The Highlander’s Widow (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 8) Read online

  Wincing from the long wound down his front, and the older, healing wound in his shoulder, he drew on the shirt, put on his trews – the stained, ruined ones of yesterday – and headed away to find breakfast.

  She's a right kind lady, he thought, wondering at the fact that Lady Chlodie, the owner of the manor, had thoughtfully found them both accommodations. She had no reason to trust them, or even to welcome them, and yet she had done it.

  He walked down the long, finely-decorated hallway and toward where he heard sounds. The house was much smaller than Duncliffe, even smaller than Inverkeith had been, more like the house Bronan had served in when he started out as his lordship's guard.

  Voices carried to him. He heard Alec's laugh, light and carefree. He smiled, hearing it. He felt as if the lad was his son, and he loved him like he would, he thought, have loved a son.

  “I think it's lucky I didn't wake earlier, then,” Alec was saying in reply to somebody's murmured comment. “Or I would have finished everything already.”

  “Oh, Master Alec!” Lady Chlodie's voice replied, amused, “A fine appetite you must have then.”

  Someone murmured a reply. The doorway was ahead now, and Bronan looked in. At a table covered with a fine linen cloth sat Lady Chlodie, and across from her was Alec. There was somebody next to him, too, at the moment in silhouette against the bright light from the window.

  “Ah! Hello!”

  Alec saw him and beamed. He moved to stand and Bronan saw Amalie, beside him.

  Pale and worn, with a bruise on one temple, her hair had been artfully arranged and she wore a beautiful gown in a deep brown, the neckline lined in white and quite low-cut. Her skin glowed and, he thought, he had never seen her look that beautiful. He bowed.

  “Milady,” he breathed. For the moment he didn't see anyone else. Just her. “Lady Chlodie.” He hastily remembered to bow to her, also.

  “Good morning, Bronan,” Lady Chlodie said, setting aside a slice of bread and butter. “Take a seat. We've all just woken up ourselves. Please, join us.”

  “Thanks, milady,” Bronan nodded. Since the previous evening, her manner to him had softened somewhat, though he still found her somewhat distant, as if she wasn't sure what to make of him. He chuckled inwardly. With his torn trews and his messy hair and his rough voice, he wasn't sure what to make of himself, either.

  “We were just saying it was lucky I hadn't woken earlier,” Alec said to him with a grin. The lad, too, looked better than Bronan had seen him in a long while, dark eyes sparking with joy.

  “You mean, we're lucky there's any breakfast left for us?” he asked, already understanding the humor.

  “Yes!” Alec chuckled. Lady Chlodie giggled, her laugh like a peal of bells. She was pretty, Bronan thought, with a face like a doll's, all big pink cheeks and round eyes. However, she was not the sort of beauty that made his heart stop, not like Lady Amalie.

  “Did you sleep well?” Amalie asked him softly.”

  “I did, milady, thanks,” he nodded. “You?”

  “Yes,” she said in that beautiful low voice. “Very well.”

  “Good.” Distractedly, he reached for a plate and some bread. He realized he was starving. They’d had no time for dinner the previous night, and luncheon had hardly been substantial either – a few slices of bread and apples from his saddle-pack.

  Bronan was tired, and he noticed Amalie seemed tired too – she focused on her plate, not saying much. Her face was so pale and the rings around her eyes were gray with lack of sleep. He was tired too and couldn't think of anything to say. He poured some tea, hoping that if he busied himself with his breakfast nobody would notice the lack of talking.

  “The weather this morning seems like it might hold,” Alec said, voice loud in the silence. “I was hoping to take a ride. What is the weather like in these parts, Lady Chlodie? Quite changeable, I imagine, since we're in the foothills of the slopes?”

  “Well, it does change quite quickly, yes...” Lady Chlodie began.

  As Alec kept up a cheery, mostly one-sided discussion on the state of the weather, Bronan snuck glances at Amalie. She caught his eye and held it. Her eyes held care, and fear, and worries. He nodded, dabbing his lips with his napkin. They had to plan.

  Their moment came a few minutes later. Lady Chlodie pushed back her chair. “Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you now,” she said. “I told my steward I'd discuss the accounts with him. Heaven knows it's as exciting as last week's loaf, but what can I do?”

  Bronan grinned. Amalie laughed, though it was brief and tired-sounding. “Of course, milady,” she said gently. “May I say again how grateful we are?”

  “Thank you, but it's the least I can do,” the woman said, smiling tenderly at them all. “And as it happens, it makes a fine change to have so many new people in the house. It's been just me, rattling about the place for far too long now. I welcome the change.”

  “Thank you,” Bronan and Alec echoed. Lady Chlodie smiled at them and then hurried through the door. Bronan looked at Amalie.

  “We need to...”

  “I thought that maybe...”

  They both spoke together, and sighed.

  “You first?” Bronan offered. He gave Amalie a fond grin.

  “Very well,” she said, clearing her throat. “Alec? We have to go back to Inverkeith. I don't trust our uncle. What say you?”

  “I agree,” Alec said, seeming unsurprised at being an active part of their decisions. Throughout the trip they had ceased to treat him like a child in most ways, and he responded joyfully. “Well, then,” he said. “We have our horses. Do you think we could impose on Lady Chlodie for provisions? She's already been so kind.”

  “We might have to,” Amalie said softly. “Bronan? You have something to add? We can have no idea if those guards reported back to the duke.”

  “They likely did,” Bronan agreed. “In which case we have, what? Two days?”

  “Two days,” Amalie agreed.

  “Three, if they're wounded, and riding the same horses as when they were here,” Alec pointed out.

  “True, lad,” Bronan nodded. He grinned, impressed by the youth's quick thinking. Alec beamed.

  “We will be able to take two days, though,” Alec continued. “Our horses are well-rested, and we'll be ready for the ride.”

  “We'll need a day to recover,” Bronan pointed out. Alec might be ready for fresh action, but his shoulder ached, nagging at him, and his legs and arms felt as if they had been beaten, the bruises from the fight and from the ride still fresh and sore.

  Amalie nodded, pleased. “Yes,” she whispered. “We will.”

  They planned further. They would ride to Inverkeith. Amalie pointed out that they would have to take three days, for they would need to approach from another side. They couldn't very well ride up to the entrance-gate and declare themselves. Not now.

  “And when we get there?” Bronan made himself ask the question he was sure everyone already thought.

  “Well,” Amalie raised a brow. “I have an idea.”

  Bronan looked at her questioningly. He could see a glint in her eye though, which suggested that it was an inspired plan. For the moment, he decided, he didn't need to know more. He just had to do as she directed.

  They finished their plans quickly. Today, they would rest. Then they would borrow a map, and two days' provisions, take their horses and leave at first light. They had three days' ride before them, and at the end a plan to carry out.

  After breakfast, Bronan was walking down the hallway, up toward the stairs to the attic, when he heard Amalie stop. She turned and looked at him. He rushed to her.

  “We have today to rest,” she said softly.

  “Yes,” Bronan whispered. “And regain our strength.”

  Wordlessly, his arms wrapped round her and she pressed herself against him. Her lips found his and they embraced, and kissed.

  Much of the rest of the morning, and the subsequent afternoon, they spent in he
r chamber, resting. If anyone heard anything, they did nothing to suggest that they had done so, and they were undisturbed. Lying beside Amalie, in a soft bed, hearing her tender breathing, Bronan knew that his life could not be happier and that, no matter what they faced these next days, he was utterly content.

  * * *

  That evening, Amalie felt strong enough to walk a little on the grounds. The manor – a modest place called Northend Manor – had been taken by Lady Chlodie's late father, she discovered. She and he had only lived there a short while before he succumbed to the illness he'd had for many years and now she lived there alone, in charge of the small household.

  Amalie instantly liked her. She was pleased that she had felt the inner prompting to come here, for she had not only found safety, but someone she could think of as a friend. She confided part of her plan in Lady Chlodie as they walked beneath the shelter of a spreading oak tree, just donning its autumnal cloak of color.

  “Oh, but Countess!” Lady Chlodie protested instantly. “You can't do that with no preparations!”

  Amalie smiled wearily at her surprise. She was so resigned now to being on the run, to doing things with no planning, that she hadn't thought to let that bother her. Now she considered it. “But I can't make any preparations,” she said slowly.

  “No, you can't,” Lady Chlodie agreed briskly. “But that doesn't mean nothing can be done. I'll see what I have. Now, don't you fret,” she said, as Amalie raised her voice in protest. “I'll be glad to do this. I'm glad to meet you, Lady Amalie. I feel as if I've found a friend.”

  Amalie swallowed hard, feeling touched. “I think so, too.”

  “Well, then,” Chlodie said, squeezing her arm fondly. “I think that's as good as settled then, yes?”

  Amalie smiled.

  The rest of the day was spent simply sitting in the sunshine, enjoying the day. It was the first time in years, Amalie realized, that she had truly let herself relax and not let the business of running the estate, worries for Alec or sadness press on her.

  The next morning, with the first shadows gently stretching from a pale sunrise, she was alert. They packed and she brought with her a bundle from Lady Chlodie's room, mysteriously wrapped in brown sacking for protection. She handed it to Bronan, who frowned.

  “What's this, dearest?” he asked, looking at it quizzically. It was light, and Amalie knew they could take it with them, so he was merely curious.

  “That,” she said slowly, “is a secret.”

  Bronan raised a brow, eyes sparking with interest, but Amalie merely smiled.

  Weary, but rested and full of purpose again, they headed into the morning.

  A BEAUTIFUL IDEA

  The three days of riding passed surprisingly quickly. Through it all, Amalie was surprised to find, she felt no sense of fear. Or, if she did, it was a distant thing, pushed right to the back of her mind. She felt mainly anticipation, and a genuine calm.

  It had been too long since she’d had a holiday.

  This was like those trips that she and her father had made, together, in autumn, going to the abbeys to distribute alms and receive blessings – from her home to Invering Castle, where her mother's parents lived. It had been special, leaving home and staying in inns along the way – though it had also been touched with her father's lonely sorrow.

  Now, though, she had with her Alec, who made her laugh constantly, and Bronan, whose presence was a constant source of joy.

  “Mama!” Alec called out now. He was standing up in the stirrups – something his riding-instructor had recently taught him and that terrified Amalie whenever he did it. She ignored the nauseous feeling in her stomach and called out cheerfully.

  “What is it, son?”

  “The turret! I can see it!”

  “Whist, lad,” Bronan called out, shooting a worried glance in his direction. “If you're seeing them, they're also seeing you.”

  “Probably not,” Alec called back cheerily. “You can't see this bit of the road from there. I know. I sat there all day sometimes.”

  Even so, Amalie noticed, he rode back in line with Bronan, moving to the shadow of the trees. Inside, she felt a sudden anticipation. “We're almost ready then,” she said. “We should go round a bit further.”

  “To the abbey?” Alec's brow rose. “Mama?”

  “Yes,” she nodded, having a hard time keeping the smile concealed inside her. “Precisely. There.”

  Alec raised a brow at her, suggesting she was crazy. Amalie merely raised one shoulder, shrugging off his worry. He shrugged too, and turned his horse. “Well, then,” he called back. “When we get there, I'm going straight in for lunch. I'm starving!”

  Amalie smiled. The joy inside her bubbled over then, in happy giggles. Beside her, Bronan, bemusedly, joined in.

  Together they rode to the abbey. They dismounted in the stables and Amalie reached up to Bronan's saddle for the sackcloth bundle she had tied there three days before. Bronan frowned at her. Alec was out in the courtyard of the cloister, splashing his face in the fountain.

  “What's that for, lass?” Bronan asked at last, looking worried. “You don't think we'll have to fight here, do you?”

  Amalie smiled. “I didn't bring weapons,” she said. “That's not what's in here.”

  “A supply of salves?” he guessed. “For wounding?”

  “No,” she said, feeling her grin stretch wider.

  “Well, then, what is it?” he asked.

  “Wait and see,” Amalie said cryptically. Then she walked toward the stone door, going to see the priest.

  Bronan followed her inside.

  “Milady.” The abbot was courteous, as always. The cloister had rules about women entering the precincts, so they were shown to his private office, which did not count, strictly-speaking, as part of the abbey. Amalie sat down opposite him at his desk. Bronan stood, just inside the doorway.

  “Father Brogan,” Amalie said slowly. “We've come to you to ask you for your help.”

  “If it is within my powers to do so, milady,” the gaunt priest said slowly. “I will grant it to you. What is it?”

  Amalie smiled then and looked at Bronan. She saw the moment when he guessed what it was she was suggesting. The disbelief mixed with wonder on his face stirred her heart.

  They stood together and asked the priest for his favor and he said, unequivocally, yes.

  “Well, then,” he said when they had finished. “I will go and find my vestments. Milady? Though we cannot offer you passage inside, the guest-quarters by the stables are, as always, free for you.”

  “Thank you, Father Brogan.”

  Amalie stood and, clutching the bundle to her pounding heart, went toward the stables. She couldn't quite fasten the last button alone. She looked at her reflection in the small hand-mirror Lady Chlodie had insisted that she pack – for, she'd said, it wasn't clear where Amalie would be staying, and if mirrors would be the kind of thing they had. She stared at what she saw.

  The long cream gown fell from her shoulders, fashioned of good silk. It brushed the floor, the neck low but filled in with a filmy scarf, the sleeves full but not heavy, clasping at her elbows. She stared at the effect, drawing a breath.

  “Not so bad,” she said.

  She could not arrange her hair in any way too elaborate, and she had simply combed it and encircled it with a plait, into which she had woven a modest neck-chain of pearls. She smiled at the effect. It was, she thought, quite pretty.

  She turned to open the door. “Bronan? You can come in and see now.”

  He stared.

  Amalie felt her heart soar. She hadn't expected him to react like this – she knew she looked pretty, but the bare awe she saw on his face moved her more than she could say.

  “Amalie...” he whispered. “You are beautiful.”

  Amalie smiled softly. She reached out a hand to him. “And you are handsome, my fine man.”

  He blushed. “What, me? All got up like this in a new shirt and with these old
trews?”

  Amalie smiled. “You are every inch the man I want to spend my life with. From this day forward, forever.”

  Bronan blinked. She could see he was having trouble holding back his emotions so she turned away, and looked out over the abbey's calm garden.

  “I would never have imagined I could be so blessed,” he murmured.

  Amalie felt her heart soar, singing like a lark would in the trees.

  Together they went toward the stone chapel. The inside of the chapel was cool, and Amalie was glad for the longer sleeves of her gown, and the thin draping about the neck, or she would truly have been cold. She stopped noticing it after a while, lost in the sheer beauty of the moment.

  Father Bronan's voice, rich and echoing a little in the silence, carried the vows that they must make. She said them with all the feeling in her heart.

  Later, once they had signed the paper and Alec and two monks had also signed as witnesses, they left the cold stone chapel and went within, to the abbot's office.

  “Milady,” Father Brogan said, a smile on his severe face. “I am afraid we couldn't offer a wedding feast. But we did provide what we could.”

  “Oh...” Amalie put her hand to her lips, feeling more tears flow down her cheeks as she took in the simple meal of bread, cheese and honey all laid out for them.

  Bronan smiled. “Thank you, Father Brogan.”

  The priest nodded. “It's nothing, my son.” He smiled again and left, leaving Amalie, Brogan and Alec in his office together.

  Alec drank a toast of good cordial to them both then, after congratulating them and kissing his mother's cheeks, taking Bronan's hand, he headed to the refectory. “If you'll excuse me, Mama, Bronan? I think I'll find a second supper too.”

  Amalie chuckled. “Of course, Alec. And, thank you.” she said warmly.

  “I am pleased to see you happy, Mama,” Alec said, grinning over his shoulder at her. Then, lithe and tall, he headed from the room.