The Highlander’s Awakening Lairds of Dunkeld Series) Read online

  Brodgar sighed. “I don't know.” He shook his head. “I should have predicted this. I didn't know...”

  “How could you have foreseen it?” Ettie asked. “Has anyone foreseen it?”

  “You mean, did my aunt tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  Brodgar sighed.

  “You did ask her this morning?” Ettie queried.

  “I did,” Brodgar agreed. “She said it could go either way.”

  “What does that mean?” Ettie asked, frowning.

  Brodgar leaned back, closing his eyes a moment. Then he sighed. “I don't know. Come on. Let's sit down. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come to find you. I just...I was supposed to follow my heart, so I suppose I thought first of you.”

  Ettie felt her cheeks flush with color. In the midst of this horrible situation, he had thought of her when he thought of following his heart. She took his hand and held it. “My dear. That is the sweetest thing I ever heard.”

  Brodgar blushed. He squeezed her hand too. “Well, it's true,” he said. They sat like that for a while, she opposite him on the settee, her fingers gripped in his. She could feel his pulse under her fingers; bucking and swift. She took comfort in the sweet and steady rhythm of it.

  “What can we do?” Ettie asked, clearing her throat.

  Brodgar sighed. “No idea.”

  “Does your father know?” Ettie said.

  He winced. “I know I should tell him. But I cannot betray my friend like that. How could I?”

  “He should know,” Ettie said firmly. “Someone has to warn him.”

  “You are right, of course.” Brodgar nodded. “I will tell him. Mayhap if I tell him, this can be averted. If he knows soon enough, he can send messengers to the MacDonnell, explaining our lack of involvement. We could avert it. We may yet.”

  “Whatever I can do to help,” Ettie found herself saying, “I will do it.”

  “My dear.” Brodgar squeezed her hand lovingly. “I thank you.”

  Ettie blushed. “Of course, my dear.” She loved saying those words! Just thinking of him and her together made blood rush to her face. However, she couldn't indulge that now.

  “I'll go down.” Brodgar said.

  “If you're ready,” Ettie said. “I'll come too?”

  Brodgar chuckled. “I would appreciate it, Ettie. Thank you.”

  They squared their shoulders and went downstairs. Brodgar went up the northern stair-flight to his father's office. He looked set; Ettie could see his shoulders tense beneath his cloak, his jaw tight.

  “I'll wait here,” she said softly.

  Brodgar smiled over his shoulder at her. “Thank you.”

  Ettie watched him go inside, nerves warring with the deep pride she felt in him.

  He is such a fine man. So brave. Telling his father won't be easy.

  As Brodgar went, she heard his father ask what the matter was. He sounded kind. She paused.

  He may sound kind now. I do not know how kind he will be when he hears his prospects for the future have just been flattened by a badly thought-out escapade.

  She paced in the hallway. The sun shone through the high window, spilling dusty light onto the flagstones. She couldn't hear the conversation behind the closed door, but wished she could. The suspense was killing her. At length, Brodgar emerged. “What?” she said, rushing over. “What, my love? Tell me? Please?”

  Brodgar was white. His hands were clenched. His jaw stiff. “He's furious.”

  Ettie felt her heart sink through the floor. “What did he say?”

  “I won't repeat it,” Brodgar whispered. “I just...” He walked away even as they spoke, heading rapidly down the stairs back to the hallway. “I just have to do something. I don't know what.”

  He turned to Ettie with such a stricken expression that she felt her heart clench. She wanted to hold him to her, to let him find comfort in her kisses, in her closeness. Nevertheless, she knew he needed to do something now. She frowned. “What could you do?”

  “There's only one thing I can do,” Brodgar said quietly. “Ride after him.”

  Ettie covered her mouth with her hands. That was the thing she had feared he would do. She didn't want him to. Didn't want him to take risks. In her mind she could see him riding through the woodlands, pursued by the soldiers from Bronley Fortress. She was terrified for him. “I know you have to,” she whispered. “But cannot you take Blaine? Someone else? The men?”

  Brodgar sighed. “Just me. If I arrive there at the head of a small army, it won't look like a friendly visit.” He gave a small tense smile. “I will do my best to be safe, my love.”

  Ettie swallowed. It was the first time he had used that endearment toward her. All the same, the happiness was tarnished with fear. She took his hand.

  “Be safe.”

  “I'll try.”

  He had gone deathly pale. Ettie knew he understood the magnitude of the danger he faced. He could ride there and not come back. It wasn't like the thane would welcome his daughter's abduction. No. This could be war. Bronley was not far from them – they shared a northern border. The thought of what could happen made her sweat.

  “I know you'll come back to me,” she whispered. She kissed his brow. “Now, go safely.”

  “I will.”

  He squeezed her to his chest. She wrapped her arms tight, crushing herself to him. She could smell the musk of his body and feel the hard muscle against her soft form. She didn't want to let go. If she let go, he would walk away. If he walked away, he could die. She didn't want him to die.

  She held back her tears, smiled at him as he went into the courtyard. Then she fled. Her feet carried her to her bedchamber, which was a good thing, because she could not have seen the way there, blinded by her own tears. In the chamber, she lay face down on the bed and sobbed and sobbed.

  “Brodgar,” she whispered to the empty air. “Be safe. Please.”

  As she lay there, feeling too tired and drained to even sit up, she heard a strange sound. It was a soft whisper on the air, a little gasping outbreath. Someone was crying nearby. She sat up and, forgetting her own misery for the moment, tiptoed out.

  The noise led her to the wooden door beside her own. She knocked. The crying stopped.

  “Hello?” Henriette called softly.

  “Henriette?” The voice was strained. Henriette recognized it instantly. It was Chrissie. “Aunt? Are you well?”

  “I don't know if I can...oh!” Chrissie appeared at the door. Her eyes were misty and she held a handkerchief to her cheeks. They were silvered with the traces of tears.

  “Aunt Chrissie.” Henriette stepped forward and embraced her wordlessly. “Oh, my dear. I'm so sorry...”

  Henriette held the small woman in her arms and stroked her back as she leaned on her shoulder.

  At length, Chrissie pulled back and looked into her eyes. “I'm so afraid for him. Broderick told me and...” She sighed, shoulders shaking as she sobbed. She went into her chamber and sat down. Henriette hesitated before she followed her invitation. The room was warm, a fire in the grate, little touches of Chrissie's embroidery everywhere. It smelled heavily of rose perfume. Chrissie sat at her dressing table, looking out onto the woodlands.

  “I'm sure it can be remedied, Aunt,” Chrissie said softly. She stood opposite her, not wanting to sit down on the big canopied bed. Her aunt waved her to the seat in the corner and shifted so they could see each other properly.

  “I don't see how,” Chrissie sniffed. “Broderick...he was furious. He's a good man and he wouldn't blame me or Blaine for it, but...Oh, Ettie. My son should have known better and yet...and yet I cannot condemn his course.”

  “Alf is in love,” Ettie said softly. “We are all lucky enough to know how it feels. None of us should condemn him.”

  Chrissie smiled. “You are right. You are wise.”

  “I'm not wise,” Henriette said softly. “I'm just lucky. Lucky enough to have found love.”

  Chrissie beamed at her. “Well, i
n some ways, I am not sorry. This means you can be free to wed Brodgar, isn't that true?”

  Henriette smiled. “I don't know.”

  “I don't think Broderick would let this have repercussions for anyone,” Chrissie said, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes with the linen square. “He's not the sort who would hold a grudge or seek punishment. He'll do his best to solve this problem whatever it takes.”

  They were both interrupted by the sound of feet in the hallway. “Is that Blaine?” Chrissie asked. She looked at once apprehensive and delighted. Henriette felt suddenly awkward. Here she was, giving solace to Chrissie, where by rights she would want comfort from Blaine, surely. “I should go,” she said awkwardly. The footsteps receded.

  “Not Blaine, then,” Chrissie said sadly. “Oh. Well, don't go, my dear. I would like to talk a while. I don't know what will happen now – Broderick will likely cancel the gathering...”

  “Would he?”

  “Well, if this comes to a feud, we would be obliged to,” Chrissie said sadly.

  “It isn't going to,” Henriette said, feeling utter conviction fill her. “Why should it happen?”

  Chrissie nodded. “Well, it shouldn't. Why should so many die for one foolish, brave act?”

  “Exactly.” Henriette said, feeling renewed strength in herself. She nodded emphatically. “If it wasn't for some obligations laid on young people before they could even walk, Alf could ask Ambeal to wed and there'd be no need for such rashness. Alf didn't do anything. He only sought to make his own choices.”

  Chrissie smiled sadly. “If only we all had such clarity of vision, my dear,” she said softly.

  Henriette smiled. “Maybe we will.”

  “I pray so.”

  They sat quietly a while. Henriette heard booted feet come slowly past the doorway.

  “That will be him,” Chrissie said, smiling. “That's Blaine. You should go, my dear.”

  “I will. Are you feeling better?”

  Chrissie smiled. “I am, dear. I feel as if things will come to rights after all.” She sniffed. Chrissie smiled.

  “Well, you told me all possibilities are equally possible.”

  Chrissie beamed. “You are right, dear.”

  “Well, then,” Henriette said firmly. “The possibility of Alf and Ambeal wedding happily and coming back here as if it was never disallowed is possible.”

  Chrissie drew in a deep breath and nodded.

  “Thank you, my dear. Thank you for reminding me of that.”

  “Not at all.”

  Henriette kissed her aunt's cheek quickly and rushed out. As she walked up the hallway, she heard Blaine enter the chamber. Saw him take Chrissie in his arms and heard her cry as he held her close, rocking her.

  Henriette felt a painful stab in her chest, seeing that love. It made her think of herself and Brodgar.

  Be safe, my love. Be safe.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PRISONER IN THE FORT

  PRISONER IN THE FORT

  The forest was dark around Bronley by the time Brodgar arrived. He was exhausted and the lights of the castle pricked out into the darkness, making him close his eyes momentarily as he rode up the brief incline to the gate.

  “Who goes there?”

  “Brodgar MacConnoway, son of the thane of Dunkeld.”

  He saw the sentries tense suddenly. Heard them shout up to the men on the ramparts. “Open the gate!”

  He rode through the gate into the darkened courtyard. The wind whispered round him, chilly and cold. He felt as if he was riding into a trap. There were more men-at-arms in the space than he could remember – standing about in knots, torches fretful in the keening wind. He dismounted, letting a suddenly attentive groom take his horse to the stables.

  The thane strode through the doors from the great hall as he approached them. “Arrest this man!”

  Brodgar stared at him in horror. His guards, two of those eight who flanked him, strode forward. They placed heavy hands on him, and Brodgar decided it was better not to resist.

  “My lord!” he shouted. He had trained his voice to carry on a battlefield. It did so now.

  The thane turned where he stood, impassive as they marched Brodgar off. His eyes flickered with interest, and then dulled over. “What is it?”

  “My lord! My father knows nothing of what happened. It was not our doing. Why would I abduct your daughter, when I am set to wed her? It's unnecessary.”

  “You came here,” the thane said. “Saw her. Stole her. To use? How must I understand your wicked minds? All I know is that I will have her back. Your life means nothing to me. You are here as hostage until your father sees fit to return her.”

  “My lord!” Brodgar shouted. He noticed the guards around them looked uncomfortable. He could tell they didn't wish to carry out their master's orders either.

  “What, MacConnoway?”

  “Write to my father. He will explain. He'll tell you we don't have your daughter.”

  The man was disinterested. He looked away. “I don't believe you.”

  “My lord...”Brodgar sighed. He decided there was no use in telling him anything. He wasn’t prepared to listen to reason. As the guards led him away, he wondered to himself how anyone could fail to see sense. What merit would there be in forestalling his vows and making war?

  “This is madness,” he muttered.

  The guards wordlessly took him to the turret. There was a tiny room there at the top – probably used once for storing tapestries or some such thing, or for a single guard to watch the southern track. They put him in there.

  The guards looked uncomfortable with their job. One of them fetched him a pail – Presumably to function as a chamber pot, Brodgar thought distantly. The other shrugged.

  “I'll get something,” he said. When he came back, he had a blanket.

  “Thank you,” Brodgar said softly. He was touched.

  “It's cold in here,” the guard said gruffly. “Get a chill.”

  Brodgar thanked him again. The guards shuffled out. Locked the door. Left him there.

  Brodgar leaned on the wall and closed his eyes. He sat on the floor.

  What am I going to do?

  Taking him prisoner would only escalate things. What did MacDonnell expect? That his father would miraculously produce the girl who was never at the castle? And if he couldn't – which he certainly could not – what would happen?

  He'll take men to Dunkeld and war will start.

  Brodgar sighed. What could he do? He decided to follow the only advice he had been given. His heart. Follow his heart.

  If I was doing that, I would never have left. I would be with Henriette, now. Or with Alf, trying to stop him doing anything stupid. I didn't come here for love. I came here because my father would have wished it of me. I did it to try and make him proud of me; or at least less ashamed.

  Brodgar looked around. Opposite him, the tiny window let in a sliver of night, spangled with stars. He looked at the sky and thought of her. Henriette. What would she be doing now? Was she sad? Indifferent? Was she in her chamber, brushing her hair? Did she think of him and wonder where he was? Wonder when he would be coming back to her, and if he was in any danger here...

  “I need to get back.”

  As he said it, he realized it was not a bad idea. If he could escape, he could return to his father, tell him not to send any troops or engage with the MacDonnell until Ambeal was found. Alf would have to be persuaded to bring her back.

  At least I might be able to find Alf. He recalled what they planned to do. Alf would be stopping at the inn in Hightop tonight – a small village on the next hillside. He would be staying there, keeping off the roads, and then traveling down into the valley the next morning. They would go by the forest trackways. That way, they would escape the thane's men who would likely scan the roads.

  I could find him, if I changed horses enough times. If I could get out of here tomorrow, I could catch them up and make him bring her back.

&nbs
p; Now that his father knew of the love between Alf and Ambeal, and how serious they were, he would see fit to move fast. He would do as he had already decided, and negotiate with the MacDonnell.

  It seems mad: if Alf takes Ambeal back to Dunkeld, it will seem as if we are responsible. But if I can make it clear that Father brought them back, that would be a mitigating factor. How could we do that..?

  Brodgar thought it through for a long while. The stars had shifted by the time he had an answer.

  He sighed. It was cold in here. He was grateful for the blanket. He shook it out and considered lying down. The floor was wood, at least. The walls were stone, and drained heat. He curled up in the middle of the floor, pulled the blanket over himself and tried to sleep.

  The next morning, he woke with an aching head, every joint stiff and painful. He sat up and leaned against the wall. The long window showed him a pale sky, the clouds pewter streaks on its soft white indifference.

  I need to do something today.

  His first consideration was breakfast. He hadn't eaten dinner yesterday, and had only had as much luncheon as he could carry on the road. At least part of the aches and tiredness were due to hunger. He went to the door. Knocked on it politely. “Hello?”

  No answer. He sighed. He was a prisoner – even the kindest guards were probably unlikely to be there at all times, ready with meals.

  “Hello?”

  He tapped again. This time, he heard something outside the door. Boots, scuffing stairs. It opened.

  “His lordship's out,” the guard said, low voiced. “Scouring the woodlands.”

  “Oh.” Brodgar frowned. By rights, they shouldn't have been talking. He was surprised the guards let him know something as potentially helpful as the absence of their own lord.

  “We don't like it,” the guard confided. “Keeping gentlefolk like yourself like this,” he added, with a dismissive jerk of his head in the direction of the room, which was cold and unpleasant indeed.

  “I thank you,” Brodgar said in a low voice. At that moment, a wonderful smell wafted up the hallway. It was oats porridge, he thought, though he could smell something like broth too. His mouth worked and he swallowed hard.