Highland Thunder (Isle of Mull Series) (4 page)

That storm struck deeper to her core than any other before. It was as though it knew of her changing fortune. The din of thunder was announcing the gift of motherhood, an expression of the labor pains giving fruit to Nellore. Indeed, Nellore arrived the following morning in the wake of the storm.

Brenna and Ewan were righting the havoc wreaked on their fields when they noticed the approach of the chieftain and his lady. Bridget beamed with a joy that Brenna felt instantly. From beneath her cloak, Bridget revealed the hidden infant, and without a word, she placed the babe in Brenna’s empty arms.

“You are a mother without a child. She is a child with no mother,” Bridget declared.

The completion and belonging were instant. Brenna knew that her baby had finally arrived. Tears filled her eyes and joyfully danced down her cheeks as she kissed the soft black curls and smelled the baby’s sweetness.

“Her name is Nellore, for she is as wild as the heather on the moors.” Bridget’s own eyes filled with tears, giving permission to the emotion Brenna felt surging within her. She held the child tighter and wept with joy.

“She is yours now, Brenna.” Bridget whispered.

Brenna wept harder.

“Surely, this is a dream from which I shall wake,” Brenna sobbed.

“Nay, Brenna. This is your daughter,” Bridget said.

Laughter and tears combined as Brenna looked into Nellore’s round eyes, and she felt as though she were staring beyond the gates of heaven. Bridget refused to speak of Nellore’s origins, and Brenna accepted the lady’s secrecy. Nellore was her daughter—nothing else mattered.

The chieftain’s lady interrupted Brenna’s musings. “Nellore and I had a delightful morning. We shared secrets and stories.”

“But Mother,” Anna said. “Nellore is not yet two. She cannot speak.”

Bridget winked at her daughter. “I may have told most of the stories while we scoured the moors for wild flowers. And look, we made crowns.” Bridget tugged off Brenna’s long, rough veil, revealing a bounty of dark, red curls that fell to her hips. Then she placed a crown of flowers upon Brenna’s head.

“Oh, Brenna,” Anna squealed with delight, “Why must you cover your hair? ‘Tis as red as strawberries. You should wear it free and celebrate how God made you.”

Brenna clicked her tongue to show her disapproval as she pulled the crown from her head and placed it on Nellore’s. “Then I would have to wash it more often.”

“I wish I had lovely red hair or silver blonde hair like yours,” Anna said to her mother whose hair indeed shone like streaks of stardust. Anna frowned as she fingered her brown hair. “If I were so blessed to have your beauty, Brenna, I would not hide it so.”

“Your blessings are many, Anna, including beauty. Your vanity is infringing on time better spent in prayer for your husband’s safe return,” Brenna scolded.

Anna hung her head.

Bridget put her arms around her daughter’s shoulders, “Brenna gives you a gift with her words, Anna. They were not meant to sting. Beauty is as fleeting as the seasons. ‘Tis your strength and goodness which need nurturing, but you are young, lass. These are things you will come to know for yourself in time.”

Bridget kissed Anna whose smile had returned. Then Bridget turned to Brenna and gave her a warm hug. Finally, she knelt on the floor and whispered something for Nellore’s ears alone. Brenna smiled. Her daughter and the chieftain’s lady shared a special bond, and for this Brenna was grateful. She trusted no one so well as Bridget. Like Anna, Bridget had a queer way about her. Somehow she always knew what was in Brenna’s heart and mind.

Bridget moved to leave but then turned in the doorway, “I know you fret, ladies.” She said, her steady gaze holding Brenna’s. “Your husbands will return soon enough.”

“I thank you, Bridget. I admit I long for that day,” Brenna said.

She felt Anna’s arms close around her. “As do I,” her friend whispered.

“They are both fine warriors in the company of other fine warriors. Their safety is assured,” Bridget said.

“To be sure, Bridget. Ewan regards the warriors in his company as brothers. I trust them all with his life…all except one,” Brenna said as she turned away.

“You are too hard on Duncan. No one loves Ewan more save you,” Bridget scolded.

“He is despicable,” Brenna returned.

“Nay, Brenna. You are mistaken. Truly, Duncan is kind and good,” Anna urged.

“I must agree with my daughter, lass,” Bridget began. “I do not ken how you can judge Duncan so harshly. I’ve known the lad since he was a wee bairn, and he is everything an honorable man should be.”

“I trust your wisdom in all things save where Duncan is concerned, Bridget. He has deceived you both. I, alone, know the truth. Duncan MacKinnon is a wicked, soulless man.”

Chapter 3

Isle of Mull, Scotland

1296

Stricken faces met the returning warriors as their ship drew into Gribun with five fewer men than set out. Word spread quickly of the devastating attack. Fresh cries tore at Duncan’s heart, for the moment, overpowering the screams that rang without end in his mind since fleeing Berwick, screams which continued to pervade his every thought and haunt his dreams with images of blood-drenched apples. He hung his head as the wives and children of the men lost to the fray sank into grief.

Duncan scanned the crowd for Brenna and saw her tall, trim frame shaking with sobs as Cormac’s young wife, Anna, held her close. Anna’s wide eyes gleamed with unshed tears. The horror hovered over her, writhing and dark, but had yet to sink in. Jamie stood near and offered a soothing hand on Brenna’s back, whispering what Duncan could only assume to be words of commiseration.

Slowly, her head lifted, revealing skin suffused with sorrow, the bloom stolen by death’s grim report. She was a widow. Dull eyes stared off in the distance toward the choppy surf beyond the pier, but Duncan doubted whether her mind recognized the waves.

As though she sensed his gaze, she turned. They locked eyes, her expression pained and pleading. Ewan—her husband, his best friend—died a painful death, surrounded by misery. Her eyes spoke to him above the sea of anguished villagers, saying,
you—more than anyone else—know the pain in my heart
.

She called to him for comfort.

He inhaled sharply as his heart thundered in his ears. Despite her need, he could not provide what she sought. He erected a wall between them long ago, a wall more necessary now than ever before.

He would honor Ewan’s last wish. He would protect her and provide for her, but he was capable of no more. A nod in her direction was both greeting and dismissal. He had no family to soothe or reassure so he retreated to go in search of his laird.

***

Brenna flinched. Duncan’s rejection added fuel to the fire of pain, which threatened to burn her alive. She had never understood the constant indifference he showed her, but she felt it from their very first meeting. She turned back to Anna and buried her sobs in her friend’s caring embrace.

“Come, Brenna. Let me take you home,” Anna said, guiding Brenna through the crowd.

“Where is Nellore?” Brenna whispered.

“Mum took her to the keep.”

She nodded her acceptance and allowed herself to be guided through the village, beyond the cottars’ fields where her home sat in picturesque seclusion. After Ewan and Brenna married, Ronan awarded Ewan’s loyalty with his choice of land. Ewan decided on acreage outside of the protection of the village because of its beauty. After the cottar’s fields, the land dipped down a steep slope and then spanned out in a rich, even stretch of earth, which was bordered by the forest on the east side and faced the ocean to the north. A stream bubbled near the edge of the woods, gathering in a deep pool beyond the trees. The rush of water provided music to accompany work during the day and a lullaby by which to sleep at night.

Brenna’s home was her haven, which she seldom left. With a regular influx of visitors, she never felt excluded from village life, but when she stepped inside her home, aided by Anna’s supporting arm, she did not hear the stream. Only deafening silence blasted her ears. The reality that Ewan was gone slammed against her heart, causing her to collapse as the very breath was stolen from her lungs. She was vaguely aware of Anna leading her to a pallet and tucking her beneath a warm blanket, and then she disappeared into sorrow.

Chapter 4

“’Tis time you were up.”

Brenna lifted drowsy eyelids and through bleary eyes saw Bridget pull the hide away from the window. Bright sunshine poured through the open door, and the tinkle of briskly moving water urged her to wake.

“You’ve hidden with your tears for three nights. Today is the fourth day. You must rise. Losing Ewan is a terrible hardship but one you do not bear alone.” Bridget threw off the blanket and extended a hand.

Brenna stared into Bridget’s remarkable silver eyes. They bore into her with gentle insistence. Brenna knew Bridget would not be denied.

“Nellore?” she said.

“She is outside playing with the chickens,” Bridget smiled. “She has stayed with me these three days. ‘Tis a blessing she is too young to ken.”

After changing into a clean kirtle and tunic, Brenna went to the stream and splashed cold water on her face. She stared at the slimy grasses clinging to the pebbled ground as the rushing water tried its best to persuade the roots to let go. She knew she was in similar danger. She had been pulled up by her roots and was washing downstream, but she was not alone. Nellore needed her mama now more than ever. She would fight the sadness and grief.

“For Nellore,” she murmured.

She dipped her hands into the water to retrieve a smooth, speckled rock she knew her daughter would admire, but she lost sight of the stone as a shadow blocked the sunshine, muting the bright water. Amid the ripples, a reflection revealed the identity of an intruder, causing Brenna’s blood to run cold.

“We must speak, Brenna,” Duncan’s deep voice rattled her nerves.

“I do not wish to speak to you,” she said.

“That may be true, but your reluctance changes nothing.”

For Nellore.

She stood and faced him.

“Say your piece then leave,” she ordered.

He stared off in the distance as he began. “Ewan bade me watch over you and Nellore. ‘Twas his dying wish.” His voice held no emotion, and his eyes never met hers. “I will protect and provide for you.”

Displeasure shaped his countenance, leaving no doubt in Brenna’s mind as to his true regard for both her and his new duty. She imagined the reluctant promise on his lips as Ewan’s breath left his body. Why would Ewan bind her to the one man who disliked even the sight of her?

“You will be relieved to know I care not for your help. I release you from your obligation.” Thinking the matter settled, she strode past him, but he grabbed her arm.

“I made no offer that can be refused,” he snapped. “I am your guardian. In this matter you have no say.” His face was inches away from hers. She expected him to release her arm and storm away, but he lingered. His scowl deepened, and he stared hard into her eyes. Tension poured forth from his body like a rushing wave. It was palpable, unavoidable, and she knew she was to blame. He drew closer, his eyes locked on her lips. His fingers bit into her arm.

“You’re hurting me,” she cried.

His eyes snapped back to meet hers. Their black depths were wide with surprise as though he had forgotten himself. He freed her arm and stepped away, releasing a frustrated growl. Then with a curt nod, he turned and left.

Why did he torment her? The passion of his disdain disturbed and confused her. Usually he was cool, aloof, but just now she had felt hostility. Clearly, dislike had grown to full blown hatred. But why?

“Why did Duncan storm off just now?” Bridget asked. “I called after him, but he ignored me.”

“You seem surprised?” Brenna said. “He was only being himself—rude and insufferable.”

“He must have his reasons, Brenna,” Bridget began, looking surprised. “Remember you do not mourn Ewan alone. Duncan was his best friend. He has seen great suffering. By all accounts, several thousand people were massacred at Berwick. You are not alone in your grief.” Bridget squeezed her arm. “Give Duncan a chance. You will find he is quite affable.”

“Perhaps with everyone save me,” Brenna said, “but ‘tis of no consequence. The only thing which matters now has a mop of black curls and is running this way.” Brenna squatted down and spread her arms wide just in time to enfold her beloved daughter’s soft body.

She swung Nellore high in the air and with every blessed squeal and giggle, she felt life renewed in her heart. It would be she and Nellore now, and they would survive without the help of any man, especially cruel warriors with scowls and biting fingers.

***

Duncan cursed himself for playing the fool. He never should have spoken to Brenna face to face. Her presence tested his every constraint. Why did he think that current circumstances would change that?

He did not look at her. He did not speak to her. And most importantly, he did not touch her.

These were the rules he set in place for himself. This strategy secured his honor while Ewan was alive, and it would continue to do so now—it had to.