Claiming the Highlander (21 page)

Caelen gave a hollow laugh. “Your son said those same words to me. I won’t with you. I shall let you stay this night; however, you will remain in your chamber and I will have it searched. After the laird departs, you will go. That is the last kindness I will do for you.”

* * * *

“He would have loved tonight,” the lairdess said. “He would have raised his cup at any little thing. Kenneth loved a celebration.”

“I remember the grand feast from my childhood.” All those years ago, the hall had vibrated with excitement and glittered. She loved hearing the buzz of conversations and the energy that radiated.

“Aye, you would be sent to bed, yet always ended up underneath a table. A little hand would appear and steal a treat from the table. Kenneth always knew you were there.”

“Oh, I swore I had gotten away with it. I cannot sneak away as well as I thought.”

“He would bet with guests on how long it would take for you to slip in.”

“Not very long,” Brenna said. The memory filled her with a rush of warmth and a heaviness of what was. “I do miss him.”

“Me as well. I had always worried that I would lose him in battle. That his lifeless, bloodless body would be returned to me. But I am glad I was the last face he saw, that he held my hand.” She held out her trembling hand. “The scant time he was ill, it ripped me apart, but I couldn’t leave the duty to another. It was some of our greatest times, and now I miss him even more.”

Brenna laid her hand on her back, a small act of comfort. The lairdess sent her a watery smile.

“My lady,” the servant said.

“Aye, Jinny.”

“I was hopin’ to send some servants to bed as we dinna need all.”

Brenna nodded. “Of course.” The lairdess watched Jinny return to the kitchens. Her gaze lingered at the arched doorway. She cut her regard to Brenna. “You have overseen everything with a keen eye. You shall not need my guidance for much longer.”

“I shall always need it.”

“That is kind of you, Brenna. I believe I shall head to my chamber. It has been a long day.” She rubbed Brenna’s arm in gratitude. She crossed the hall.

The poor lairdess, around her hung a cloud of grief. Her shoulders were slumped and tense. Father Murray had been spending much time with her. Did his presence offer any comfort? Probably not. Grief must be felt until it fades, but it always returned, its chilled fingers always gripped the heart.

Caelen strode to her. He walked with purpose. “Let’s retire.” A caged energy radiated from him. His jaw was clenched. He shifted on his feet, half turning away. “Come along.” He took her arm and made her follow.

“What is wrong?” She skipped a few steps, trying to match his lengthy stride.

“I do not know if it is wrong or finally right.”

Her interest was piqued. Questions raced through her mind along with variations of possibilities that only raised more questions. Once inside the chamber, she stayed out of his way as he paced about the chamber.

She waited, a knot in her stomach. He would tell. If not…

“Your father is departing in the morn along with Tavish.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been betrayed.” He halted. His shoulders slumped. He told her all.

“Tavish.” Her brows flew up. “I’m surprised. He must hate you so to go against the clan.”

“You do not feel sympathy for him?” Caelen rounded toward her.

“A wee bit, but I could hang him by his feet from the castle wall.”

Caelen chuckled in the back of his throat. “I would like that too.”

She perched on the bed. “What is the truth about Dairmad’s death?”

“I cannot tell you.” His voice dropped and was laced with heartache.

“You must and not just to me but Gilroy, Finian, your mother, even Manus. It could change everything. Tavish no doubt is telling my father.”

“It is of no importance.” He waved away her words.

“How do you think the council will react to news of Tavish? They will not stand fully on your side. It can do more harm that help. Who knows what they can do? What they can stir up? Maybe go to Boyd—” she made mention of his brother, “—there may be infighting within the clan. Do you think your father wanted that?”

“I will after my father is buried.”

“It must be tomorrow. Do you think Tavish will wait to stir up discord?” She jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around his waist. She snuggled closer when he returned her hold. “I shall stand by you.”

“My fierce warrior.”

“I will shoot anyone who tries to harm you.” Her yawn destroyed the fierceness of her vow.

“Come to bed. Getting sleep is most important the night before a battle.” She undressed. She stretched, happy to be free of her clothing. She climbed into bed and snuggled under the covers.

When Caelen joined her, she said, “I shall never leave this bed.”

With one arm, he yanked her tightly against him. Her head was tucked under his chin. He threw his leg over her bent ones. She smoothed the hairs on his arm. His body heat seeped into her back. Her eyes grew heavier. Her last thought before slumber overtook her was that the only way to sleep was in Caelen’s arms.

Warm air carrying the smell of smoke burned her nostrils. She pawed about for the covers. Feeling nothing but wrinkled linen and coldness, she opened her eyes. Caelen was gone. On bare feet, she tiptoed her way to the window. She threw open the shutters.

Silhouetted against the night sky were three ships, their sails unfurled. The flames of arrows pitched against the near black sky, casting eerie shapes on their descent. A raid. The proper thing would be for her to lock the shutters. She scanned the shore. All she made out was the rocks under the moonlight. From this distance, no sounds reached her, swept away by the lap of the loch’s soft waves. She hung half out the window. Her toes skimmed the chilled floorboards.

Chapter Eleven

The MacCleods of Skye stormed the shores where the three lochs and the calm waters lapped at the clattan. Men stormed from their homes, bearing pikes while the women and children ran up the slope of the mountains. Thor stampeded his way into the fray. A MacCleod fell back. Raemon drove his claymore into the falling man’s face. Thor bit at men standing in his way and kicked out as he was trained to fight in close quarters. Caelen arched his claymore. The MacCleod warrior shifted his stance and those swords swashed together. Caelen yanked Thor about and charged the man again. Three men ran before Thor. His mount reared up and fell sideways. Caelen jumped out of the way before he was pinned beneath him.

The MacCleod man charged him with a roar. He parried. The blow shook up Caelen’s arm. The sword blades screeched as they slid across the keen edges. With his shoulder, Caelen knocked him off. The man stumbled. Caelen kicked him to the ground. He kicked away his sword and then planted a booted foot on his chest. He raised his sword and plunged it in his chest.

Caelen ripped his sword free, tearing up more muscle and blood. At his shoulder, he felt a blade slid into his muscles and slam into bone. Warm blood poured down his back and chest, and blended with his sweat. His natural instinct set in and he spun around, protecting his injury.

The raiders called a retreat. The horn call blasted through the clattan. Caelen raced after them. His injured muscles twisted with each stride and slowed him down. Waist deep the men gave a final pitch attack. Then the islemen rowed to the boat.

“My lord, ye harmed. Those devils stabbed ye in the back.” Raemon jutted his chin toward the wound.

Caelen slid his claymore in its scabbard and blasted the air with a string of curses. He pulled out his dirk. He cut off his sleeve. Raemon tied it about his shoulder.

“Keir thinks you are the worst under his command. Tonight you proved yourself skillful.”

“He favors Manus an’ his men. We dinna really try fae him.”

“What are you all called?”

Raemon pointed to each man. “Miach, Uilliam, Jock, and Keddy.”

“Let’s return. Most of you still look in your cups.”

Miach burped, shaking his barrel chest. Jock and Keddy shared a grin.

“Aye, my lord. I am a thinkin’ I need anither caup,” Keddy said, his voice was deep and thick, not matching his short stature.

Caelen swung up onto Thor. The ride back jostled his shoulder. He grinded his back teeth and was sure they would turn to dust. He rode into the courtyard and handed Coinneach his horse. “You still have the egg.”

“Aye, it hasna broken.”

Caelen had to choose which smelled worse, the stench of blood or the egg. “Get rid of it. It’s time to get you a training sword.”

Coinneach jumped in the air and threw the egg away. “Thank ye, my lord.”

Caelen made his way into the great hall. He grabbed a flagon, sniffed the oaky drink, and took a long swig.

He spun around at the scream. Brenna raced to him. Her hair flapped out behind her. She wore the thinnest garment that molded against her body.

“Good God, woman, you are indecent.”

“And you are bleeding. Get me water and needle.” She ordered to the servants. She snatched the flagon from him.

A soft groan escaped his lips. “You shall go upstairs.”

“You shall come with me.”

Caelen turned her around and headed to the chamber. The pain lessened as long as he kept his arm cradled to his chest.

Once in the chamber, he plopped down on the bed’s edge. Servants filed in, bringing water, candles, linens, and more medicine jars.

“Please sit here.” She patted a stool.

He pushed himself to his feet and went to it. “There.”

She poured water in a bowl and washed her hands. She dried them off. “Now, let’s see.” She pushed aside the ends of his hair. Her fingertips brushed softly against the nape of his neck. She untied the piece of fabric and let it drop on the floor. Between two fingers, she peeled the leine off the wound. He hissed as dried blood stuck the fabric to his wound.

“Sorry,” she said.

She dabbed at his wound. Her touch was gentle. “Those bastards, attacking on this night. Do they have no respect for the dead?” She dipped the linen in the bowl and wrung it out.

“I would have done the same. Men’s attention turned away from their duties, and in their cups or fooling with the ladies. The perfect night for a raid.”

She wiped the linen across the wound, once, twice and then two more times. The water trickled down his back. The water in the bowl turned pink. He peered over his shoulder.

“Turn back. It is bleeding again, but it isn’t that deep and quite small. Whoever stabbed you only pierced you with the tip.” Her breath brushed against him.

He looked up at the door opening. His mother rushed in. “What happened?”

“I was stabbed. A paltry wound, Mother.” She peered over his shoulder.

His muscles constricted as Brenna poured the alcohol over the wound. “A warning, woman.”

She made a sound of agreement. She wasted good
uisge beathe
, drowning the needle and thread in it.

“This is the painful part.” She pinched the muscles and slipped the needle into his flesh.

An itch started and he wanted to roll his shoulder.

“There. All is complete. Now for the medicine.”

Caelen rose. “Never mind that.” He circled his arm, stretching the skin.

“Cease that or you will break your stitches.” Her touch stopped him.

She placed a kiss on his back. “All is well.”

Mother took a look as well. “Are you sure it was one of the islemen who did this?”

“I had thought the same. I cannot say that they plotted alone.”

“You think my father had a hand in this.” Brenna washed her hands though not one drop of blood remained.

“I don’t discount it.”

Brenna paled. ‘He wasn’t there.”

“It does not mean he didn’t play a part in the planning.”

His mother motioned to Brenna with a flick of her head. “Before we let our imaginations run about, we should learn more. Caelen, be careful next time.” She presented her cheek for a peck. “I am glad you are not harmed.”

Brenna looked wild as his mother left. “Not harmed…you could have lost your arm, or can yet die of infection. Are you feverish?” She slapped her palm against his cheek.

He peeled her hand away. “Brenna, calm yourself. Come to bed and let’s sleep.”

“I cannot rest after this.”

“You must. If you do not, I shall not heal properly. Rest is the best for the wounded.”

Caelen spread out on the bed and patted the space beside him.

“Do you think Tavish could have done this? His way of revenge.”

* * * *

This was why Caelen hated tubs. He never fit. He had to stand up and douse himself.

“Why am I wet?” Brenna sat up. She tossed her tangled hair off her face. “You are flinging water all over the place. I do not know how you did it but you managed to bathe me.” She tossed aside the covers.

She zigzagged by him, avoiding the wetness spread across the floor. He stepped from the tub and added to the puddles of water.

“How is your shoulder?”

“Sore and tight but functioning,” he answered. “Hurry and dress. We are to see your father off together.”

“You wish to show him that I stand with you.”

“Do you stand with me?” He froze, the drying linen hung from his fingers as if he was a modest maiden. He couldn’t move. His life depended on her answer.

“I do.”

He tossed aside the linen and swept her up instead. A warm glow shined from her. She cupped his face. He placed a peck on her palm.

“I have to dress and you have my father to toss out, then we must…”

He turned to where his leines hung as if he could turn away from what he must do. Caelen vowed to never tell the truth. He had done his best to forget that night. Dairmad should have followed orders instead of breaking off on his own.

Caelen tried to forget the part he played. Still within him, he felt he had acted justly but should have brought about justice differently.

He tied the leather strings of boots. He opened the door and waved Brenna to proceed. He followed her into the great hall. Laird Grant stood at the foot of the stairs.