Possession of a Highlander Page 13

  “Aye, I will. Thank ye, Magda.”

  He stepped behind the serviceable chair at the desk and glanced around the miserably small room once more. A book lay on the padded seat of the windowsill, the spine soft with age and use.

  The Faerie Queene.

  The cover fell open like an eager lover. The print was smeared in places and puckered spots showed on the parchment beneath, as if the page had been wet and long ago dried.

  He brushed the book closed and left it where it lay. His gaze wandered over a stack of books piled neatly on the desk. He needed to stop wasting time and find the ledger lest Brianna seek him out. If she found him in this room, he knew there would be no undoing the damage.

  As it was, he already feared the hurt he’d caused.

  He pulled two of the books from the pile and reached for the third when a voice interrupted him. “Are you lost?”

  His head jerked up at the sound. Magda stared at him, her usually kind face cold and suspicious, her blue eyes filmy.

  “I was looking for—”

  “Evidence,” she finished for him. “You were looking for evidence against the countess.”

  Color rose in her thin cheeks, and her eyes flashed with an anger Colin didn’t realize she was capable of.

  “Magda, ye brought—”

  “Don’t feed me your excuses and your lies. I’ve heard them from others before you.” She stepped closer, intent obvious in the tension of her slender body. “I know you mean to report what you find to the laird, but mark my words, if you bring anything to his attention about my ward, I’ll make sure you live to regret it.”

  The strength of the old woman’s love for Brianna remained the sharpest thing about her.

  “I promise ye I’ll no ever implicate the lass,” he said earnestly.

  Visible relief eased the tension from Magda’s tired face. “Thank you.” She smoothed the front of her dress with trembling hands, much like he’d seen Brianna do on several occasions. “She is an innocent child, a very good child.”

  She began to turn away and paused, her gaze hesitant as she regarded him once more. “You have kind eyes. I feel like I can trust you.”

  He smiled, hoping to set her at ease. “Of course ye can.”

  She edged closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Please don’t report what you find of the countess’s letters.” Her gaze slid to her feet. “The punishment she receives far surpasses the offense.”

  Before Colin could ask for clarification of her disturbing words, the old woman fled from the room, and the partially finished letter floated from its place on the desk.

  He knelt low and caught it between his fingers before it landed on the floor, a victory short-lived when his head connected painfully with the underside of the desk. He sat back with a loud curse. His free hand covered the stinging spot of his scalp, probing for blood. He glared up at the offending piece of furniture.

  A discolored patch of wood caught his eye. He blinked several times to clear his vision and craned his neck beneath the desk. The lighter colored wood had not been imagined after all.

  The surface was flush under his fingertips and shifted with the slightest pressure. He narrowed his eyes to keep the dust out and slid away the detachable piece. The slender hole was almost too small to accommodate his large, clumsy hands, but with a little patience, he managed to pry the treasure from its confines.

  Stacks of brittle, yellowed parchment came free from where it’d obviously been stuffed many years ago. A quick glance confirmed the handwriting was not Brianna’s.

  Quickly, he slipped the desk piece back into place. He’d look at the parchment later. Right now, he needed to speak to Brianna before supper began and he lost his chance.

  • • •

  Brianna succumbed to the shadows stretching toward her. She lay atop the bed, too resigned to pull the coverlet over her.

  The door latch clicked open, but she did not turn toward the sound. For all she knew, it was a servant coming to inform her the evening meal was to be served. Not that she possessed an appetite.

  But it was not a servant in the room. Brianna did not need to turn to realize this. She could feel the imposing size of him, sense the direction of his footsteps despite his silence. She curled tighter into herself, her back facing him.

  The aroma of Colin’s soap teased her nostrils, a scent that once offered comfort and now left her frantic for air to breathe. The mattress moved beneath her to accommodate his weight. She stiffened against a touch that never came.

  “Her angels face,” his voice was gentle, smooth.

  Her brow furrowed at his words.

  “As the great eye of heaven shined bright…”

  Recognition penetrated her soul. She squeezed her eyes shut and mouthed the remaining words as he recited them.

  “…and made a sunshine in the shady place.”

  Her curiosity nicked the ache of his offense. “You quote Edmund Spenser. Why?” She opened her eyes, but did not turn toward him.

  “I can relate to the despair of his characters.” Still he did not move closer.

  “Oh?” Had he read The Faerie Queene?

  “I can understand the fear Scudamour must have felt when Amoret was taken on their wedding night. To know she was in the hands of such cruelty and he so helpless to stop it.”

  He paused, and silence lulled between them.

  “To see the delicate flesh of her face turn white with an absence of life,” he said. “To fear no ever feeling the heat of her silken flesh, the pain of no ever seeing her smile again.” He drew a deep breath. “The shadow of imagining a world without her laughter. Tis a death of hope and joy I couldna bear.”

  Brianna mentally combed through her books of poetry. Did he know of a poet she had yet to read? “I do not recognize the author,” she whispered.

  “There is no author,” he said, his voice tense. “This is what I felt when I saw ye laid out on the bed of the summer home and I thought—”

  This time she turned toward his silence and found his jaw clenched tight, his face lined with a vulnerable sadness she had not before witnessed.

  His eyes searched hers. “Ye make a sunshine in my shady place, Brianna. I dinna want a life without ye.”

  “Colin.” She turned over and sat up. “I don’t—”

  His finger pressed against her lips. “Nay, I want ye to listen, aye?”

  She nodded and his finger fell away. “When we wed, I promised to protect ye. This doesna only mean against the cruelty of men. This also means I keep ye from all harm.”

  He stroked her cheek and she did not move away. Such beautiful poetry earned him an explanation at the very least.

  “Ye are tired, lass. Worn out with the weight of yer father’s death, frightened by the accusations of yer uncle, and buried under the obligations that belong on the shoulders of yer husband. What kind of man would I be to allow ye sleepless nights while I turn my back to ye and train the soldiers?”

  Concern shone in his warm green eyes. “I am no asking ye to give up yer books or yer writing. I’m asking ye to share with me what is my right and let me carry some of yer burden.” His thumb circled against her palm, and a ball of warmth pooled low in her belly.

  “Let me fulfill my promise to protect ye, aye?” His fingers threaded through hers.

  If what he said was true, he meant only to see her happy and healthy. A noble desire for any husband.

  Perhaps his intentions to become her Captain of the Guard were as noble, encouraged by the death of Bernard. She thought back to the bitter accusation she’d hurled at him, and her heart crumpled.

  She had been cruel.

  Her body longed for the security of his embrace. She wanted the heat of his arms surrounding her, making her feel safe and cared for, she wanted his breath stirring the hair along the nape of her neck and his scent filling her with a comfort only he could provide.

  And if the sacrifice of sharing her burden was needed, it had become a price she
was willing to pay.

  “Will ye let me help ye, wife?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I will let you help me.”

  He eased closer and pulled her into his arms. She turned with greedy affection toward the spicy lure of his breath.

  “Thank ye.” His lips brushed hers and ignited the spark of mutual desire.

  • • •

  Colin strained to see in the flickering candlelight. The stack of brittle letters was laid flat atop the solar desk. Though the hour was late, he found he could not sleep. Not with the mystery of the letters racing through his mind. A letter quivered within his hands.

  Damn. It was all in French. The parchment was important enough to be kept hidden from view. What did it say? He knew he could ask Brianna to translate, but was uncertain if the content would cause her further distress.

  Fortunately, he knew someone who spoke French, someone who would also be helpful with obtaining information from Lord Lindsay’s household without appearing obvious.

  A wide smile spread over his face.

  Edzell Castle would soon receive a visit from Marie D’Aubigne.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The red-painted walls of the solar had once appeared so luxurious to Colin. Now they were too dark, too aesthetically cloying. They absorbed sunlight and choked the air.

  The clash of swords and the rowdy banter of the guards wafted through the window like a cool breeze on a hot day.

  He gripped the quill in his fist and leaned against the hard-backed chair. Every part of him ached from lack of movement, from the protesting muscles of his neck, to the creaking of his spine and the stiffness of his knees.

  A cheer met his ears followed by hearty laughs. What could possibly be so damn humorous? He turned a page in the ledger and bumped a vial at his side. Black ink poured from the tipped glass and bled out onto the parchment he’d been writing on.

  An hour’s worth of work—gone. He wanted to throw the desk across the room.

  Alec’s voice carried through the window, challenging the men. It was a lure Colin could not ignore, especially on a day where the sun rose high in a cloudless sky.

  He shoved himself from the hard chair and stalked through the black corridors within Edzell’s bowels. The doors ahead of him were propped open to let in the fresh summer air. He quickened his pace toward the temptation of freedom and stepped out of the castle and into the courtyard.

  Blinding spots of sunlight danced before his vision, and a gentle breeze rustled his kilt against his knees. How could he have been indoors on a day such as this?

  He made his way toward the side of the courtyard and found Alec standing before the men, arms crossed, legs braced wide. A leader’s stance, fitting for Edzell’s new Captain of the Guard—a role Alec had taken on with ease.

  One slight nod from him and the soldiers flew into a battle of dulled blades, their movements graceful and skilled. The earthy scent of sun-warmed grass caught at Colin’s awareness and set his heart pounding. After two long weeks sitting prone in a stiff chair, his muscles burned with the need to stretch, and his hands ached to wrap around the hilt of the sword.

  He leaned against the wall of the castle and waited for the action to cease before speaking. “Well done, men.” He nodded his approval. “Ye’ve far surpassed my expectations and have turned into a formidable force. I’m proud of ye.”

  Backs straightened and chests puffed out. As well they should, they’d gotten damn good.

  “Ach, through no effort of yers.” Alec threw his arm around Colin’s shoulders and squeezed.

  Colin grimaced. “Ye needn’t remind me. I’ve been away too long.”

  Two weeks might as well have been a lifetime. Colin missed directing the men, watching their progress, feeling the sun burn his back and warm his hair. Every day he told himself he would show for the morning training session, and every day he found time too sparse to allow such a feat.

  Alec shrugged a shoulder. “A laird stays busy.”

  “Never too busy for my old friend.” Colin clapped Alec on the back, and the heavy Lindsay ring shone bright in the sun. All the authority of Edzell and the wealth of its lands were housed within that ring.

  But the piece of gold meant more to Colin than authority—it signaled the accomplishment of a goal. He could now prove to his father he was a strong leader. One worthy of ruling MacKinnon land.

  Alec turned his back to the men and faced Colin, his face lined with his usual stern expression. “I intended to speak with ye this morning. There is some news I wish to discuss.”

  Something in the wariness of Alec’s eye caught Colin’s attention and sent a tense ribbon of alarm coiling in his gut. “Are the men done at practice?” he asked.

  “Aye, do ye want to speak in yer solar?”

  A breeze swept in and sent the trees rustling. It was all Colin could do to keep from closing his eyes and reveling in nature’s sweet caress once more. The last thing he wanted to do was return to the gloomy, sequestered room and sit in that rigid chair again. “I’d rather speak out here if it suits ye.”

  “Outside always suits me,” Alec said. “Lindsay’s men are coming around here more frequently than they were before.”

  This did not come as a surprise to Colin. In fact, he’d expected it. “Have the men not been following orders?” he asked. All the guards had been given clear instructions to keep Lindsay’s men from coming onto the land. If someone ignored these orders, he would need to be reprimanded and made into an example.

  “The soldiers are following their orders fine,” Alec said. “But Lindsay is getting sly. He’s hired men to follow anyone who leaves the castle in an attempt to get someone to talk. Last night, there was another attempt on the grave.”

  Colin frowned. He did not have to ask which grave. Lindsay’s relentless efforts to uncover a nonexistent truth left discontent sloshing in his gut. “Have any of the servants talked to his men?”

  Alec’s dark hair rippled over his face with an unexpected gust. He shoved it off his brow with an impatient grimace. “I dinna believe so, but that only makes Lindsay all the more suspicious, aye?” Again, he glanced around them. “That’s no all I wanted to discuss with ye.”

  Colin arched an eyebrow and waited for Alec to continue.

  “They’re asking about Lady MacKinnon too.”

  A flash of ice froze in Colin’s veins. “Brianna? Why?”

  A lone guard walked past them and gave a friendly nod. Alec watched the man with sharp eyes, waiting until he was out of earshot before continuing. “They’ve been asking how distraught she was over his death. If anyone noticed her acting strangely before ye even arrived. If there were bloodied sheets or freshly turned earth.”

  Colin uttered a low curse and rubbed the back of his neck. Having his own life in danger was a threat he could handle, but the thought of Brianna being in danger was more than he could bear.

  “Marie cannot get here fast enough,” he muttered.

  Alec’s brows shot up. “Marie? Marie D’Aubigne?”

  “Aye, I asked her to come when I first took charge of Edzell. She should be arriving any day now.”

  Alec lowered his head and kept his eyes on Colin. “Do ye really think that’s wise to have Marie come here?”

  “Of course it is. I found a document that needs to be translated, and she can help.” Colin’s gaze skimmed the grass, brilliant green beneath the sun’s glow. For all the work sitting on his desk, he was loathe to go back to the solar. “I figure Marie can also be of assistance in helping us understand what is going on with Lindsay.”

  Alec grunted.

  Colin studied his friend. “Ye dinna think it’s a good idea.”

  Alec smirked and shook his head. “We’ll find out.”

  • • •

  The point of the needle pierced Brianna’s flesh.

  Again.

  She popped the injured finger into her mouth and pressed her tongue to it. While it did not stop the ache
, the action somehow made her feel better.

  She settled back against the alcove in her mother’s study and looked down at the half-finished leine in her hands. The sharp needle to her thumb and the dulling labor to her mind were worth the row of neat, even stitches. Now that Colin was laird, he would need a saffron-dyed leine as befitted his station. He had yet to see one made, and so Brianna had taken the task upon herself.

  The gold-colored material was soft beneath her fingertips, and her stitches came out perfectly, a testament to the skill she seldom put to use. Were it not for the constant jabs at her fingers, she would be doing quite well. Thus far, her greatest challenge was keeping blood from dotting the costly fabric.

  She imagined the look on his face when she presented it to him, and the surprise when he learned she had been the seamstress. A burst of giddy excitement bubbled within her.

  Her labor of affection was the least she could do in gratitude for all he had accomplished. Thomas had been right; Colin was a good laird to her people. He was well-received by all and spent long hours in the solar. Though she had only glanced a time or two when he was detained, the accounts all appeared to be well-documented.

  “My lady, to see you thus reminds me of your mother.” Magda’s voice floated in from the hallway.

  Brianna looked up and found Magda stepping into the room. “My mother? Sewing?” The thought was unimaginable.

  “Only for a small period of time that I remember.” She stroked Brianna’s cheek with a cool hand. “When she was expecting the sweetest bairn in all of Christendom.”

  Magda lifted the shirt from Brianna’s lap and studied the stitching with the eye of a craftswoman. “I see you have her skill. It will serve you well when you have your own children.”

  A rock settled in the pit of Brianna’s stomach. There would be no children. She had seen to that.

  Not with whore’s tricks. Not when such tactics could be misconstrued as witchcraft. She was too educated to fall back on base concepts that centered more on myth than fact.