Claiming the Highlander (19 page)

Brenna remained rooted to her spot and drew in the deepest of breaths to calm her trembling. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or anger that roused her like this.
Probably both.
If Tavish’s son shared any traits with his father—which she did not doubt—he must have committed some act that demanded his death.

“Brenna, what is wrong? You are shaking.” Caelen held her at arm’s length, inspecting her. “What has happened?”

“Tavish, I cannot decide whether I am angry or afraid.”

“Afraid. What has he done?” He bent down so he was eye level with her. His fingers dug into her arm.

“You are hurting me.” She shrugged but he didn’t release her. He loosened his hold. “That old bastard thinks I am plotting with my father and all but threatened me.”

She rocked on her heels as he released her. With two hands, she yanked at his arm. “Nay, Caelen. This is not the time. Besides, I get the feeling it is prudent to let the man think he has some say in the clan. It is better we keep him close.”

Caelen paced in a tight circle, warring with himself. “Fine, for now, but if he crosses a line, I will bring down my wrath.”

“That is the one thing I do not want occurring at this time. I am off to our chamber to prepare for tonight’s feast.”

“I shall join you shortly.”

“I do wish you come with me, now.” She held her hand out palm up.

He exhaled, and then took her hand. “Brenna, you shall not always get your way.”

“I have so far.” She gave him a naughty side look.

“This I cannot believe.”

“You ordered that I shall never ride again, yet I rode just this very day.”

“You rode with me. That is not the same.”

“Details, my lord husband, details.”

* * * *

Manus watched Oran stroll into his home as if he were welcomed. His curiosity had him tilting his head back. Any farther, the big lump would fall right off. Oran could not give Alastronia the living and standing in the clan he could. He had yet to discover why she permitted him to be in her presence.

He looked like he couldn’t handle a sword. With him being a Grant, he lacked everything even the lowest MacKenzie claimed. Manus left his spot and headed toward the man.

“Impressed, are you?”

Oran turned to him. “’Tis a grand hall.”

“I see how it is grand to someone of your standing. For me, this is my home, a life that is not unfamiliar to me. Soon, I shall be chief of my own sept. Alastronia fits into the setting.”

“We’ll see since she is helpin’ the countess.”

Manus blinked. He hadn’t known that. That this low person did set a low hum within him.

“You ought to stay away from her. I have claimed her. We shall be marrying soon.”

“I hadna heard.”

“Why would you? You are not a member of this clan. You can farm the land, wear the plaid, and eat the food, but you shall never be part of this. We will not allow you to wed one as important as Alastronia.”

One corner of his mouth curled up more of a sneer than a smile. He shook his head. Manus fisted his hands, ready to punch him in the mouth.

Oran dropped his disrespectful regard to his fist. “Alastronia, ha’ she agreed? She hadna told me.”

“I can make your life a difficult one. Ban you from the clan, send you out to the wild of our fair land, leaving you to the beasts, both the four-legged and two-legged type.”

“If she had accepted yer hand, then ye wod hae no worries frae me.”

“I’ll be coming for you.” Manus stormed his way to the men under his command. When he joined them, he kept his regard on the bastard. “Did you learn anything today?”

“I spotted ane talkin’ to the laird.”

“Which one? The one I was speaking with?” Manus asked.

“Nay, the ane at his side.”

“Taran. Did you overhear anything spoken?”

“Nay, the laird did most of the talkin but wen the laird walked away, he seemed troubled. As fae Oran, he dinna speak wit’ the laird. He went off to speak to Alastronia.”

“Do not let those two from your sight. Once my father is buried, we shall deal with them,” Manus said as he walked away toward his mother. She sat before the hearth.

“Are you well, Mother?”

“Aye,” she said, her words hollow.

“I do not believe you.” He waited for her to turn her attention to him.

She patted his cheek.

“I do have cheerful news to share with you.” He put his arm around her.

“Aye?”

“I shall wed soon.”

“To the Stuart lass. I know your father did go on about it.” She closed her eyes and rested her hands upon her chest.

“Nay—” he pulled away, “—to Alastronia.”

She looked upward in frustration. “Manus, I know you care for her. She is a grand female, very beautiful and kind, but you must do what is best for the clan. You do not get the choice to wed whom you wish. I wish you could marry the woman you love. Did you know that I wed your father the day I met him? You see, I had wanted another and learned that he had too—Alastronia’s mother as it turns out. But duty had to be done and you shall do the same. In the end, you will learn to love your wife.”

“Why must I do my duty? I am not the laird and not his heir. I should have a say. What about Rowen? She ought to be married with a few bairns hanging from her skirts.”

“Do not act so childish. Your father couldn’t part with his wee lass.”

“She is not even here.”

“You know by the time she arrives here, he would be—” her voice caught, “—buried. Rowen will do her duty when the time comes. As both your brothers have before you, now cease with this nonsense and let her wed Oran or any other man she wishes.”

“That I cannot do.”

She grasped his hand and covered it with her other. “You are angry. Do not do anything foolish. Manus, I beg of you.”

He drew his hand away. “I have duties.” He frowned as his big brother and his wife came forward. This was to be his life—a marriage of connections to build his brother’s power. As a third son, he’d get drips of the power but would have to tow at his brother’s feet.

Between the guests, Caelen fixed his gaze on Manus. The guest cleared a path for them, blocking Manus’ face from him. The aroma of wine and human flesh swirled about. Behind Caelen, Laird Grant stepped into place, escorting his mother, with Manus behind them.

Caelen couldn’t shake off the stiffness twisting him. He was a warrior. He solved problems with his claymore, the same weapon that had his fingers twitching to grasp the handle and bury it in Laird Grant’s chest.

Instead, he had politics to dabble in. Brenna stood in the center. He refused to see her harmed. In the end though, Brenna would be.

He guided Brenna to her seat. His hand lingered on her elbow, ready to throw her behind him and shield her with his body. She turned her eyes up to him. He released her.

Laird Grant scratched at his ear. His mouth pursed.

Much like Brenna he couldn’t hide his emotions. Caelen should have been pleased, getting a one up on him. He too couldn’t hide his growing need for Brenna.

Pheasants, boars, and bucks were presented. As all filled their bellies and drank their weight in wine and ale, Caelen watched. Laird Grant took a great interest in Tavish, who sat at the other end of the table. Tavish wore his glower.

Finian and Gilroy carried on their debate of the shooting game and the nearest of Brenna’s arrow.

“I tell ye the countess’s arrow was right in the center,” Finian said.

“I know I saw it.”

“Are ye sure? Yer sight isna wat it was. Ye had yer eye on the ting.”

Gilroy glowered at him. “I couldn’t see properly because your head was in the way.”

“My head.” Finian snorted. “Wat aboot wen yer squintin’ at the papers?” He scrunched up his face, mimicking Gilroy reading the scrolls.

“I do not look like that.”

“I am proud. My daughter is skilled.” Grant inclined his head encouragingly.

Both men swung their heads in the laird’s direction. “Dinna be surprise. The laird taught her. It codna be ot’erwise.”

“Aye, it shows the rightness of the old bond,” Laird Grant said.

The verbal jab screeched the talk to an end.

His mother took a few bites but swirled the meats about the platter. Manus watched Alastronia as she went about her duties, and when he lost sight of her, he turned his regard onto Oran. Slumped in his seat, he leaned sideways to get a better view.

* * * *

Caelen speared a piece of pheasant and held out his dirk to Brenna. She closed her mouth about it. “I love pheasant,” she said around the morsel.

“Then you shall have all of it.” He speared another piece.

She chuckled in a low voice before she took the bite. Her eyes drifted close as she chewed. A mewl of delight reached his ears.

He couldn’t stop himself and he grasped her hand and raised it to his mouth. He placed a lingering kiss on the back. Those letters played in his mind. She held onto each one, believing him to be that man. He
wanted
to be that man. He
had
to become that man.

Servant after servant came to Brenna. Caelen watched them follow her orders. The scrape of a chair turned his attention.

Gilroy, as the
seanachaidh
, rose. Time had come. He climbed down the dais and stood at the center. Caelen leaned forward.

Gilroy cleared his throat. He lifted his chin. His deep, smooth voice filled the hall as he recited the poem about Caelen’s father and his life. He started with his childhood and his first feat of bravery. The killing of a boar. Its tusk and roaring grunts as it chased a group of children who had traveled too far into the woods. With a branch and his sword, he killed the beast and carried the trophy back home. His first battle against the islemen and his raids, the stories continued and turned to his marriage. Caelen peeked at his mother. A joy spread across her face, brightening her eyes and lifting her mouth. She laughed aloud when Gilroy spoke of the Great Washing, as it was called, when his mother doused him with a bucket brimming with water.

“You would not attempt such a thing,” Caelen teased.

“Not at this time, but I shall keep it in mind.”

Caelen squeezed her hand and nuzzled his nose in her hair. He breathed her in, the heated scent of her, masked by the fragrance of roses and cleanliness.

Gilroy went on to the birth of his children. The memories twisted Caelen’s heart. There were great memories of his father. Most he kept to himself, like his father standing over him as he instructed him on sword play. The firm, guiding touch he placed over his own, straining hold as he corrected Caelen’s grip, and the weight on his forearms on his boney shoulders. His father promising him that he would not be a bony boy forever. As his son, he could not be anything else than a towering man like his father.

Each memory pressed down on him like his father’s hands on his shoulder.

Brenna caressed his forearm, her touch a comfort, yet failing to banish the darkness of his grief.

On Gilroy went, but Caelen listened with half an ear, his words too painful to let in. As he came to the end, Caelen refused to listen. The man filling his memories didn’t resemble the hollow shell he ended his life as.

His final words hung in the air and then faded away as his father had. Cups were raised in his honor, a small act of respect that seemed enough, but was one that Caelen found lacking.

Gilroy started on the MacKenzie line. Laird Grant took great interest in it. Caelen watched him even as Brenna locked her gaze upon him. Absentmindedly, he rested his hand on her knee. Beneath his palm, her leg tensed then jumped up and down.

Laird Grant sat back at the end. Was he pleased? Had he learned something that solidified his claim? Och, the man might best him. But how?

Chapter Ten

Music livened up the mood. Some men gathered around the barrels of
uisage beatha
while other men chased after women. A few women literally ran away while others indulged in the chase with plans to be caught.

Brenna averted her eyes from the lass who was caught as her giggles rang out. She spotted Caelen’s golden locks shining brightly under the torches, and towering over most of the men. Excitement flared through her as he approached, and then he was in front of her.

He dragged her away. His size and position cleared a path. He didn’t halt until they stood at the sea gate.

“We are not going for a swim.” She shook her head.

He drifted closer. He buried his nose in her hair. He rested his mouth against the shell of her ear. “Nay, though I love swimming with you—your naked body held tight within my arms and feeling your lush body against my own. But this is about more than carnal needs.” He stepped back, taking with him the sensual warmth of his body.

“Aye,” she said, feeling she had to speak so she could push away her fear.

“I need a quiet moment.”

She stood beside him as he gazed out at the dark loch. The still movement of the water and the cool, night breeze pushed the world away.

“I did not mean to break your trust in me. The man in those letters is not me. For you, I wish I could be. I want nothing more than to love you.”

“Caelen, you do not realize—you are the man in those letters. Not the exact man, but I think ’tis time to find out who we are together and not what we think we ought to be.”

“What if a bloodline is found between us? Then we will lose each other. What is it, Brenna?”

She lowered her head. Her gaze followed the lines of the stones. A sour taste burned in the back of her mouth.

“There is a connection.” She sighed heavily. “My grandmother’s sister, a Bisset, wed a MacBeth. I hadn’t realized until I heard Gilroy. I do not know more.” Wetness blurred her gaze.

“I will not let you go. You are mine.” He drew her in to his arms. He fitted his mouth to her own. A tear fell down her cheek. He flicked his lips against her stiff top one, parting her mouth. His tongue inched forward. Slowly, she yielded to the embrace. The kiss heightened from a chaste, comforting one to something more than passionate.