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

  “I see.”

  She tried to focus on the conversation around her – the men-at-arms were busy with an interesting debate on the best way to defend oneself against an attack from a lance. Barra listened with half an ear, but she couldn’t focus on anything except the enormity of the fact that Brodgar was opposite her, and the way he was looking at her.

  His eyes were hungry, and she felt an answering ache in her own body as she looked into his gaze. He was looking at her with an intensity that made her almost cry out with need. Her body felt drawn to his and she was aware of his knees beside hers under the table. She felt a delicious warmth flood through her from her toes to her belly, spreading out in waves through her.

  “I hope you’re settled in,” Brodgar murmured, and his words took her by surprise. She sat up straighter, blinking.

  “Sorry?” she asked.

  “I hope your accommodation is comfortable,” he said carefully. “I made sure you would be as far away as possible from the main rooms.” He raised a brow, casting a long look at the door, through which his uncle would come when he arrived.

  Barra swallowed and nodded. She knew what he meant. “I feel safe there,” she replied.

  “Good.”

  She thought that he was about to say more, but suddenly two men walked in through the big door at the side of the hall, and an instant, tense quiet gripped the benches.

  “His lordship, the earl of Blackheath,” a solemn man announced.

  As a party of two armed men, each walking either side of the earl, walked in, Brodgar and the others stood up.

  “Stand,” Alex whispered from beside her. “The earl’s coming.”

  Barra, numbly, complied. She felt her knees creak with nerves.

  The earl and his guardsmen walked onto the dais, and the men drew out the chair beside Brodgar. The earl stood in front of it, then lifted his cup, at which moment the rest of the men sat down. Barra sat down too, awkwardly.

  “I drink to the health of our community,” the earl said in a clear tone. “And, also, to give thanks for the arrival of my nephew. He is a capable fighter and he will manage the fortresses in the south under my auspices.”

  “To the health of our community!” one of the men shouted. “And to Lord Brodgar, the earl’s nephew.”

  As the rest of the hall echoed the toast, Barra glanced upwards at Brodgar. His dark eyes were amused, his lips bent into a wry expression. Evidently, having been tacked onto the toast as an afterthought cut him, as his uncle had planned it to.

  “To Lord Brodgar,” she echoed.

  He looked down, and she thought she saw a blush touch his cheek.

  Once the earl had sat down, the music of strings and other instruments started up, and two servants walked in carrying a vast pot between them. They proceeded up to the dais, where they began to ladle out vast helpings of stew.

  Barra leaned back in her chair, feeling desperately ill-at-ease. She had not expected to be seated at the high table, with the elite guardsmen and Brodgar! She looked around the hall, spotting the reddish hair of Addie where she sat at the benches. She wished that she could sneak down there to join her.

  “The new seamstress, eh?”

  Barra felt her stomach crawl as Lord McIlvor addressed her. She looked at her plate, feeling his eyes glance across her with the sharpness of a razor.

  “Barra is settling into the castle well,” Brodgar said. His voice was also quiet, but there was an undertone nobody missed. Barra, hearing it, felt her heart glow even as she wished to be somewhere else. The earl terrified her, and being the center of attention was something that was almost as frightening.

  “I see. I trust she likes her accommodation?” his tone was light, and he spoke to Brodgar, but his eyes were on her and Barra felt her cheeks heat up with a blush.

  “Barra has settled into the servant’s quarters. It will be easier for her to work in that place,” Brodgar said quickly.

  Barra swallowed hard, feeling uncomfortable being the topic under discussion. That had not happened since she was a small child. She cleared her throat.

  “Addie showed me to my rooms. They are very comfortable, thank you.”

  Brodgar opened his mouth, as if about to spring to her defense, but he said nothing. His uncle frowned.

  “Addie is..?”

  “She’s a kitchen maid,” Barra said. She didn’t look at him, but nor did she allow herself to be intimidated by him. “She was very helpful to me.”

  She saw the earl blink, and then a sneer crossed his lips. He opened his mouth to say something. Brodgar stiffened beside him, one hand at his waist as if he sought his dagger. Luke, sitting beside Brodgar, spoke into the silence, swiftly.

  “I planned a ride tomorrow. The men wish to exercise their horses and, I think, it will be prudent to make a reconnaissance in the north.” He looked sideways at Brodgar, his eyes warning him to avoid violence.

  “Yes, it would,” the earl said. He looked slightly aggrieved, clearly annoyed at being interrupted in the middle of his verbal battle. “I think the men would benefit from practicing their riding in formation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Barra cast a glance at Brodgar. He had gone white, and she could see how tense he was. The loathing he felt for his uncle was obvious and she was glad Luke had intercepted it, afraid the men would have fought.

  She looked down the table and then back at her large plate of stew. She was hungry – more than she had ever been in her life – and the sight of so much food was irresistible. She found that, for a while at least, it took all of her concentration.

  When she had eaten her fill, she glanced around the hall. The wine she had been poured was strong, and the torches in their sconces were haloed in pale light, pulsing gently in time with her heartbeat. The music had formed a background fog, woven with the talk of many voices and the sound of feet as men stood and sat or servants walked across the dais, pouring wine.

  “You look tired,” Brodgar whispered.

  Barra looked up, surprised. She nodded. “I am.”

  He pushed back his chair slightly, a soft smile on his face. “I will retire to bed soon, I think,” he murmured. “It has been a tiring day and I don’t think even my uncle would expect me to stay.” He cast a glance at the man.

  Lord McIlvor was carrying out an intense debate with a soldier next to him about tactics. As she watched, he lifted the elaborate salt cellar and placed it on one side of his plate, recruiting a silver cup to represent some enemy force. The soldier moved the salt cellar to the left, grabbing something else from the table to stand in for more troops.

  “They have reinforcements from Edinburgh, sir. But if we come in from the left…”

  Barra tried to listen, but the conversation was too soft, the noise from the rest of the hall too loud. She looked over at Brodgar and found his gaze on her. It was so intense that she swallowed hard.

  “I would like to go,” she whispered. She looked down at her plate – she had eaten one full plate of stew and bread, and the roast fish that had come around as the next course was too much for her to tackle. After so many days with not quite enough to eat, her stomach wasn’t up to it.

  “As soon as my uncle dismisses the servants, we can go.”

  Barra nodded. She glanced down the table at his uncle, hoping that he would call an end to the banquet soon. He seemed in no hurry to leave, and as she watched he gestured to a servant bearing a plate of cheeses to step up.

  “The servant’s quarters are guarded at night,” Brodgar whispered, making her frown. “I thought it would be more comfortable for you. The guard is there to check for English spies, but, well…” he shrugged.

  Barra swallowed. She knew what he was suggesting – that his uncle was unlikely to act on any designs he might have on her, since his own men would all hear about it. All the same it didn’t seem likely it would put him off for long.

  “I thank you,” she murmured, meeting his gaze. “You thought to put me there.”
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br />   It was a statement, not a question, and he nodded.

  “It’s safer.”

  He looked sideways at his uncle as he said it. His uncle, however, was looking relaxed, gesturing to a servant to pour more wine. He saw Barra’s gaze on him and lifted the glass, a smile twisting his lips. His eyes, above the smile, were cold – more a snarl. She looked away.

  “I won’t let him touch you,” Brodgar whispered.

  “Thank you.”

  Barra looked away, not wanting to voice the fear that lurked in her heart – that, was he dispatched to another fort, he would not be here to stop anything. She took a sip of her drink, then set it aside.

  “Musicians!” The earl said, standing abruptly. “Play for us. Men – you may leave,” he added in a soft whisper to the men in green tunics who hovered about the dais.

  “That’s the signal,” Brodgar whispered to her. Barra felt her heart melt in relief.

  “Good.”

  “Follow a moment or two after me,” he whispered to Barra. Then he turned to his uncle. “Excuse me,” he said formally. “It has been a long day, and I should muster my strength for defending the fort.”

  “Yes, yes, nephew,” the earl said wearily. He sounded tired. “As you wish. Get some rest.” He flapped a hand at Brodgar dismissively. Barra tensed as she saw the younger man blink. His body was stiff with rage at being so treated, and she did not know how his uncle could fail to see.

  “I will meet with you tomorrow, early,” Brodgar said. He favored his uncle with a look that could have cut steel. Then, pushing back his chair, he stood. “Goodnight, men.” His eyes lingered on Barra, and she saw him mouth the word, “goodnight.”

  Barra felt her heart almost stop as he left.

  She was aware that all the men at the table had seen the familiar way he greeted her, and she felt a mix of pride and embarrassment. She looked down the table self-consciously.

  Lord McIlvor’s eyes met hers. Cold and amused, they lingered on her face. A half-smile played at his mouth and her spine went cold. She realized, then, that another reason for interest in her was because of his nephew. Somehow, he delighted in belittling him and if he took her, it would be part of shaming his heir.

  “I must go,” she murmured. “Goodnight, Alex. Thank you, Luke.”

  “Can we help you? You’re not feeling sick?” Luke whispered to her. She met his pale eyes, heart touched by his words.

  “Thank you, Luke. I’m fine.”

  She saw the concern in his eyes grow, but she was too tired to convince him of anything, so she pushed back her chair and stood. Alex touched her arm.

  “Call us if you need anything,” he said softly. “Glen’s on guard and he’ll know to get word to us, if you ask.”

  “Thank you” Barra whispered. “Goodnight.”

  She slipped on a borrowed cloak – it was pale gray wool, its color a fair match to the blue of her gown. Then she hurried from the dais to the courtyard.

  “Barra!” somebody called as she hurried past. She gasped, as a hand gripped her arm, and she whirled to face the threat.

  “Brodgar!”

  He was leaning on the wall. He looked into her eyes.

  “I had to see you,” he whispered. His lips lifted in a smile, his eyes touched with a desperate longing. “I couldn’t stay a moment more without you.”

  Barra looked down. Her body cried for his in a voice too loud to ignore. She swallowed hard, doing her best to overlook the way her loins melted and her heart thudded.

  “Brodgar,” she said softly. “I must go.”

  “I will be leaving for the Blackfield fort soon,” he said softly. “My uncle holds four fortresses – one on each major road of his landholdings. I cannot bear to spend time without you.”

  Barra swallowed hard. “It will not be for long,” she whispered.

  “I do not know,” he admitted. “But I know that even five minutes apart from you is tormenting.”

  Barra flushed. “Brodgar…” she whispered. How could she find words for what she ached to say? Her voice was tight in her chest. She looked to the door, where a sentry was standing, the torches from the hall spilling light onto the flagstones. Brodgar nodded as he noticed it too – soon, they would be seen, and they must go.

  “I love you, Barra,” he whispered. His hand was on her wrist, and he drew her to him, his arms crushing her against his chest. “I think I always have. I have been so foolish, and I haven’t told you. But I love you so deeply, with every part of me.”

  Barra stared at him. Of all the things she had expected, that was one of the last. She felt dizzy. “Brodgar,” she whispered. “I love you, too.”

  As he kissed her, his lips hard and firm on hers, his tongue making her melt into his arms, she knew that it was true, that she had loved him for a long time.

  Gasping, as he leaned back and she turned to walk away towards the castle, she also knew that there was almost nothing she could do to show him her love, in a world as dangerous as theirs.

  The Decision

  Brodgar walked across the courtyard, glancing up at the sky overhead. The day was dark and it looked as if it would rain any moment. Not, he thought with a wry smile, that raining would be a surprise. It always rained around here, though mostly it would be dry by mid-afternoon and then the clouds would blow straight back in again.

  “Lord Brodgar!” a man called. Brodgar turned around, one brow raised, and noticed a man he distantly remembered. He was a master at arms at the castle, though he was not that much older than Brodgar himself. He lifted his arm and waved.

  “Lennox!”

  “Milord!” The man grinned and shook his hand. “It’s good to see you. Where have you been?”

  Brodgar pulled a face. He hadn’t meant to make a point of where he had been – joining the rebellion in a castle which seemed at best undecided, and at worst pro-Edward, seemed a bad idea.

  “I’ve been in places I’d best not have been in,” he said with a grin.

  His master-at-arms nodded. “I understand, milord. Are you going to join us later? His lordship insists we keep fighting fit. Fighting fit,” he repeated, nodding slowly.

  Brodgar frowned. He glanced down at his own body, which was as firm and muscled as it had been when he set out from the castle, if not more so. He lifted his eyes to the man’s face, a questioning look.

  “I only meant, sir, that you’re not training with us as regularly, and, well, his lordship will know of it.”

  “I’ll start now,” Brodgar said with a shrug. Part of him felt stung that the older fellow seemed to have forgotten his skills – if anything, Brodgar was better than he had been when he left those months ago. He carried his bag over to the corner of the yard – he had been bringing a sack of clothing down to the laundry – and chose a sword randomly from the pile in the corner.

  “Sir, we only start in half an hour,” the older man said, giving him a cautious glance. “His lordship…”

  “I seem to need the practice, though,” Brodgar said, still feeling a bit offended. “So, shall we start warming up before the others arrive?”

  His master at arms looked uncomfortable, but agreed. “As you wish, sir.”

  Brodgar nodded and drew the sword. Where, once, it would have felt like something special, it was ordinary now – something he did every day. It was natural for him to take the stance and he watched as his adversary appraised him, clearly surprised by the changes he saw.

  Brodgar smiled grimly. He had become a better fighter since he left here – having to do it every day, and mostly in real attempts to save his life – was not something to discount when it came to improving his skills. He watched how his adversary took his own stance, looking somewhat less blithe than he would have a month ago.

  Brodgar waited for him to make the first charge. He did, lifting the sword and stabbing it forward. Brodgar parried like lightning, and the two blades rang in the still cold air of the yard.

  “Whew.”

  He felt him
self grin as he heard his instructor draw an appreciative breath. He was enjoying this now. His instructor lifted his blade and Brodgar moved to take the gap, but he had forgotten how fast the man was, because as he brought it down his own cut was rebuffed with a strike that rattled down his arm, jarring into the bone.

  The two men faced each other. Brodgar felt himself start to smile, and he noticed a glitter in his companion’s eye that reminded him why they both enjoyed this sport.

  Brodgar circled his instructor, the two of them on guard, ready for the first blow before they sprang at each other. Brodgar watched the other man’s face, waiting for a moment when his attention was elsewhere. When it became apparent that he was being watched like a hawk, and no gap was going to be afforded to him, he waited. The other man seemed shorter of patience, and struck out first. Brodgar blocked his blow, and then, grunting, twisted it aside.

  They were both sweating heavily now, despite the cold. Brodgar wiped his brow with his sleeve and started circling his opponent again. He made a pretense of striking left, then, as his opponent moved to block him, he twisted his blade so that it sliced down the blade of the other man’s sword, the edges dulling as they grated against one another.

  “You young scalawag,” his opponent hissed out, adding some less-complimentary curse words as the two hilts jarred, causing both of them to wince. Brodgar jumped back from the position, and his opponent stumbled forward and then lashed out. The sound of blades rang out again.

  “Halt!” a voice called behind them. “Stop your swordplay.”

  Brodgar was about to ignore it, seeing no reason why they should not continue, but then he saw the look in his instructor’s eyes and he turned rapidly around.

  He found himself face-to-face with his uncle. The Laird of McIllvor, earl of Blackheath, was leveling a look of distaste at him. Brodgar felt his anger instantly rise, but kept it in check.

  “Uncle,” he said softly.

  His uncle stiffened, as if he was expecting rather more acknowledgment than that, but he said nothing against it. He raised a brow at his nephew.

  “I think that you need to be introduced to our rules here, nephew,” he greeted him coolly. “The men are all training at arms with me in the other courtyard. I would recommend that you join them.”