Читать книгу Claimed by the Highland Warrior - Michelle Willingham - Страница 11

‘I’ve sent word to the MacDonnell chief,’ Hamish MacPherson informed Nairna. ‘Father Garrick will negotiate the settlement of your belongings.’

‘What settlement?’ Nairna asked, feeling uneasy about the entire situation. Although her stepson was a reasonable man, it unnerved her to think that her second marriage had not been a marriage at all. She’d made a life for herself while Bram was still alive. And though she understood, logically, that it was simply a mistake, she felt the shame of it.

‘The return of your dowry,’ her father replied. ‘Since you will not receive a dower portion of the MacDonnell holdings, your belongings must be returned to you.’ He came forwards and rested his hand upon Nairna’s shoulder. ‘You needn’t worry about it. I’ll make the arrangements so you can go home with your husband.’

Nairna nodded, but everything had changed so suddenly, she was torn between confusion and thankfulness. No longer did she have to return to Callendon.

She could walk away from that life, starting again with Bram. In her palm, she fingered the coloured stone he’d given her, sending up a silent wish for a good marriage.

‘It will be all right, Nairna,’ her father reassured her. ‘But you should make your way to Glen Arrin soon, in case more soldiers come looking for Bram.’

Nairna’s heart grew cold at the thought. It disturbed her to think that he’d nearly been murdered before her eyes. If her father hadn’t spoken up, if he hadn’t bribed the soldiers … She didn’t want to think of it.

‘I’ve ordered a wagon of supplies for you,’ Hamish continued. ‘Go now, while there’s light.’ His expression turned grim. ‘You still have to travel past Lord Harkirk’s stronghold.’

She wished there were another way to avoid it, but the Baron’s fortress lay between the mountains, and there was only one road to Glen Arrin.

Her father led her into the outer bailey, where Bram was waiting. Hamish had given them a horse and wagon, and she saw her trunk of belongings inside, along with sacks of food and other supplies.

‘I’ve sent you with fifty pennies,’ her father added.

‘No, save it for the clan. They’ll need them.’ She couldn’t take a single coin from him.

‘The MacDonnells will return the funds to me from the dowry I gave you before. I’ll get the coins again, you needn’t worry.’

Nairna embraced him tightly, feeling her eyes blur with tears. ‘Thank you.’

‘Go on, then. Send word that you’ve arrived safely,’ he ordered. To Bram, he directed, ‘Take care of my daughter.’

Bram met his gaze and gave a nod. He sat holding the reins, waiting for her. Nairna looked around for her maid, but there was no sign of the elderly woman.

‘Jenny is coming with us, isn’t she?’ Nairna asked.

Bram shook his head. ‘Not yet. Perhaps later, once I’ve seen how Glen Arrin has fared.’

‘What about escorts?’ She couldn’t imagine that he intended to travel alone with her, not with all the unrest in the Highlands.

‘It would only attract the attention of Cairnross and his men, if they’re still looking,’ her father pointed out. He exchanged a look with Bram. ‘And after what happened with Harkirk’s men yesterday, we want nothing that will draw notice.’

Nairna didn’t like it. It was dangerous, especially in enemy territory. Bram sensed her uneasiness and he touched the hilt of a claymore Nairna hadn’t seen before. It was strapped to his back, hidden behind a cloak of dark wool. ‘We’ll be safe enough.’

He helped her climb into the back of the wagon, among the goods. And as the wagon rumbled along the road outside the gates, Nairna prayed it would be true.

The foothills rose higher as they continued further north-west, transforming into mountains. The gleaming silver of the loch brushed the stony banks, contrasting against the vast green expanse of grass. The trees grew sparser and rain spattered against the wool of her hood.

Nairna was used to the rain, but today it took on a more ghostly atmosphere with the clouds skimming the edges of the mountains.

The MacKinloch clan dwelled a two-day journey on horseback through the valley. Nairna had only been there once, and after Bram was believed dead, she’d chosen to stay with her family instead of living among strangers.

She studied Bram from her position in the wagon, noticing the lowered shoulders, the heaviness in his posture. He kept his gaze fixed upon the horizon, watching for enemies. Exhaustion weighted him down and she wondered what she could do to help ease him.

After another hour, she moved to the front of the wagon and sat beside him. His apprehensions about the journey were evident from the set of his jaw and the cast of his face.

‘You haven’t seen your family since you were taken captive?’ she ventured, breaking the silence. Though she already knew the answer, she’d hoped to get him talking.

Bram only shook his head once.

She tried again. ‘Will your other brothers be glad to see you?’ He gave a shrug as if he didn’t know the answer.

By the saints, this was going to be a long journey if he didn’t speak a word. ‘Did you leave your voice back at Ballaloch? Or are you planning to ignore me?’

Bram slowed the horses and turned to look at her. Unrest brewed in his eyes, along with unspoken frustration. ‘They didn’t try to free us, Nairna. My brother and I were locked away for years. Not a single person from my family came to look for us. And I don’t know why.’

The vehemence in his voice made her regret pushing him. ‘They sent word to my father that you were killed in the siege.’ She touched his sleeve, hoping his own family hadn’t truly meant to abandon him. ‘I suppose no one knew the truth. I’m sorry.’

Her words did little to ease his black mood. Bram increased the pace of their horse again, the wagon bumping along the path.

The afternoon drew closer to evening, and the mist lifted just enough to see the path that lay ahead. Tucked near the side of a hill with a steep ditch on all sides lay the motte defended by Robert Fitzroy, Baron of Harkirk.

She reached for Bram’s hand, fear rising up in her throat. ‘The men who tried to kill you yesterday … they came from Harkirk’s fortress. There.’ She pointed to the structure.

Though it had once been nothing but a wooden garrison, from the looks of it Harkirk had begun transforming the enclosure into a more permanent structure with a tower. Knowing that her father’s coins had gone into the construction irritated her further.

He squeezed her hand once, then released it. His eyes studied the fortress. ‘How long has this been here?’

‘They built the first garrison five years ago. It’s changed since then.’ Unfortunately, it had grown larger, as if Harkirk intended to build a castle.

‘I thought the land was part of your father’s holdings.’

‘Not anymore.’ Not since Hamish had made the peace agreement with the English. ‘Lord Harkirk governs it now. He claims it’s for our protection.’

Bram unsheathed the claymore from his back and set it at his feet. The weapon was a gift from her father.

From tip to hilt it stood as high as Nairna’s chest, and wielding the two-handed sword required strength. She wondered if he was capable of defending them with it.

Though he kept his hands upon the reins, there was a visible shift in his demeanour. His face grew distant, his eyes searching the horizon.

When they started to pass beyond the outskirts of the fortress, two soldiers rode forwards to intercept them.

Nairna’s heart sank. She’d hoped they could make it past without being noticed. Though she tried to push back the fear rising up inside, her nerves were raw. She couldn’t stop thinking about the soldiers who had captured Bram, intending to murder him.

As the soldiers drew closer, Bram kept the wagon at a steady pace.

‘Should we ride faster?’ she ventured.

But there came no reply. He was staring straight ahead, as if caught in a trance. ‘Bram?’ she asked again.

‘There are only two of them. And if they threaten you, they answer to me.’ The flat emotionless tone frightened her as much as the soldiers, for she suspected he would kill without any remorse. Nairna prayed it wouldn’t be necessary.

She risked a glance behind at the mounted soldiers. They wore chainmail armour and both carried spears. Lower-ranking soldiers, she realised. Likely sent to question them.

Bram maintained their pace and as the men came closer, her nerves wound tighter. The men surrounded them, keeping an even pace with the wagon. One sent her a slow smile that made her skin crawl.

Bram hadn’t moved, not wavering from his course. If it weren’t for his tight knuckles, she’d have wondered if he had even noticed the soldiers. His gaze remained focused upon the road ahead of them.

‘Aren’t you going to stop?’ one taunted her. ‘Lord Harkirk would want to offer his … hospitality.’

Nairna gave no reply, for it would only goad them on. She moved closer to Bram, not making eye contact with the soldiers. Silently, she prayed that the men would leave them alone. But instead, they continued riding, one on each side of the wagon.

‘I’d like a piece of the woman,’ came the voice of the other soldier. He smirked and Nairna shrank away.

At that, Bram raised up the claymore. His arm muscles strained as he pointed it at the soldier who had threatened her. In his other hand, he held a dirk.

Nairna took the reins from him and held her breath, for she hadn’t known he possessed the strength to hold the weight of the claymore with only one hand.

‘If you touch her, I’ll remove your hand.’ He sent them a dark smile. ‘Or your head. And I’ll enjoy doing it.’

The soldiers eyed one another, as if they weren’t certain whether he would follow through with the threat. In the end, they fell back.

‘Go on your way.’

Bram never tore his gaze from the men until they were far in the distance. The interaction had affected him somehow, the shadow of his past crossing over his face. Every muscle in his body was taut, like a tightly strung bow, before he lowered the claymore and dirk, taking the reins back.

Only when several miles lay between them and the garrison did Nairna start to breathe again. Too much could have gone wrong. They could have questioned Bram or taken him into custody.

Her father had been right. They needed to get far away from Ballaloch. Only at Glen Arrin, among Bram’s family, would they be safe.

When the sun had begun to descend, she asked Bram, ‘Where do you want to stop for the night?’ Though she wasn’t quite ready to sleep, she was growing hungry.

Nothing. It was as if she’d spoken to empty air.

‘Bram?’ she prompted again. He didn’t turn, didn’t move, except to keep his gaze fixated upon the road ahead. It was then that she noticed his hands were shaking. Though his posture remained perfectly upright, something wasn’t right.

His eyes were unseeing, as if he were caught within a dream. Was he even aware of anything?

‘What is it?’

Bram didn’t speak, so she pulled against the reins, ordering the horse to stop. He didn’t seem to notice that they were no longer moving. His brown eyes were vacant and she reached out to take his hands in hers. His flesh was icy cold.

‘Tell me,’ she whispered, suddenly frightened. The sky was darkening, the wind shifting around them. Bram appeared lost in a world of his own thoughts and she suspected he didn’t hear her at all.

She reached out to touch his cheek, hoping that the gesture would awaken him from the spell he was under. Gently, she slid her fingertips down his skin to his throat. When her touch grazed against his scar, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Madness brewed in his eyes and he stared hard at her, as though she were an enemy trying to slay him.

The pain made her gasp and she closed her eyes, wondering how in God’s name she would break through to him. Though he’d lost a great deal of strength, she didn’t doubt he could snap her wrist in half.

‘Bram, it’s Nairna,’ she insisted. ‘Look at me. It’s your—’ she let out a shuddering breath ‘—your wife,’ she managed. ‘Please let go of my wrist.’

When he didn’t, she fought back against the harsh pain. ‘You’re hurting me, Bram.’

Agonising minutes stretched on while she spoke quietly to him, praying that he would somehow see her.

And then, abruptly, he let go. He blinked at her, his eyes suddenly narrowing. When he saw her clutching at her wrist and her reddened skin, he let out a tortured breath.

‘What did I do to you, Nairna?’

She shook her head, not knowing what to say. Her heart shook within her chest and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he breathed, trying to examine her hand, but she kept it far away from him. ‘I was dreaming. I must have fallen asleep.’

‘Your eyes were open,’ she insisted.

He rested his elbows on his knees, letting his face sink into his hands. His fingers were still trembling, she realised. A deep fear sank inside her, for she didn’t know whether or not Bram was telling the truth. It might have been a waking dream, or it might have been madness. She didn’t know.

‘Let’s stop here for the night,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll get some rest and start again in the morning.’

‘Nairna.’ He lifted his head and she saw the regret etched on his face. ‘Never in a thousand years would I knowingly hurt you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

She moved away from him, stepping down from the wagon. Her thoughts were in such turmoil right now that she didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she nodded and walked towards the stream, holding her bruised wrist.

Bram let her go, never taking his eyes from his wife. He watched as she knelt by the stream, bathing her wrist in the cool water. It felt as though someone had taken a knife and carved out his soul.

He’d done this to her. He’d let the nightmares bend him into the shape of a man he didn’t know. She must have said something to him, possibly touched him. And he’d had no control over the visions that plagued him.

The encounter with the English soldiers had conjured up a darkness he didn’t want to face. Seeing their armour, hearing their threats against Nairna, had brought back the past few years. Although they were no different from the countless soldiers he’d seen before, seeing them had been like pouring oil over the flames of his memory.

Because of it, he’d hurt Nairna, the innocent wife whom he’d wanted to protect. There were not enough words to apologise for what he’d done and she wouldn’t understand what had happened anyway.

The years of torment had changed him, so that he no longer slept like a normal man. He remained awake for long hours, until exhaustion caught him without warning. Never did he sleep at night and never when he craved rest.

One moment, he would be standing; the next he’d have no memory of how time had passed or what had happened to him. More than once, he’d blacked out in the midst of working on one of the damned stone walls. He’d awakened to the pain of a lash striking across his back, a whip that only ceased when he returned to his labour.

You’re not there anymore, he reminded himself. It’s in the past.

But Callum was still there. And no one could shelter his brother from the English torturers.

He got down from the wagon and unhitched the horse, leading it to the water. His wife remained where she was, though he didn’t miss the guarded fear in her eyes. Seeing it only intensified his self-hatred.

As the horse drank, he stared into the water, angry with himself for what he’d done. He needed to say something to her, or, better, do something to make amends. Words weren’t enough.

The soft shush of her skirts against the grass told him that she’d come up behind him. ‘Are you all right, Bram?’

He nodded. ‘Is your wrist still hurting?’

‘A little.’ But in her voice he heard the tremor of worry.

He reached up to take her wrist. Gently, he caressed the skin, furious with himself.

‘It’s all right,’ she said quietly. And in her green eyes he saw that she wasn’t going to turn her back on him because of a moment of darkness. Her quiet reassurance was a forgiveness he’d never expected.

He stared at her wrist, then reached down to the hem of his tunic and rent the fabric, tearing off a long thin strip.

Nairna stared at Bram, uncertain of why he was damaging his tunic. ‘What are you doing?’

He took her wrist and fumbled with the strip of cloth, wrapping it around her bruise like a bandage. His hands were trembling, but he kept winding the cloth until it covered her skin. It was loose and awkward, but she voiced no criticism. It was his way of trying to atone for his actions. Her heart stumbled, for she knew he’d never meant to hurt her.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ she murmured. When he reached for her other wrist, she stopped him. ‘I know you weren’t aware of what happened. I shouldn’t have touched your scar.’

For a long moment, he held on to her hand, staring at the bandage as if he were searching for the right words. ‘I lost control of myself. I can’t remember the last time I slept and I haven’t eaten a full meal in years.’

She reached out to touch his face, bringing him up to look at her. His fingers clasped with hers, as if he needed the reassurance.

Her skin warmed beneath his and she found herself studying him. There were wounds she couldn’t see, scars that went deeper than any physical wounds. And though she knew his body and mind had been damaged by the imprisonment, beneath it all, she saw a man who needed saving.

Bram moved away to gather firewood and Nairna joined him, searching for tinder. Neither spoke until he’d managed to light the fire.

She searched the supplies and brought him some food. Though he tried to eat the oat cake, he took only a bite or two before setting it aside.

‘How will you regain your strength if you don’t eat?’ she asked, frowning at his untouched food.

He shook his head. ‘It’s too much, too soon.’ He rested his wrists upon his knees, staring at the flames. ‘Nairna, if you’re weary, go on and sleep. I won’t bother you tonight.’ He nodded towards the wagon, in a gesture of dismissal.

But if she left him alone, he wouldn’t sleep. She knew it. Nairna moved to sit beside him. ‘Come and lie down with me. I’ll wager you’re more tired than I am.’

In his worn face, she could see the years of exhaustion, but Bram shook his head. ‘I’ll stay here and keep watch.’

Another thought occurred to her. ‘Are you afraid to sleep?’ She wondered if nightmares plagued him, perhaps visions of the past.

She reached out for him. Bram lifted her bandaged wrist to his mouth, brushing his lips against the pulse point. She shivered slightly, the unexpected tremor sending desire spiralling through her.

‘Go on and sleep in the wagon without me,’ he urged, but instead she laid down beside him, resting her head in his lap. She’d come this far and she wasn’t about to leave him now.

For he was her husband. And he needed her.

She felt him gently stroke her hair. As she closed her eyes, even knowing she wouldn’t sleep, Bram touched her as if she were the salvation he’d craved for so long.