning back to fetch some more when he heard a sound.

  “No,” a strained voice said.

  Brodgar leaned back instinctively, out of the range of the torchlight. Somebody was at the wall of the kitchen garden, and somebody else loomed over them, a swaying shadow.

  Brodgar felt his heart thud in his chest and he took a step forward, needing to get closer before he chose how to act. He took another step, glad that the thick grass by the fence stifled his footsteps, making him inaudible as he crept closer.

  “You know you don’t really have a choice,” a voice said. It was coercive, harsh. He felt his pulse race.

  “I don’t,” a soft voice replied. “But that is your doing, I think.”

  Barra!

  He stared in horror as he recognized the woman who was walking steadily backward toward the castle arch. It was Barra! In front of her, with his hand hovering close to his knife – just close enough to be a threat without actually being explicit – was a soldier.

  Brodgar didn’t stop to think or even to look at the man properly. Without thinking, he launched himself across the gap, howling her name.

  “Barra!”

  He threw himself at the man, before the fellow had a moment to draw his sword. His hand went straight to his throat, gripping it as he held him against the garden wall.

  “Don’t…ever…do that again,” he growled.

  The fellow was coughing and choking, his face going first red and then blueish as Brodgar tightened his grip. He could feel the man straining to breathe, but his mind was full of red anger and he could not think straight. All he could see was Barra’s fear. He wanted to remove this man, annihilate him. Cleanse the earth of the threat of him.

  “Brodgar!” he heard her call him. It sounded like her voice was coming from a long way away. As he heard it his attention came back to the present. He realized he was holding a man off his feet, his fingers pressing into his throat, choking him.

  He dropped the man and turned around, his own chest rising and falling in exhaustion.

  “Brodgar,” Barra whispered.

  Wordlessly, he held out his arms to her, and she walked into them. He held her close, feeling his heart fill with tenderness fit to bursting. He didn’t think about anything else just then – the man lying at his feet gasping through a bruised throat was no longer important.

  “Barra,” he said softly. “My sweetling. It’s alright.”

  She was shaking, and he could hear her crying. He didn’t know if it was shock or relief. He held her and talked nonsense into the soft fall of her hair. She gripped him tightly, as if he was her hold on the present moment.

  “Shh, love,” he whispered.

  She stopped crying and looked up at his face. He looked down at her. The stains of tears marked her face, but it was white and her eyes regarded him warily. He held her and tried to forget all about the creature that was gasping on the ground.

  He stepped between the two of them and led her to the door to the kitchens.

  “You go inside, sweetheart,” he said softly. “It’s alright.”

  “He…” Barra looked up at him, eyes round and dark. “He’s going to want to kill me, now.”

  Brodgar felt his eyes slowly shut, as he realized she was right. He had left the man alive – and created an enemy for Barra. He looked down at the fellow, who had now managed to get himself upright and was leaning against the wall, breath wheezing through a tight throat.

  “You,” he said harshly. “I am the laird’s nephew. Barra is not to be touched. If I hear you laid so much as a hand on her, you will regret the day you had a hand. Am I clear?”

  He looked down and, as the fellow looked up, he saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He stared at the face, trying to place it. It looked familiar, but with the swelling and bruising it was hard to identify him. He thought he was one of the soldiers. He held his gaze a moment, then looked away.

  After making sure the fellow had left the garden, he went back to the kitchen door. Barra was leaning against it. He took her hand gently and looked down into her face, her fingers soft on his own.

  “Barra, my dearest…I’m going away,” he said softly. He had never thought to speak to her so openly before, but knowing that he might never have the chance again removed all his reluctance to do so. “I want you to ken that…well…Barra, you’re very dear to me.”

  To his surprise, she did not look shocked. Only amazed, and that filled his heart with joy.

  “Go safely,” she whispered. “My heart goes with you.”

  Then, before Brodgar could express his utter astonishment, she turned and went through the door into the kitchen.

  Riding Into Danger

  Barra stood on the battlements, watching the group of men and horses who were leaving the castle. She could see the pennants flying overhead, although the sound of hoof beats had long ago worn away with the distance.

  “Be safe,” she whispered.

  She watched the troops ride further, and felt a sickness twist her stomach. She had a feeling that something wasn’t quite right about what she was watching. There was some danger worse than simply fighting facing them.

  I know Brodgar would best anybody in a fight – it’s his unseen enemies that worry me.

  She shivered as the thought unfurled in her mind. Her shawl was around her shoulders but it was thin and did nothing against the cutting wind that blew across the field. She turned to go in, blowing on her fingers to warm them.

  It was that uncle of his – she knew it. He was a danger to Brodgar and she couldn’t quite have said how or why, only that sometime, she knew he would strike.

  “Oops!” someone cried out as she walked into them. She craned her neck, looking up in the darkness, and caught sight of Tam.

&n
bsp; “Sorry,” the cook’s nephew said, going red. “I was just coming up to the battlements myself. They must be almost gone, now?”

  “They’re almost gone, aye,” Barra nodded. She sniffed, trying not to cry. Tam must have heard her, because his head swiveled in her direction.

  “They’ll be back soon enough, lass,” he said softly.

  “I know,” she said, and looked up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. His gentleness was more than she could bear at that moment. She waited until she had stopped crying before she turned to look at him.

  “I know they’ll be back safe and sound, soon,” he said gently.

  “I know,” she whispered. “But…but Tam…” she stopped. She didn’t even know what she wished to say. It was a vague, uneasy feeling – that was all. A sense of menace coming from Brodgar’s uncle. She recalled his face where he’d sat on the dais that night – so assured and smug. He was sure he was going to wrest control away from Brodgar forever.

  If he couldn’t?

  She shivered.

  “Tam,” she asked, deciding to risk it. “If…if I needed to get to the men – say, if they were injured – is there a way?”

  She had been worrying about that even more than the fact that Brodgar was riding to battle. The castle was a safe place, but that meant that intruders couldn’t enter, and dwellers couldn’t leave. Since the Laird had left the castle, rules applying to a siege had been adopted. Nobody was allowed out without permission.

  Tam frowned, then nodded. “Aye. I wouldn’t like to try myself – it’s been shut for many years now. But there’s a way out, for those that know it. I could show you.”

  “Tam!” she reached up and put her hands on his shoulders, overcome with wonderment. He went bright red and looked at his feet. She saw his discomfort and hastily let her hands fall away.

  “I’d not like to get your hopes up, as it’s very unsafe,” Tam said. He was still red, and he was looking at his feet, voice tight in his throat.

  “I’m willing to try anything, if it’s needed,” Barra said firmly. She looked up at Tam and he met her eye and he must have seen just how serious she was, just how much she longed to do this. He nodded.