Love Letters from Largs: Brodie and Celestina (Highlander Clan Grant Series Book 3) (5 page)

Still, she couldn’t stop her heart from fluttering at
this opportunity for an escape from her tower prison. She drank in the details around her—the rich silks, fine woven linen, brass buttons, soft veils. King Alexander, who sat at the head of the table on the dais, was dressed more finely than any man she’d ever seen. His smile was engaging, though she noticed a certain sharpness in his gaze. She didn’t think anything would get past the king.

But the most arresting
element of the night? Brodie Grant. She would never forget his name. Oh, how she wanted to stare at him so she could memorize every handsome feature of his face. He was a bit shorter than his massive brother, but not by much. His shoulders were broad and powerful, yet she knew his hands to be gentle. Her father was miniscule next to the two Scots. And her betrothed? Well, he was fit and trim, well-dressed, and handsome in his own way, but he had none of the physical magnetism of her Highlander.

The wine
goblets were filled and the first toast to the King of the Scots was made. The first course of food was eaten and then whisked away. She had played with her plate of coddled eggs rather than eating, too busy taking in all the activity in the room, listening to snippets of conversation, to finish her food. The lilt of Brodie Grant’s laughter was music to her ears. His brother didn’t laugh much, but more often than not, he was the cause of Brodie’s amusement. She wished more than anything to be privy to their conversation.

A
bevy of servants descended on the table with bowls of oxtail broth as the next course. Celestina took advantage of the flurry of activity to steal a glimpse at the only thing in the room that held her attention, her knight, watching as he grinned at his brother again.

Brodie had a smile that melted her heart
, with the whitest teeth she had ever seen. She loved the way his rich brown hair rested on his collar. A tiny mole adorned his right cheek and she wished to brush her fingertips across the small imperfection, down the line of his freshly shaven jaw, and up his chin to his lower lip. She brought her gaze up to his to find him staring at her, a look of concern on his face that shocked her.

Just as his gaze heated her core, a pinch on her left underarm forced her to turn her head away.

Her father’s words assailed her senses as his fingers dug more deeply into the soft flesh of her upper arm. “Do you recall my words to you, daughter? You are not to embarrass me. You will take your eyes away from that lad and drop them as you have been taught over and over again. And is that not the lad who rudely landed on my doorstep in search of you? You lied and told me you did not know him.” He hissed as he twisted her tender skin. After a sharp intake of breath, she fought to keep her eyes down as he required, and not to show any outward signs of pain. She had perfected this skill, but he had caught her off-guard this time. She pulled from her belly to squelch the scream that tried to tear from her gut.

Just
when she thought she had regained control, her father twisted her forearm severely beneath the linens. She bucked against the table. Her father released her in an instant, but not before his hold on her was seen. She fought dizziness, but managed to look up in time to see her knight shout at her father, his right fist pulled back in a swing that would have connected with her father had it not been stopped by his brother.

“Take your hand from her, you filthy
swine! How dare you hurt your own daughter! Do you no’ see how you are paining her? She is an innocent lass, and yet you inflict your cruelty on her?”

Celestina could not believe her e
ars. Brodie had come to her defense? She watched as dishes crashed to the floor; the Grant lad’s fury at her treatment causing a ruckus she could never have anticipated. Her betrothed and the other dinner guests scrambled from their chairs and stepped back from the table. She stood as well, but when her father reached for her, she shrunk away. The anger on his face told her she would bear the brunt of his dissatisfaction later, that all of this would be her fault. Visions of her father’s idea of “fair punishment” flickered through her mind. Her fists clenched and she turned and fled, running out of the great hall down a corridor, seeking for an escape—from her father, from her betrothed, from her life. Yet as she scurried down the corridor, a small flame tore through her fear, reminding her of something more important than anything her father could ever do to her.

Whatever it might cost her,
Brodie Grant had tried to protect her. He had witnessed her father’s cruelty with his own eyes and decided to put a stop to it. Finally, someone had stood up for her.

Brodie Grant wasn’t her knight
or her warrior.

He was her hero.
He had fought for her—
for her
! Perhaps there was a reason to live. Was there a chance he would be interested in her?

That one thought
slowed her steps as she bolted down the corridor before turning down another. She had no idea where she was going—all she knew was that she had to get away. She came to the end of the passageway and stopped, unsure which direction to go next. She touched the cold damp stone of the wall next to her, trying to orient herself, make herself
think.
Rubbing her arm, she wondered what madness had motivated her own father to inflict such pain on her in front of a crowd.

Wh
irling in frustration, desperately needing to cry or scream, she calmed herself using a method she had learned to do long ago—counting while taking deep breaths. The deep Scottish burr of her warrior broke through her concentration and stopped her in her tracks.

Brodie Grant
was heading straight toward her, concern and worry etched in his features. “My lady, may I be of assistance?” He stumbled on his own words, “What he did, your own blood… I am so sorry he hurt you. May I help you?” He stopped directly in front of her and reached for her hand.

Instinct forced her to
step back away from him, but the rough stone of the castle wall burrowed into her back behind her. “Nay, please. If my father sees me with you, the beating will be even worse. Please, go away.” She could not let her father find them together.

Brodie grabbed her hands and covered them with his. Gazing into her eyes, he said, “I will protect you, Celestina. I am sorry, but I can
no’ stand by and watch him hurt you.” He reached for her sleeve to check her arm.

“Please, do not.” She tried to pull her arm away, but the warmth that his touch
transferred to her skin slowed her movement. His touch was gentle and soft; only Inga had touched her that way since her mother’s disappearance. Unable to move, she watched as he gingerly slid the sleeve of her gown up to take measure of the damage done by her own father. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the older bruises on her pale skin.

She
cast her eyes away in shame. It was her fault, was it not? That’s what her father always said. And it was true that she had not been able to control her own behavior this night. She shouldn’t have been staring at the handsome Highlander when she was betrothed to another.

Brodie’s hand
gently grasped her chin, pulling her gaze back to his. “Sweeting, you did naught wrong.”

His finger brushed across her lower lip, searing
the soft skin there. Had he any idea what he was doing to her? A sigh escaped her as she stared into his eyes. His lips brushed hers briefly—as if he could no more control herself than she could herself—and heat steeped from her lips to her heart and her core.

“Fathers should never treat their daughters in such a way. He was wrong, no
’ you. He should cherish you.” He gently rubbed her arm and old wounds, “The bruises on your arm tell too much. You must escape from him.”

“I
will. I am betrothed to Fredrik Ivarsson. He will take me from my father.” She pulled her hands back and twisted her skirts before shifting away from him and his concern.

“Celestina,
I know you can no’ want to be that man’s wife. He has cold, cruel eyes. Please tell me you are no’ in love with him.”

Celestina’s heart
broke. “I must marry him, but I do not love him. How could I, for we have only just met tonight…My father arranged the marriage. It is for my king, for my country, that I do this. The wedding must take place.”

“Nay, refuse him.
He will treat you just as your father does. Scots can refuse to marry. ”

She shook her head in confusion. Refuse? She had no choice in the matter.
The decision about her engagement had been made without her being consulted. How could she possibly refuse when she had never been asked for permission in the first place? What kind of world did Brodie Grant live in that you could agree or disagree to a match that had been foisted upon you?

Her father’s screeching voice broke through her thoughts. She
glanced around Brodie in time to see him racing toward them. He grabbed Brodie by the shoulder and shoved him away from her.

Before either of them
had time to react, her father’s arm swung and brutally clouted her face.

Chapter Five

A Fight for Honor

Celestina’s father moved to strike her again, and she brought up a trembling hand to protect her face. “You are a whore, just like your mother before you. I knew it.” Her eyes closed, but the blow never connected.

A low growl ripped through
the haze of her fear. Her eyes flew open in time to see Brodie lift her father into the air and slam him against the wall. Her father’s eyes protruded from their sockets in shock, or so she thought. Then she realized Brodie was holding him by the throat, choking his windpipe so that he gasped for air.

Her father swung his fists a
t Brodie, but his captor never once flinched. Celestina fell back against the opposite wall, paralyzed by the sight in front of her.

Brodie slammed her father against the wall over and over
again, easily avoiding the older man’s attempts to pummel him. “You filthy swine! How dare you hit your own flesh and blood! You slapped your own daughter for nothing. No reason. You will rot in hell, you slime. If you hit her again, I will kill you with my bare hands. You should be protecting your daughter, no’ hurting her.”

Brodie’s bellows rang out in the corridor. Celestina heard a flurry of activity headed their way, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her father and the look on his face. He was demented, beyond furious that Brodie had interfered with his
punishment of her. While a part of her cheered for her hero, another part of her wanted to run, afraid of what would happen if her father ever managed to free himself from Brodie’s grasp.

“Guards, guards!
Save this man from the wild savage who’s attacking him!” Her betrothed stood watching the scene unfold from the end of the corridor, spewing lies for all to hear. “The Highlander has gone mad. Stop him!” Hatred and fear poured from him as he stared at Brodie.

The hall
soon filled with the king’s guards. Her betrothed continued to screech, but she was unable to distinguish any more words in the sound. Three guards surrounded Brodie and the swift sound of metal scraping against metal filled the air as the guards pulled their swords from their sheath, all three aiming their sharp edges at Brodie’s neck. Still, he did not release his hold on the baron.

Once Brodie was contained,
Ivarsson sauntered toward the group of men. “Now kill him.”

“N
ay!” Even Celestina surprised herself with the power of her vehemence.

“Kill him, I say.” Her betrothed
spoke with little emotion, but his face took on a twisted look. “And please make it painful. The lad deserves it.”

The guards didn’t move to follow the command that Ivarsson had no right to give them.
Loud steps echoed down the corridor as the king and his personal guards approached. Her betrothed finally stepped aside to make way for them.

As he approached the melee,
the king finally spoke. “You will not kill him, guards, but Brodie, you must release your hold on my baron.”

Brodie squeezed a touch harder on the baron’s windpipe. The baron’s face, beet red, sneered at him. “
Your Grace, the man’s cruelty to his own daughter is unconscionable to me. The baron has no honor to treat his own lass as he does.”

“Surely, you must be mistaken, Grant. I am sure the baron would never hurt his daughter
, though now that I look at her, I can see a red mark on her cheek. Did you inflict that on her, Baron?” The king’s words held no fury, no anger. He remained in complete control.

The baron wheezed.
“Nay.”

“Nay, you think no
’? I saw you do it with my own two eyes.” Brodie said. “Please check his daughter’s left arm and you will see more evidence of his abuse.”

King Alexander reached
out to Celestina and asked, “May I, my lady?”

Celestina held her arm still while the
king carefully slid up the sleeve of her gown. Rather than meet his gaze, she cast her eyes downward as her father had taught her to do.

“Child, you may look at me.”

Celestina’s eyes met his. Her father was not in her line of sight because Brodie stood in front of him.

“Did your own father inflict these bruises?”

Celestina’s father kicked and squirmed in an attempt to get away from the Highlander.

The king
turned to him and shouted, “Baron, control your temper.” He returned to her and lowered his voice. “Please ignore your father. Did he do this to you?”

Celestina knew she would bear the brunt of this inquisition. Her father could hear
her words, but she didn’t think he could see her clearly. She nodded ever so slightly, making sure the king saw her signal. He nodded his own head in response. She then spoke loud and clear, “Nay, my king.”

Her father relaxed, but unfortunately
, he wasn’t the only one to miss her nod. Brodie exploded, “Celestina, tell the truth. Your Grace, can you no’ see she is afraid of her own sire? He did this to her and who knows what else?”

“Release the baron, Grant.” King Alexander whispered his order.

“But….”

“I
am ordering you to release him as your king.” One of the guard’s swords drew blood on Brodie’s neck, and he finally loosed the baron, who fell to the floor panting and massaging his windpipe. The swords remained trained on Brodie’s neck.

When
the baron regained his breath, he huffed out his demand for fair punishment of his treatment, “Kill the savage. How dare he threaten me! He had his hands on my daughter when I came down the corridor. I want him dead, my king. If you wish for her hand in marriage to Ivarsson, kill him now.”

“Before
anything else happens, I will ask you for your promise that you will not abuse your daughter further.” King Alexander stood over Celestina’s father, his arms crossed as he awaited an answer.

The baron stood
, tugging his clothes in indignation at the king’s command. “I do not need to give you such a promise as I have never hurt my daughter.” His hand swung toward her in dismissal. “Does she appear abused? She is perfectly fine.”

Celestina held her shock at bay
, unable to believe her father would lie this way to the king himself.

“Nevertheless, I
require your promise…and I will have it before I mete out Brodie Grant’s punishment for his part in this situation.” The king’s chin raised a notch as he waited.

Celestina wrung her hands. Oh, how she wished things had
unfolded differently. What a jumble this entire evening had become. Her father’s protests told her exactly how angry he was, giving her an inkling of how she would suffer on the morrow, regardless of whatever promises he made the king. The baron’s treatment of her did not constitute abuse in his eyes, so nothing would change. And Brodie Grant, her savior, still had three swords at his throat because he’d tried to defend her. Her betrothed’s actions were completely out of control, too. He had seemed delighted at the possibility that death might be meted out as just punishment, and in the corridor, no less. What did that obvious violent streak indicate for their marriage?

“
Fine,” the baron rubbed his throat, “you have my promise, my king. Now in exchange, I expect you to hang that animal.”

“’Tis a bit extreme, don’t you think, Baron?” The king clasped his hands behind his back.

The baron straightened his neckwear. “No, I want him dead. He almost killed me in a completely unprovoked attack.” Clearly agitated, his eyes darted around the room, searching for support among the others.

“
Your Grace, the swords,” Brodie asked. “I have released the baron, I ask for release in turn.”

The
man Celestina had been promised to marry stepped in closer, still not venturing anywhere near Brodie—so he was not only cruel, but a coward. “Kill him, my king. If you want our continued support in your endeavor to gain back the Isles, you will kill him for his actions. He is a savage Highlander who knows not how to act properly and respectfully.” His voice rose as he spoke. “Kill him, I say. Kill him now for his insult to our station.”

“Yes,
” bellowed the baron. “Kill him now.”

“Kill him, King Alexander
,” Ivarsson repeated. “Kill him and make an example of anyone who wishes to go against your reign. Kill him now to guarantee your win.” He would not back down.

Celestina
stared at the two men who held her future in their hands, unable to believe the cruelty and unveiled hatred bouncing between them. How could they condone the death of an innocent man? Brodie Grant had stood up for her honor, and the two men who should honor her most wanted him dead. This was all so wrong!

“N
ay, please nay.” She turned to King Alexander. “Please do not do it, my king. He was only trying to protect me.” She had to sway his mind.

Ivarsson
barked, “Celestina, close your mouth. A woman’s opinion is of no value. We do not wish to hear your thoughts.”

Her
betrothed’s insult neither surprised nor hurt her. He was only speaking to her in the manner her own father had done for years.

“Kill him
,” her father screamed, his voice so loud in the contained hallway that she had to cover her ears. “He is an insult to all of the Scottish. I say kill him.”

“Stop, stop, all of you, please stop
.” Celestina moved in front of Brodie, as if to protect him. “Please do not do this. He does not deserve to die because of me.”

“When will you learn your place, girl?”
The baron reached for her but he pulled his hand back when he saw the look on the king’s face.

Her betrothed grabbed her
around the waist, yanking her away from Brodie. “Get away, you foolish beasom. You have caused enough trouble, and this is not your affair. Leave immediately as this is no place for a female.” He twisted her arm.

The
king said, “Ivarsson, control yourself.” Her betrothed, obviously shocked to have been so corrected, jerked toward the king.

The swishing sound of cold steel
filled the air as the pointed end of a sword fell against Ivarsson’s neck. Laird Alexander Grant had just joined the ruckus.

The Grant pressed his weapon
forward just enough to prevent the man from moving. “And I say take your hands off the lady.”

Her betrothed
dropped his grip on her and turned a sad shade of green. “King, kindly call off this ruffian.”

“
Your Grace, if anyone moves but you or the lady, Ivarsson is a dead man. Believe me, naught would please me more than to spear this spineless waste of a human on the end of my sword.”

As
Celestina backed away, Brodie’s face broke into a grin, even with three swords at his throat. “Took you long enough, brother.”

“I was enjoying my
oxtail soup.” A sly grin caught the corner of his mouth.

“
Alexander Grant, always the showman,” the king chuckled. “Release the man.”

“
I would be happy to do so just as soon as your guards release my brother.”

“What right does he have to give you orders, King? He should be whipped for his
impudence!” The baron’s face had turned an even deeper shade of red.

Celestina
gaped at the sight in front of her—Brodie Grant with three swords still at him while The Grant’s giant blade was just inches away from Ivarsson’s throat. She feared for Brodie’s life, yet he stood tall. Her betrothed, by contrast, looked as if he was about to lose the contents of his stomach or his bowels. The brashness and vehemence in his countenance had disappeared as soon as the sword had appeared in front of him. How different the two men were, and how she wished their roles in her life could be switched.

The king glared at Laird Grant. “I am requesting you
to release him, Grant.”

“With all due respect, your guards have my brother at the end of their swords, and from what I have heard, he has done n
aught but stand tall for a lass’s honor. That is what we do in the Highlands. His actions would make my father proud, just as they have made me proud. His king should be proud as well. The lass does not deserve such treatment doled out to her by her sire or her betrothed. ‘Tis no’ our duty to protect the innocents, Your Grace?”

“Release him and we will discuss this.”

Her father’s spittle ran down his chin. “What hold could he possibly have on you, my king? Why are you hesitating?”

Laird Grant stared into the king’s eyes.
“Five hundred warriors. Five hundred warriors to protect his life and my brother to protect his castle. I hardly think he wants one of the Highland’s best warriors to be skewered in front of him.”

The King of
the Scots turned slowly to face his baron. “Your insolence and that of your Norse comrade are about to gain you both a stay in my dungeon. Mayhap a day or two below stairs will remind you who is in charge. I will not tolerate your rudeness any longer.” He waited until the baron calmed before pivoting to Alex.