Terri Brisbin (10 page)

“How old are yer sons?” He had not even been aware she’d
borne any children with Fergus Kirkpatrick before the English had captured her. Her imprisonment, and the risk she’d taken to insure a free Scotland, had leveraged a high price indeed.

“Callum is six and Donovan is four. Fergus was killed in battle shortly after Donovan was born, and when I rode to give King Robert the news of Kirkpatrick treachery, I left my sons in the care of my sister at Montrose Keep. The gatekeeper will no longer admit me into the Kirkpatrick family holding, but I suspect the boys are still there, although I am not sure about my sister. Wherever they are, I am certain they have been usurped by my husband’s kin and I cannot sit idly by while the Kirkpatricks steal away my children to be raised among their own traitorous kind. I saw firsthand the weak shadow of a man my husband became after a lifetime of his father’s influence.”

Gavin nodded as a more complete vision of Brenna’s life formed in his mind. She was utterly alone in the world, divided from her family by old grievances and a marriage she never wanted, widowed by her husband and forsaken by her husband’s kin. And although she had suggested earlier she could be content without the support of her family, she had children to think about, noble sons who needed a secure home and political connections to keep them safe.

All of which could be easily provided to them if only the proud countess could be convinced to accept his protection.

“I will undertake this quest, but I regret to say my sword will come at no small price.”

“If it is within my power to give you, Gavin of Blackburn, I swear you shall have it.”

Clearly Brenna placed too much trust in him and the youthful friendship they had once shared or she would not have made so rash a promise.

Gavin would never accept so much as a farthing for a cause so noble, but he had every intention of using her wide-open invitation as a way to protect this strong woman who had
risked—and lost—so much. And it just so happened his proposed solution would mend a problem of his own he had feared he would never reconcile.

“I assure ye, lady, ye are well capable of paying, for I seek only this.” Reaching for her, he drew her hand forward, untwining it from its resting place along her arm. “Handfast with me, Brenna, and I shall ride out for your children at first light.”

Brenna wondered if the wine had distorted her senses.

She had not eaten in three days, and even then, she’d scarcely touched her last meal within the confines of the keep where she’d been imprisoned because she had been too anxious about her impending freedom. Perhaps the lack of food and sleep had conspired with the wine to muddle her thoughts.

Yet, as she looked into Gavin’s inviting blue eyes in the firelight, she realized there could be no mistaking the warmth of his hand curled about her own. His callused palm spoke of his strength and sword prowess, the very reasons she’d sought him out today. But the tender way his thumb brushed the back of her fingers conveyed a more intimate message altogether.

For one heated moment, she took in the strong angles of his face, which remained unmarked except for the lines about his eyes that had squinted back too much sun and indulged in plenty of laughter. Dark hair so brown it was almost black fell in silken disarray above his brow. Many a maiden had surely dreamed about brushing her fingers through those locks. Indeed, one woman surely had touched him thus….

“But what of your wife?” Brenna yanked back her hand as she straightened her shoulders, reminding herself she could not trust any man, even one who had occupied more than his share of her thoughts in her youth. She had been disillusioned about men ever since her father had seen fit to wed her to a spineless knight who cared more about pleasing his greedy family than fighting for what was right.

And perhaps Gavin was lacking in honor, too. She knew very well that he was a married man, since her own sister had attended his wedding four years ago.

“My wife died in childbirth last spring.” He spoke the news softly—slowly—each word drawn from him painfully as if they emanated from the most raw places inside him. Broad shoulders and thick muscles had been little defense against deeper hurts. “Our babe died with her.”

Ah, she had been too quick to judge him. Sympathy tightened in her chest at the thought of his loss. Her memory of Gavin Blackburn had been that he was a good man. Even in his youth he had been noble and considerate, full of charm and ideals that set her girlish heart to fluttering. She might not ever be so easily taken in by a man again, but she had not been wrong in her vision of Gavin as a man of honor.

“I’m sorry.” Her words of sympathy were quiet in the cedar-scented hall, too inadequate to comfort a man who had clearly loved his wife. “I should have known you would never propose such a thing. I fear I am overtired from a long journey and I am not thinking clearly.”

Some of the pain diminished in Gavin’s eyes as he shook his head. “Ye dinna misunderstand me, Brenna. I proposed a union between us before I go after yer boys. A handfast will bind us together for at least a year and that will strengthen my claim for the children when I ride into Montrose.”

“You want to handfast…with me?” Brenna could see his point about having a strong claim to her sons, but wasn’t it enough that she was their rightful mother? It had to be enough because Brenna had no intention of tying herself to any man again. Fear flickered through her for a moment until she realized how to discourage this man’s misplaced interest in her—a task of vital necessity to a woman who would risk everything for her freedom.

“I appreciate your gesture, my lord, but perhaps you do not
recognize the full import of what you are suggesting. Allow me to spare us both further embarrassment by simply saying that I am unfit to be any nobleman’s wife now.”

S
ilence hung over the hall until even the occasional pop and hiss of wood in the grate seemed a loud, resonating sound. Brenna’s breath echoed in her ears, each intake of warm air rasping gently within her chest, reminding her that she could not push herself for many more days without rest. She needed her children back soon, and she needed Gavin’s help to obtain them.

If only he could be dissuaded from this madness he’d suggested.

“Ye look quite fit for marriage to me.” Gavin’s eyes slid over her with slow precision, stirring unexpected warmth inside her. “I am sorry for any hurts ye incurred at the hands of yer captors, Brenna, but I will swear on my own mother’s grave to protect ye and yer sons for the rest of yer days if ye’ll only agree to a handfast. ’Tis more than passing reasonable.”

The warmth in her chest increased the longer he stared at her with the liquid blue gaze she recalled so well from her wistful youth. She had daydreamed about those eyes, imagined such passionate declarations in her romantic thoughts many summers ago before she learned the cold, hard truth of noble marriage. She would not be swayed by idle promises
anymore, even from a man who might strive to honor them in a way Fergus Kirkpatrick and her own father never had.

Still, his words touched her. He would consider taking her to wife even after all she’d been through, even when he knew there could be a chance she’d been violated by her captors? Few men would make such an offer. Although she could not help but wonder what he hoped to gain in return.

“I was not ill-used by my captors.” She had not meant to mislead him. “In that instance alone, my connection to the Kirkpatricks proved valuable since the English owe much to the clan.”

Before he could speak, she pressed ahead, determined that he would hear her out. “But I would not dream of saddling you with an unwanted wife and family because of my request. You are generous to make such a suggestion, but you must believe me when I say I could never accept such an arrangement.” She stared down at her hands, which glowed red and chapped in the firelight, refusing to get lost in the lure of those blue eyes. She would not pretend the last three years had never happened. Nay, the last seven years, since in truth her captivity had started long before she ever rode to warn Robert the Bruce. “I am prepared to pay you in gold or land or even sheep if I find my dower properties have been profitable these last few years, Lord Blackburn. You have only to name a price.”

“Gavin.” His hands settled on her shoulders before he turned her to face him. “I was Gavin to ye long before I became laird of my lands, and I will remain Gavin to ye now. I willna accept anything save yer promise to live with me for one year, a handfast promise ye can walk away from if the marriage doesna suit ye. ’Tis more than fair for risking my neck by crossing swords with yer unholy Kirkpatrick kin.”

Brenna’s skin tingled beneath her surcoat where he touched her. The man’s hands were dangerous and she would do well to remember as much.

“Why?” She shifted slightly, as if she could dislodge his grip, but he held her with gentle insistence. “How will you profit from a handfast that I could never promise will lead to a true marriage?”

His hands slid away from her arms then, and for one brief moment, Brenna mourned the loss of his warmth. His strength. She watched him as his eyes shifted from sky-blue to stormy gray, his dark brows knitting in consternation.

“I am a man without heirs, lass.” He could not have boiled down the matter any more simply than that.

From a logical standpoint, Brenna could appreciate his position. But along with the thought of heirs came the thought of…coupling.

Her cheeks warmed, but she refused to play the shrinking maid when she was a mother two times over. No need to blush like a spring virgin. And yet…she had not thought of such things in a very long time. Clearing her throat, she banished all thoughts of coupling from her mind and attempted to regain control of their conversation.

“But you are a powerful laird. Surely you need to make a more advantageous match than a widow with a notorious past.” She scrubbed her hands over her arms in an effort to ward off the chill that had crept through her ever since the loss of Gavin’s touch.

“Ye’ve been away from the Highlands so long ye are not aware of my reputation.” His jaw flexed in consternation, his whole expression stern and forbidding. “I was so stricken with grief after my wife died that I would allow no woman within the keep. And while I admit, my request for solitude might appear extreme, I didna realize that it would perpetuate rumors far and wide about my eccentricities. Apparently there are nae too many marriageable women willing to tie themselves to a harsh Highland laird determined to have heirs but canna stand the sight of a female within his walls, ye ken?”

Her heart softened as she realized his stern expression sim
ply covered a deeper wound. A grief that had never fully healed.

“Aye. Gossip is as prized among these mountains as good ale and sturdy horseflesh, but I am certain you can find a struggling lord who will gladly give over his daughter anyhow. ’Twas how my own marriage was made.”

“Aye, and look at the misfortune that ensued.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on splayed knees as he looked her in the eye. “I willna have a bride who fears me. There is an accord between us, Brenna, one that was forged long ago in a stolen kiss before either of us was old enough to understand what it meant, and I mean to call upon that mutual understanding now that we both find ourselves in need.”

Something stirred deep inside her, something warm and soft that scared her more than his words.

“Nay.” She shot to her feet, unsettled that he would remember her long-ago foolishness. “You cannot assume anything from a mere accident of childhood. I was naught but a girl when—”

She could not finish the thought, unwilling to remember her only other encounter with Gavin alone. Her cheeks flamed hot at the memory of her boldness that day, her impish need to let the young Blackburn heir know she was not just a silly girl anymore. She’d happened upon him on the moors one afternoon when her father had come to sell the elder lord Blackburn a ram.

“I seem to remember ye were a bit more than just a girl.” Gavin’s eyes danced merrily as if he recalled the event in vivid detail.

Brenna’s cheeks heated even more.

“Then your memory proves rather faulty, my lord. Let us dispense with the past and stick to our present agreement, shall we? I need your sword and your help and I am willing to trade anything to retain them as soon as you name a sum that is within my power to give.”

“Ye keep speaking of yer willingness to pay this price, Brenna, but I’ve yet to see any proof of yer being amenable.” He leaned back in his chair with the indolent arrogance worn by powerful men. “I can be every bit as stubborn as ye, lass. And I willna offer my help until ye swear—here and now—to live with me for a year as my handfast bride.”

Regretting the need to make a decision so quickly, Brenna saw little choice but to agree to his price, curse the man. She needed her sons back now and she had no one else to turn to for help. Her father had made it clear that he considered himself free of obligation to her once she wed Fergus. And the Kirkpatrick clan considered her the enemy ever since she sold them out to the king.

She paced before the hearth, her feet treading the well-worn stones that had hosted countless Blackburns and their guests over the years, wishing she could go back to simpler days when she and Gavin had been friends.

“When you speak of handfasting, you mean that either of us has the right to walk away a year from now?” An idea began to form in her mind.

“Aye, but the traditional rules apply. I expect ye to live at Blackburn Keep with me for the year, but if we decide to act as man and wife within that time—” he paused, his gaze lingering on her until there could be no mistaking that he referred to consummating the union “—then we will find a priest and make an official marriage.”

Brenna could scarcely remember their one shared kiss without flushing hotly. How could she think on lying with him? Flustered, she shook her head. “That will never happen, but I will agree to your terms if you can think of nothing else you would like better. I must have my sons back, no matter what the cost.”

Gavin rose, his warrior’s frame unfolding from the bench before the fire, his massive body flexing with muscles beneath a thin tunic he’d left open and untied. Brenna’s gaze drifted
to the open V at his throat where she absorbed the sight of lightly bronzed skin glowing even more warmly in the fiery light of the hearth blaze.

Her mouth dried at the sight of him so tall, so near. The young warrior she remembered had not been as broad of shoulder or as tall. He was now a man in his prime, a feared knight of the realm. That made him the perfect candidate to win back her sons, but a rather unsettling choice to share her bed.

Nay, her
home.

There would be no sharing of chambers in this handfast arrangement. She would make certain of that. Later, she would find another way to repay Gavin for retrieving her children.

For now she simply needed to remember that staying out of Gavin Blackburn’s bed would be the only way she could walk away from him at the end of their year together.

Gavin reached for Brenna, determined to hold on to this woman who had proved herself as fierce a warrior as any sword-wielding knight. That she could embody such strength in so slender a form amazed him even while it made him certain she was the right wife for him.

He could not bear to lose another woman he loved, could not endure the heartache that came with Aileen’s death again. But Brenna was resilient where Aileen had been soft and giving. Brenna had looked death in the eye and defied it as she defied her captors, refusing to give in to her tender sensibilities when she’d been marched through Scotland with her hands tied.

Brenna Douglas Kirkpatrick—soon to be Blackburn—would bear him strong sons and make a formidable lady for his people. He had married for love the first time, a mistake he would not repeat with Brenna. He admired the proud Highland lass, true. And despite the dirt on her gown or the gaunt look of her once dimpled cheeks, the woman stirred his blood.
That connection was all the reassurance he needed that he did the right thing in handfasting with Brenna.

No need to wait to seek a priest to perform a marriage ceremony when a handfast would serve him just as well. They could speak their vows to one another here and now—and be done with it.

“Give me yer hand then, Brenna, and we shall see the deed accomplished.” He took her palm in his, surprised at the cool smoothness of her skin there. He suppressed the urge to apply her hand to his chest and warm those cool fingers with the heat of his body, but he could not suppress his wayward thoughts.

“You do not wish to wait until morning?” Her low voice hummed along his senses, the words whispered as softly as a lover’s confidences across a pillow.

“I ride at first light if I am to arrive at Montrose Keep the next day. If we speak our vows now, we can still steal a few hours of sleep before I must leave.”

She tensed so sharply he was forced to squeeze her palm to keep it within his grasp.

“You wish to retire this night?” Her green gaze turned accusing, and as she glared at him he spied the slashes of yellow within the green orbs that reminded him of a cat’s eyes.

“Retire to rest,” he clarified, wondering how they would ever consummate a marriage if she found the thought of lying with him so distasteful. Or perhaps frightening? He could not imagine what horrors she’d been subjected to during her captivity and a surge of protectiveness made him all the more determined to keep her safe. “There is a guest chamber prepared where you may sleep in peace.”

Her fingers seemed to cease their trembling enough that he loosened his grip on her. Pink color suffused her cheeks as she nodded.

“That would be fine.” She bit her lip, hesitating as if she debated asking more of him. But she only shifted on her feet,
her damp leather boots squeaking softly in response. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, as I’ve had a long journey.”

Empathy for her clogged his throat as he tried to imagine her fears for her children. Now more than ever he was certain his decision to handfast with her had been fated. She needed his protection. He needed her strength.

Squeezing her palm lightly, he spoke the words that would bind them together in the eyes of God and man for at least a year.

“I, Gavin Blackburn, take you, Brenna Douglas Kirkpatrick, to wife and to you I pledge my troth.” He stared into those deep green eyes of hers and found himself wondering how long it would take to convince her to share his bed. His life.

She licked her lips, a small flick of pink tongue against her rosy mouth.

“And I, Brenna Douglas Kirkpatrick, take you, Gavin Blackburn, to be my husband.” She met his gaze but did not hold it, her eyes glancing down to their joined hands. “To you I pledge my troth.”

Gavin could scarcely believe the deed was done. After a year of banishing every female person from his keep, he had handfasted with the first one who walked into his great hall.

And although she was too exhausted and frightened of him now to consummate their arrangement into a true marriage, he had no doubt but that the deed would be done long before their promised year together was finished. Indeed, he would sleep little tonight knowing that his new bride lay but a few doors away, her cool skin awaiting the fire of his touch.

All the more reason for him to obtain her children for her as quickly as possible. Her mother’s heart would rest easy once her sons were safely under his roof, and then there would be no reason to hold back.

For now, he would content himself with a taste of her lips before they retired.

“Thank ye, Brenna.” He bowed swiftly over their clasped
hands, sensing she would retreat from him as fast as she could. “You would do well to rest now, but for my part I will never sleep until you answer one last question for me.”