Page 11 of Marry the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #1)

CHAPTER 11

The morning after their stroll in the garden, Brigid knocked on the door to Conall’s study. She was holding a slightly crumpled piece of paper in one hand.

“I’ve received a letter from my sisters,” she said, her voice breathless with excitement. “I’d like to write back to them. And… I’d like it if ye wrote to them as well.”

“Aye? Ye think they’ll want to hear from me?”

“Aye. They need to ken that I’m tellin’ the truth—that I am safe and that I trust ye enough to include ye in my letters.”

She handed him the letter she’d received. ]

Dear Brigid,

It is good to hear from you and to know that you are safe and well enough to write. However, we will not lie. News of your wedding… it has taken us all by surprise. And we will not pretend that we are not concerned about you.

We will begin travel preparations, but you know it will not be easy. Even now, Valerie is reaching out to those men who might still be loyal to Father’s memory. In the meantime, we would like to hear more about your future husband.

What sort of man is he? Do you feel safe with him? Does your husband care for you as he ought, or is this to be a marriage of convenience?

On a different matter, have you heard any more about or from Laird Auchter? We’ve seen no more of his soldiers, but we are all still uneasy.

We hope to be able to come to you soon. Until then, be strong, and do not lose yourself. You are the bright, joyful center of our world. Do not let your current situation, whatever it may be, change you.

Remember that we love you, all of us.

All our love and prayers go with you.

Lily, Valerie, and Megan.

Conall read the letter. Then, he looked up. “What would ye have me add to any letter ye might send?”

“Whatever ye wish,” Brigid replied, her eyes bright with the pleasure of this brief contact with her beloved family. “But if they cannae meet ye in person just yet, I ken Lily and Valerie will be able to get a sense of who ye are from yer writing. Valerie learned much of that when she…” She hesitated. “She traveled wit’ our father when he was alive. She… well, she learned things from him.”

Conall nodded. He understood what she meant. He could usually tell much from the way a man wrote; he could tell if he was steady, well-educated, honest, or deceitful. He could tell if he was truly respectful or full of empty flattery. Or worse, if he were a pompous fool or even a snake, like Laird Auchter.

He had no idea which of the three sisters had written the letter, though it was unlikely to be Valerie—her name had been mentioned in the letter, after all, so the writer was more likely to be one of the other two sisters—but the writer seemed both caring and remarkably straightforward.

He tilted his head toward the paper and inkpot on his desk. “Write what ye like. I’ll pen a short missive of my own to include with it.”

Brigid smiled and took the letter back, clutching it protectively to her breast as if it were her most precious possession. She began to gather the necessary items and moved to the table, but Conall stood up and pulled a chair closer to the desk. “Here. Ye can sit here at the desk. ’Twill be more comfortable for ye.”

“Thank ye.” Brigid settled down into the chair beside him and began to write.

She had a neat hand, and precise, gently sloping letters. Conall noted that much, then forced himself to turn his attention to his work. No matter how much Oliver might chastise him if he ever found out, he wouldn’t stoop to reading his betrothed’s correspondence.

Brigid wrote quickly and soon held out a folded sheaf of paper to him. Conall took it and included the letter he’d written.

To Lily, Valerie, and Megan Blackwood,

Greetings to the sisters of my betrothed, Brigid, and I pray this letter finds you well. I know you are concerned about the circumstances under which we met and the future of your sister with me.

I also know that if you are the women my betrothed speaks of, then there is little I can say to allay your suspicions. Especially if you know how our betrothal came about—that is, that I claimed her hand in marriage as repayment of a blood debt between my clan and Clan Auchter.

I swear to you on my honor as Laird MacKane that I have no interest in transferring the sins of the father and grandfather to your sister. Regardless of my reasons, it is my intention to treat Brigid with all the respect I can bring to our marriage. But the promise likely means little to you if you have dealt with Laird Auchter.

Instead, I invite you, all of you, to join us at MacKane Castle for the wedding. And if such be your interest and your desire, I would welcome all of you into Clan MacKane, and you would be under the protection of my clan and my kinfolk. The women who are held in such high regard by my betrothed would be welcomed among my kin.

I would that I could send an escort, but there are concerns that I must address among my own… and from your sister’s tale, I suspect they might not be a comfort to you. Instead, I include some coin to help make your way here if you need it. Hire a cart, horses, or even guards if you need to, and I hope, for both my sake and my betrothed’s, that you make your way here soon.

My Sincere Regards,

Conall Barr.

Conall folded the letter, then sealed both letters and set a small pouch of coins with them.

Brigid frowned. “They dinnae need…”

“’Tis a groom’s gift to yer kin,” Conall said. “Yer grandfather didnae offer a dowry or negotiate a bride price, so ’tis only fair.”

Brigid blushed. “I thought… The feud…”

“The feud is a matter between yer grandfather and I. Yer sisters werenae involved until he chose to drag ye into this.” Conall offered her a brief smile. “I might nae have kenned the man, but I cannae see Magnus Blackwood ever givin’ away a daughter for naught.”

Brigid smiled back, her eyes bright with the memory of her father. “Och, ye’re right about that. Father used to call us his greatest treasure. And he meant it, too.”

“Then the coin will appease his spirit an’ ease yer sisters’ way.”

Brigid laughed lightly.

Before he could respond, she stepped around the desk and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Thank ye, Conall.”

Then, she left the study before he could so much as react.

Conall blinked once to gather his scattered wits, then picked up the letters and went to call for his fastest messenger.

There was plenty to do in preparation for the wedding, and Brigid was sure that she’d never have managed even half of it, had it not been for Emily. But as each day passed, she felt more and more restless as she waited for word from her sisters.

Conall had sent the second letter, and his own, almost as soon as Brigid had finished writing it. She already knew how long it took to traverse the distance between Blackwood Hall—as her father had called it—and MacKane Castle. She managed to keep herself busy while she waited, but she couldn’t help looking toward the gates of the castle more often as the first day passed, then the second, then the third.

By the evening before the wedding, she could scarcely sit still. She missed her sisters with an ache that was almost physical. Every passing candlemark made her feel lonelier and more desolate, despite the kindness of those around her.

Finally, just after supper, Emily drew her aside. “I think everything that needs to be done is done, Brigid,” she said, smiling kindly. “Yer wedding dress is ready. The menu for the feast after the wedding is arranged. The flowers have been chosen, and Conall has sent for a priest. There’s little enough to be concerned with. Perhaps it would be best if ye went to yer rooms and got some rest. Ye have a big day ahead of ye—we all have.”

Brigid nodded. “Aye,” she said, knowing that what Emily said made sense but reluctant to admit that the day was about to end without any sign of her sisters’ longed-for arrival.

She climbed into bed and laid her head on the pillow. No less than two candlemarks later, however, she had already abandoned any effort to sleep. It was an impossible task. She’d tried drinking warm milk. She’d tried watching the fire and sniffing the lavender and heather sachet that Emily had given her. She’d tried reading one of the few books that had been left in her chamber—a herbalist’s manual which held little interest for her—but nothing could distract her or weary her mind enough to allow her to sleep.

She recalled the stroll she and Conall had taken around the garden a few nights before. Fresh air, and perhaps another mug of milk afterward. That could help.

She knew why she couldn’t sleep. It was the eve of the wedding, and her sisters had not yet arrived. There was little chance that they would be there in time for the wedding, and the thought made her heart and her throat ache. She wanted to go to Conall, and ask him for the delay he had offered her, but at the same time… what if they arrived in the morning? She would feel foolish then.

There’s still time for them to get here. I mustnae lose hope just yet. I’ll get some air, then get some sleep, and afterward, in the morning, if they’re still nae here, then I’ll ask Conall for the delay.

Mind made up, Brigid pulled on one of her new dresses, tugged on her shoes, and made her way out to the garden.

The night was cool and quiet, with just a touch of a breeze to ruffle her hair. Brigid pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and walked around the gardens, breathing in the scents of heather and flowers. It wasn’t like home, but the scents were soothing and familiar, nonetheless.

She made her way along the small path she’d walked with Conall, down close to the castle, then across toward the wall and back. She was perhaps halfway back when she passed the small postern gate that led out to the moors.

Two shadows detached themselves from the gate, resolving in the moonlight into large, burly warriors dressed in MacKane tartan. Brigid frowned at the strong scent of mead that hung around both men. Still, she saw no reason not to be polite.

“Good eventide.”

One of the men scoffed, huffing alcohol-laden breath into the air. “Good eventide, she says,” he muttered to his companion with a cruel grin. “And how’s it supposed to be good when we’re dealin’ with Auchter’s little wench?”

Brigid flinched. “I… I dinnae ken what ye…”

“Do ye nae? Yer clansfolk killed the Laird’s brother,” the man all but spat, the mead he’d drunk making him bold. “Aye, an’ several good warriors, too. Friends an’ shieldmates of ours.”

The air of violence that hung around him made Brigid swallow nervously.

“I… Ye are mistaken,” she protested weakly. “I dinnae have a clan…”

“Auchter claimed ye!” The other man stepped closer, pushing her back against the wall with a snarl of fury. “That makes ye his kin, and nay better than the rabid wolf whose blood ye carry.”

There was anger and a sort of unreasonable madness in the attitude of both men.

Brigid felt her stomach sink with fear. “Please… I dinnae ken…”

“Shut yer mouth.” The first man seized her arm, and she gasped in pain as his fingers dug into her flesh. “Auchter blood isnae welcome here, nay matter what our Laird says.”

“Yer grandfather’s a snake,” the other man hissed. “An’ like as nae, ye came out here to let him into our castle, like the treacherous wench ye are. Ye might have fooled the Laird, but ye willnae fool the rest of us.”

“I wouldnae…” Brigid stuttered.

It was clear from the crazed look in the men’s eyes, however, that neither of them was willing to listen to anything she had to say.

“Aye, ye would. Or mayhap ye intend to run back to yer grandfather and break the peace that’s the only reason our Laird kept ye here. Give him a reason to attack again.”

The grip on her arm tightened.

Brigid whimpered as the man jerked her closer. “The Laird is too gentle with ye,” he said, his face so close to hers that his foul breath made her choke. “I think we ought to?—”

A roar of anger split the night, and the second guard was slammed off his feet with an abruptness that shocked both Brigid and the man holding her.

Conall materialized out of the night, his expression thunderous with fury. With a snarl, he backhanded the second man again, slamming him into the wall. Then, he spun and caught the guard holding Brigid by the throat.

“Let. Go. Of. My. Bride. Now.”