Читать книгу Claimed by the Highland Warrior - Michelle Willingham - Страница 8

Seven years earlier

‘For God’s sakes, Bram, keep your eyes upon your opponent!’ his father roared.

Bram blinked, staring at Malcolm MacPherson who was attempting to stab him in the training match. He balanced his footing, trying to determine where the dirk would slash next. Though both of them were sixteen, Malcolm had a stronger instinct for fighting.

Bram lunged left, only to be slashed from the right. The blade didn’t cut his skin, but skidded off the chainmail armour his father had made him wear.

He adjusted his position, trying again to find Malcolm’s weakness. For a time, he successfully defended himself, predicting where the next strike would come. He’d sparred often enough in the past, but not in front of so many people. He could feel the MacPherson chief watching him, as if determining his worth. His cheeks warmed, for he’d much rather fight a single opponent with no one staring.

As the fight wore on, his attention began drifting again. He moved out of habit, and from his peripheral vision, he spied a maiden walking towards them. It was Malcolm’s sister Nairna, who was only a year younger than himself. He’d seen her before, but he’d never really noticed her.

She wore a gown the colour of new spring grass, with an embroidered cap covering her long brown hair. The strands fell to her waist, and as she moved, he found himself entranced. He could sense her watching the fight.

He barely missed the blade that came slashing towards his throat. Bram threw himself to the ground, grunting when Malcolm rolled him over and pinned him.

‘You let yourself be distracted by a girl?’ his opponent taunted. ‘Or were you wanting to wear her skirts?’

The insult sent a haze of red surging through him. Bram released his rage, using the momentum to force Malcolm off him. In a ruthless motion, he twisted the young man’s wrist until he disarmed him, then lifted his dirk to Malcolm’s throat.

‘She’s your sister,’ he gritted out. ‘Show some respect.’ He held his position long enough to demonstrate that he’d held his own in this match, before rising and sheathing the blade.

He strode away, not bothering to speak with his father or the chief of Ballaloch. His father had brought him here to visit over a fortnight ago, and Bram didn’t know why. He wasn’t included in the conversations between the two chiefs, but he knew they were watching him.

He kept walking, not even looking where he was going, until a hand pressed a dripping cup of water into his palm. Bram stopped short and saw Nairna standing before him. For a brief moment, her eyes met his, before she released the cup and walked away.

The water was cold, quenching his thirst. He hadn’t even known how thirsty he was. Casting a glance backwards, he saw that Nairna had not brought a drink to her brother, or anyone else. Why?

He drained the cup, feeling his face warm. Shy and thickheaded when it came to girls, he preferred to remain unnoticed, fading into the background. He didn’t know how to talk to them, and, more often than not, he avoided them.

But it wasn’t only girls who made him uncomfortable. He rarely spoke and hated being around larger groups. Though his father had chastised him for his reticence, ordering him to talk with guests and behave as a future chief, Bram never knew quite what to say.

Fighting was easier. As long as he could wield a claymore or a dirk, no one cared about his inability to converse. And in the middle of a cattle raid, it was rare for anyone to be watching him. They were too busy saving their own necks.

He made his way back to his discarded tunic, where he’d left it by the wall. He set down the cup and saw something round inside the folds. Wrapped in cloth, it was still warm. Bram glanced around him, but saw no one nearby. Inside lay a small loaf of bread.

His stomach rumbled as he tore off a piece, devouring the food. Nothing had ever tasted so good, after he’d been training all morning.

Nairna had left it for him; he was sure of it. As he finished eating the bread, he wondered if she’d had another purpose. If, perhaps, she cared for him in that mysterious way that women did.

He couldn’t stop the incredulous lift of a smile, though he felt like a complete fool.

Over the next sennight, their secret courtship continued. One day, he would find that a torn tunic had been mended, while another time, he would reach into the fold of his cloak and find a small handful of fresh blackberries.

Since it wasn’t right to receive gifts without giving any in return, he began leaving Nairna pretty stones or dried flowers, outside her chamber door. Once, he’d traded for a crimson ribbon and she’d smiled the entire day she’d worn it twined in her brown hair.

He couldn’t understand why she’d chosen him as the subject of her affections. But the longer he stayed with her clan, the more she fascinated him. She never bothered him, never tried to speak with him directly. But the quiet kindnesses she showed had somehow made it impossible to stop thinking about her.

One afternoon, he found her huddled beneath a tree during a rainstorm. No one else was about, and from the basket she carried, it was clear she’d been collecting wild mushrooms.

Bram dismounted from his horse and untied his cloak, holding it out to her. ‘Here. You look cold.’

She shook her head. ‘No, it’s all right. The rain will stop soon.’

He ignored her and walked closer, holding it out. Nairna took one end over her shoulder and held out the other. ‘Share it with me.’

He didn’t want to. The idea of sitting beside a beautiful young woman made him uneasy. He’d likely embarrass himself by saying something foolish.

But then Nairna raised her green eyes to his. ‘Please.’

The softness in her voice reminded him of everything she’d done for him. Against his common sense, he sat beside her, leaning his back against the tree.

Nairna held out the cloak, drawing the end over his shoulders. ‘Do you mind?’ she whispered, huddling close to his side for warmth. He put his arm around her, keeping her wrapped in the woollen cloak. The rain was cool upon his face, and the cloak kept the worst of the weather away from them.

Had it been pouring down rain, he’d not have noticed. Every fibre of his attention was centred upon Nairna. Her head rested against his shoulder and she didn’t try to fill up the space with meaningless words. His heart hammered with nerves, but he reached for her hand.

‘My father came to speak to me this morning,’ Nairna murmured, her palm cool against his. Her voice sounded nervous, as though she were afraid to speak.

Bram waited for her to continue, as he traced the contours of her palm.

Nairna coloured, squeezing his hand as if to gather strength. ‘He said that … I am to be married.’

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

A hollow darkness invaded his mood and he couldn’t stop the feelings of anger and unfairness. Though he’d only known her a few weeks, he felt protective of Nairna. You’re mine, he wanted to growl. He’d skewer any man who tried to touch her.

‘You’re not getting married,’ he said tightly. ‘You’re too young.’

‘I’m fifteen,’ she admitted. ‘But you don’t understand. They want an alliance between—’

‘No.’ He cut her off, not wanting to hear it. A possessive jealousy ate him up inside, firing up his temper. He removed the cloak, letting her hold on to it while he paced. He needed to think, to make decisions.

But Nairna rose, walking close to him. She took his hands in hers, and her face reddened. ‘Bram, no. They want me to marry you.’

Shock struck him speechless and, slowly, the blood drained away from his anger. He took a breath, then another, trying to wrap his mind around her words.

‘It’s why they brought you here. So that we could … get to know one another.’

Married. To this girl, who would belong to him. The very thought made him dizzy, afraid that he wouldn’t please her. She didn’t truly know him. He wasn’t the sort of natural leader his younger brother Alex was, nor did he fight as well as his father wanted him to. He had too much to learn and, though he was sixteen, he’d felt the sting of mediocrity. If they married, he had no doubt at all that he’d disappoint her.

Nairna looked down at their linked hands. ‘Say something. If you don’t want to wed me, then I’ll talk to my father.’

He couldn’t find the right words. If he tried to speak right now, not a word would make sense. He reached out to her nape, sliding his hands into her hair.

Refusing to wed her would be the right thing to do, but he couldn’t relinquish the rigid need to be with her.

When dismay filled up her eyes, he leaned down and kissed her for the first time. He tasted the rain and her innocence, and when her mouth moved against his, a reckless desire raged through him.

He wanted her to be his, though she deserved better. And when her arms folded around his waist, her face pressed against his chest, he vowed he would do everything he could to be the husband she wanted.