Highland Thunder (Isle of Mull Series) (13 page)

“Why are you here, Brenna?” he whispered.

Her fingers gripped the rough hair that sprinkled his chest. “You woke me. I heard you cry out in your sleep.”

She was not prepared for the icy chill that rushed through her as he took his body away. Lying still, not voicing her protest, she heard him climb onto the ladder.

“Come,” he said.

She crawled forward feeling for the edge, but he lifted her, draping her over his shoulder.

They reached the bottom. She slid down the front of his body onto her feet.

“I could have climbed down myself,” she said.

“Aye, but that would not have been as fine a diversion,” he chuckled, taking her hand and pulling her toward the door.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You are returning to your pallet, and I must leave,” he answered.

Worry settled into her stomach. For weeks she thought only of being rid of Duncan, but suddenly she dreaded his absence. Despite his rudeness, his presence had been the one constant in the midst of upheaval, and today had been so different. She was beginning to believe that somehow his regard toward her had changed. Perhaps there was truth to the wild tales she heard in the village of his kindness and humor, and then there was the matter of his physical allure, which after tonight, she could no longer deny.

“How long did you say you’d be gone?” she asked.

“A fortnight, perhaps more.”

They stood at the foot of the hill. He turned to face her, pressing her hand to his lips. The moon cast its glow, allowing her to see his face. She knew this was farewell, but she was not yet ready to say goodbye. Too much had happened between them over the past few weeks, leaving her with conflicting memories and heavy thoughts. “Can I walk with you a ways?” she asked.

He stared at her for some time. Then a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he began to ascend the hill, gently pulling her with him. “But not far, lass. The open moors are no place for a woman at night.”

As they crested the hill, Brenna froze, enthralled by the wonder that stretched out before her. The sloping moors appeared ghostly in the moonlight. Patches of mist clung to the rises and dips of the hills, appearing like vaporous, caressing fingers.

“Do you wish to stop here and turn back?” he asked.

“Nay,” she said. “I am in awe. Men own the night, Duncan. You take what you see for granted. To me, this is a rare occasion, and one that stirs my blood.”

His hand rested on her lower back as her eyes feasted on violet earth, glistening stars, and the thick tangle of fog. She tilted her head back to see his face. Just as she suspected, he was not looking out to the horizon but instead was watching her. His warm eyes smiled at her. He looked…happy.

She used to think she knew him. He was unlikeable and aloof, but he surprised her by showing kindness and consideration, humor and strength. She decided then, she wanted to know the true Duncan.

“What were you dreaming of tonight when I woke you?” she asked.

His lips curved in a sad smile, “I dreamt of apples,” he said softly. “Every night I dream of apples.”

“I do not ken,” she said.

He raked his hand through his hair. She saw his struggle and wished she’d held her tongue.

“King Edward stole much from all of us when he attacked Berwick. Yet, for those of us who survived when so many did not, we carry the dead with us. A wee lass named Rose with a basket of red apples is always with me.”

“Forgive me, Duncan. I did not wish to turn your mind to such things.”

“Nay, Brenna, do not beg my forgiveness, for you have never wronged me.” His hands grasped her waist. “’Tis I who must earn your pardon.” He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I must go. Already I am late.” He smiled down at her. His dark eyes and wide smile stole her breath. Her eyes touched upon his black curls glinting in the moonlight, then grazed his broad shoulders. She suddenly regretted how many days would pass before she would look upon his face again.

He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Take great care while I am away.” He ran his thumb along her bottom lip. “So beautiful,” he whispered.

She shivered and resisted the desire to draw his thumb into her mouth. Then his words resonated, and her eyes widened with surprise.

“You think I’m beautiful?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

“You are a great many things, Brenna, beautiful being but one.”

“I do not ken what to believe. ‘Tis unreasonable to think you could be discourteous for so long and yet hold me in high regard.”

He took her hands in his. “I know you must think ill of me, and I’ll be the first to admit I am undeserving of your trust. I have no time to explain myself. I must go, Brenna, but before I do, know this—there is no one I hold in higher regard than you. To me, you are perfect.” He kissed both her hands and then released them, backing away. “Return straight home,” he said. Then he started out toward the village.

She watched his progress for a time. The clouds had dissipated, inviting the moon to shine brighter.

To me, you are perfect.

His words echoed over and over again in her mind as she returned home. Despite her fatigue, her body felt alive. She could still feel the pressure of his hands gripping her waist and the weight on his body as he pulled her beneath him.

She bustled home, quickening her pace as though she sought to outrun the provocative images setting her body ablaze. Her confusion and desire were almost too great to bear as a new reality solicited her trust—a reality where Duncan did not despise her, but—of all things—admired her and wanted her.

As she reached to push open her door, something crunched beneath her feet. She looked down at a flower now flattened into the ground and kicked it out of the way before stepping inside. She crawled back under the covers, but a nagging suspicion kept prodding her mind. Rising, she hurried back outside and picked up the discarded blossom.

It was a thistle.

She whirled around, scanning the grounds, but for what she could not say…an intruder? She shook her head and dismissed her concern. It was foolish to fret over a flower.

Chapter 11

Brenna sipped some warm mead and selected a hot oat cake from the heaping plate Anna just set on the table.

“’Tis a shame Liam did not join us for dinner. We would not have such a fine stew were he not so skilled at setting a snare.”

“Aye, but his mum will be happy to have him home for a meal. Especially since he returns tonight once again to take up Duncan’s place in the barn,” Anna smiled. “He is a good lad and strong to be sure, but he’s no replacement for Duncan if there were trouble here in the night.”

“’Tis true, but Liam is not here for our protection. Duncan asked Liam to help with the hunting and chores. The watch will ensure our safety while he is away, but worry not, Anna. I’ve lived here for seven years and never has a MacLean made off with our sheep.”

“Aye, but you must admit having Duncan’s brawn and skill with a sword close by is an added comfort, despite how you judge him as a man.”

Brenna shrugged as she turned away not wishing to consider how she felt about Duncan as a man.

Feeling the weight of Anna’s gaze. She turned back, meeting sharp, silver eyes.

“What?” Brenna snapped.

“You are keeping something from me,” Anna said, smiling wickedly.

Brenna rolled her eyes. “For pity’s sake, Anna, stay clear from my mind unless I invite you in.”

“Whatever secret you keep, Brenna, just know that I will listen when you are ready.”

Brenna reached out and squeezed Anna’s hand. “You are an uncanny lass, Anna. Can you fathom how delighted I am to have you here instead of Rona?”

“’Tis a pleasure for me as well, Brenna. You ken how I feel about being alone at home without Cormac.” Anna inhaled sharply as her hand flew in front of her mouth. “Forgive me, Brenna. ‘Twas thoughtless of me to complain about being alone when you’ve lost Ewan.”

“I am not alone.” Brenna said as she turned and looked at Nellore who was sitting on the lavender strewn ground, stacking wood pieces Duncan had given her. Brenna looked into Anna’s silver eyes and felt surrounded by her warmth and sincerity. “You’ve been a great comfort to me, Anna. I cannot imagine life without you.”

Brenna squeezed Anna’s hand but cursed under her breath at the bandages impeding the gesture. “I cannot bear these wrappings another minute.”

She began to tear at the linens, but Anna’s hand stayed her efforts. “Hold off just for the night, Brenna. Then we shall see how you’ve improved in the morning. Come now. ‘Tis time all of us were asleep.” Brenna took a deep breath and nodded. She could tolerate the hindrance for one more night.

Brenna and Anna arranged the pallets beside each other. Then Nellore crawled under the covers in the middle. All three nestled together. Brenna sighed into the darkness, listening to the music of the river as she waited for sleep.

Sleep did come but not before thoughts of Duncan swept through her like a warm breeze that caressed where it touched. She remembered the intensity of his black eyes, the hardness of his body, and the feel of his full lips on her skin. Longing crept into the pit of her stomach, filling her with a need that ached and an excitement that sent her pulse racing. As she drifted to sleep, all she saw was his face, and she wondered once again who the real Duncan was.

***

Brenna woke early and moved silently to her table where she sat and began to remove her bandages. Both hands were still marred with sores, but they all boasted a thin layer of new skin. With a pleased nod, she stood ready to begin a new day.

She added a clump of peat to the fire and began chopping apples to add to the morning’s porridge. When the food was prepared and the table set, she knelt beside Anna and gave her a nudge.

“’Tis time to wake, Anna,” Brenna said as she pulled the covers down, but then with a sharp intake of breath, she fell back. She stared in horror at Nellore’s hand.

“What ails you, Brenna?” Anna said as she sat up in alarm.

Brenna pointed at Nellore as she tried to utter the words her heart was screaming. Anna turned and pulled the covers away from Nellore’s curled form.

“She did not have that last night,” Brenna finally spit out.

Anna uncurled Nellore’s fingers from around a plump thistle and lifted it to her eyes.

“Why are you so alarmed? ‘Tis a flower not a dagger,” Anna said.

“You do not ken, Anna. We both tucked her in last night, and that flower was not in her possession. How did she come by it?”

“Mayhap, she woke on her own and found her way outside.”

“Nay,” Brenna said, shaking her head. “She cannot open the door without help.”

Anna studied the flower as though its leaves and jutting bristles would somehow reveal the secret of its origin.

“Anna?” Brenna pleaded as she looked to her friend for reassurance. There must be a logical explanation—one that was not terrifying, but Anna looked up suddenly with a sharp light in her steel colored eyes.

“’Tis strange, to be sure. ‘Tis naught but a harmless flower, but you are indeed right; ‘twas not here when we went to sleep. And…” Anna’s voice trailed off.

“And what?” Brenna demanded.

Anna leaned in close. “The flower feels heavy in my hand like it is weighted with sorrow.” She continued but at a whisper. “Brenna, you ken that if we were to continue on this current path of thinking, our journey ends with an intruder in the night.”

A chill passed through Brenna as she said, “An intruder with eyes set on Nellore.”

“Come, Brenna. We will go to the keep. My mother will know what to do.”

Brenna nodded and scooped Nellore into her arms. “Bring the flower, Anna.” Then they hurried out the door toward the hill.

When they entered the great hall, Brenna followed Anna to the far side of the room and up narrow, winding stone steps to the chieftain’s rooms. Bridget looked up from her seat by the window as they entered.

“What is amiss?” she said.

Brenna placed Nellore’s feet on the ground, and the wee lass rushed to Bridget’s side. The sight of Nellore nestled in the lady’s arms comforted Brenna’s heart. No doubt, Bridget would know what to do.

Brenna moved to look out the window as her mind reeled while Anna recounted the morning’s events. The violation of their defenseless slumber was incomprehensible and knowing that her daughter was at the center of the intrusion turned her blood cold. Her body trembled as dread began to dictate the direction of her thoughts, but she straightened her shoulders and squelched her terror. No good would come from panicking. She turned to face Bridget, her stance firm with resolve.

“The day before the men left, Nellore gave me a thistle when we were down by the river. I thought nothing of it, but I remember Duncan did think it curious because thistle does not grow on my land. The closest plants grow over the hill,” Brenna explained. “And then I found one placed outside my door as though left by someone’s hand, and although I did wonder, I thought it foolish to be alarmed over something so trivial.”