Page 57

HE LEFT THAT evening.

The guards at the gate wished Brodie a good night out, for, like everyone else, they believed he was headed for Ceann Locha for an eve of revelry.

But he wasn’t. He hadn’t been back there since the evening of Greer’s departure.

This wouldn’t be a short trip either, but one that would take him many days. He’d be traveling far to the northeast, into lands he’d never visited.

And he wouldn’t be returning to Dun Ugadale.

Leaving his brothers behind was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Grief tied Brodie’s innards in knots as he rode out under the portcullis upon Brèagha. And as his horse clip-clopped down the causeway beyond, he nearly turned her around—twice.

It took everything he had just to keep moving. Tears stung his eyes, his throat ached, and he clenched his jaw to keep the sorrow at bay.

Christ’s teeth, this was even harder than he’d thought.

It felt as if he were leaving a piece of himself behind.

The curtain of night still hadn’t fallen, for the summer days were long, and as such, Brodie was careful to ride south for a short while, just in case one of the guards was watching from the walls.

Then, once he was out of sight of the broch, he circled west. He’d brought little with him, except for a purse of coin.

Carrying a saddle bag would just arouse suspicions; he’d buy what he needed along the way.

Once he was far enough away, Brodie urged Brèagha into a brisk canter. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between him and Dun Ugadale before the sun set.

As he rode, grief dug its cruel claws deep.

He hadn’t wanted to leave without saying anything, yet it was the only way.

He’d left his brothers a note inside his quarters, upon his bed. Like them, he’d been taught to read and write as a lad, although when he’d helped himself to some parchment, and a quill and ink from Iver’s solar, and attempted to pen a missive, he’d realized he was rusty.

It had taken ages to scratch out the letters, even though the note had been a short one.

Short, yet honest.

He’d told Iver that he was in love with Greer Forbes and that he was traveling to Druminnor to claim her as his wife.

For everyone’s sake, they wouldn’t be returning to Dun Ugadale.

He apologized for hurting them, but he also forbade them from coming after him. This was something he had to do alone.

He hoped it would take his brothers a while to find the letter. At first, they’d just think he’d stayed over in Ceann Locha, after too much ale. He’d bought himself a little time.

They’d all be hurt by his decision to leave them: angry with him for acting so recklessly, for not confiding in them.

But Brodie couldn’t go on like this, and the idea of speaking to his brothers about his feelings for Greer was worse than having a rotten tooth extracted.

They’d merely slap him on the shoulder and tell him to let time heal things.

And they’d look at him with sympathy in their eyes; something he couldn’t bear.

No, he’d deal with this in his own way, even if it felt as if someone were carving his heart out.

In contrast, Brèagha was delighted to be traveling again.

The mare’s ears pricked forward as she cantered over undulating hills.

He didn’t push her too hard, for they had a distance to go before Druminnor.

Captain Errol had told him that the journey was an arduous one, for it took them through the rugged Cairngorms. The Forbeses’ territory seemed a world away from the Kintyre Peninsula.

Brodie leaned forward, settling into the rhythm of his courser’s pounding hooves.

And as the distance between him and Dun Ugadale grew, the suffocating pressure on his chest eased just a little.

Now that he was on the move, he felt better. However, he was careful not to dwell on what he’d left behind, and on how Iver, Lennox, and Kerr would react to his decision.

Brodie wasn’t sure exactly how things would end for him. Indeed, there was a part of him that was fatalistic. He’d gone from being cynical to hoping for the impossible.

Perhaps he was going to his own ruin—yet now he’d charted this course and left his old life behind him, there was no turning back.

Druminnor Castle

Aberdeenshire

“It is a pleasure to meet ye, Lady Greer.”

The big man towered over her, one huge hand reaching out and taking hers.

Favoring Malcolm Sutherland with a brittle smile, Greer tried to ignore the heaviness in the pit of her stomach. “And ye, Malcolm.”

Sutherland’s mouth lifted at the corners. “I know it is still two months until our wedding day,” he rumbled. “However, I wanted to see if ye were as bonnie as yer father claimed.”

Greer nodded, keeping her smile fixed. Of course, he did. Fathers had been known to exaggerate their daughters’ attractiveness. Greer knew she wasn’t a great beauty, yet her golden hair, oversized features, and sunny disposition counted for a lot.

Malcolm’s pale-blue eyes studied her face for a moment, and she could tell from his expression, and the way his pupils grew larger, that he was pleased by what he saw.

Her face started to ache from the effort it was taking to keep her smile in place.

She found it hard to appear cheerful these days. Her mother had remarked on it right away when she returned home, although Greer had brushed her comment off, telling her she was merely weary from the long journey.

In turn, she studied the man she’d been promised to. Malcolm Sutherland possessed roughly-hewn good looks. His nose had been broken once, and had healed with a bump in it, yet the rest of his features were even.

But even as he stared down at her, Greer remembered what Bonnie had told her—that this man was a brute.

“Ye are a wee thing,” Malcolm said then, cupping her hand between his huge paws. “I fear I shall crush ye.”

Greer swallowed. She didn’t want to think about being intimate with this stranger.

Aye, he’d been charming enough so far, but he would be on his best behavior here.

They stood together in the rose garden behind the castle.

This space was her mother’s pride, surrounded by high walls.

Beyond the walls, the tips of tall pines surrounding the castle bristled against a washed-out blue sky.

The wind whispered through the trees, the gentle sound mingling with that of water bubbling over stones from the nearby Keron burn.

Aye, it was a bonnie spot, and Greer should have been happy to be back here, amongst her kin too—but she wasn’t. Her ‘soul home’ lay many leagues to the southwest.

She missed Dun Ugdale and those who dwelt there terribly. Most days, it felt as if she were being slowly suffocated.

Greer had been walking amongst the roses with a basket, cutting flowers to make perfumed oil with, when a giant man with brown hair tied back at the nape strode into the garden.

Greer hadn’t been expecting a visit so soon, yet she’d known instinctively who the stranger was—and whom he was looking for.

Her.

“I’m small yet strong,” Greer said after a pause. Lord, she suddenly felt so awkward. She didn’t know what to say to him.

“Let’s hope so.” His mouth quirked then. “For I wish for a brood of strapping sons.”

Dizziness washed over Greer at these words.

“How long are ye staying at Druminnor?” she asked, keen to steer the conversation away from such an alarming topic.

“A few days, at least,” Malcolm replied. “Yer father has invited me to go stag hunting with him tomorrow.”

“Ye shall enjoy that, I think … the hunting is good indeed around here.”

“Aye, but not as good as Dunrobin, I’d wager.” His grey-blue eyes glinted then. “Wait until ye see yer new home, Lady Greer. Druminnor pales by comparison.”

Greer tensed. The arrogance of such a statement needled her. She didn’t share her father’s pride in his blocky castle, yet it was bold indeed to speak so dismissively of it.

“We shall be wed before the chapel at Dunrobin,” he went on, his tone matter of fact, “not here.”

“We will?” Greer’s pulse quickened. Suddenly, it felt as if her life were spiraling out of control.

First her father, and now her husband-to-be, were making decisions on her behalf.

And like a good woman, she was expected to go along with it.

“I’d have liked to hold the ceremony here …

the kirk outside the castle is bonnie indeed. ”

Malcolm shook his head. “No … it has already been decided. Ye and yer kin shall travel to Dunrobin for the wedding.”

Greer went rigid, and she felt the rare urge to argue.

Her father hadn’t mentioned this. Just a few days earlier, her mother had been talking about the decorations for the kirk; clearly, she didn’t know either.

Swallowing her irritation, Greer stepped back from her husband-to-be and put on the heavy leather gloves she’d been using to collect the thorny roses. She then moved over to the nearest bush and clipped off a couple of deeply-scented dusky-pink flowers.

She hoped that Sutherland might wish her good day then, and go off to find her father instead, yet he lingered.

Feeling the weight of his stare, Greer moved to the next rose bush.

“I hear ye spent the past few weeks on the Kintyre Peninsula,” he said finally. “With the Mackays.”

Greer glanced over her shoulder to find Malcolm watching her. His expression had hardened, and Greer caught a glimpse of the man beneath the mask. His look became almost bullish then, his jaw tightening.

“I did,” she confirmed, even as her pulse sped up. “Bonnie Mackay has become a good friend.” Her comment was deliberately pointed. She’d never be ashamed of her love for the Mackays of Dun Ugadale, and she also wanted to see his reaction, especially after what Bonnie had told her.

Malcolm’s mouth pursed, his gaze narrowing just a little. “There’s bad blood between the Sutherlands and the Mackays, lass … ye know that?”

Greer nodded. “But not between the Forbeses and the Mackays.” It was true, the two clans were strong allies and had been for a while now.

“Aye, but once we are wed, ye won’t be making any further trips to Dun Ugadale,” he replied.

Greer’s heart kicked hard, and she swallowed.

A flinty expression settled over his face. “Ye will be a Sutherland soon,” he growled, “and we despise the Mackays.”

Greer took a sip of tart plum wine and observed her father converse with Sutherland. They were all seated at the clan-chief’s table in the great hall, enjoying a light supper of cheese, salted meat, smoked and dried herrings, and pickled onions—served with crusty bread studded with walnuts.

It was one of Greer’s favorite suppers, yet she had little appetite for it this evening.

Her gaze kept stealing to her husband-to-be.

Not because she was attracted to him, for their initial meeting hadn’t sparked any warmth within her.

Not like the first time she’d set eyes on Brodie.

The memory of that evening, when their gazes had locked in the barmkin of Dun Ugadale, would stay with her forever.

She’d tried not to think of him, yet that was impossible.

As they’d traveled northeast, leaving the Kintyre Peninsula far behind, he’d stayed with her.

She dreamed of him sometimes, lovely dreams where they practiced dueling with knives before he drew her into a passionate kiss. Greer would wake up relaxed and smiling, only to remember the truth of things.

Grief would then sit like a boulder inside her for the rest of the day.

No, she hadn’t reacted to Sutherland in the same way—although she’d never responded to anyone as she did Brodie Mackay.

Nonetheless, her husband-to-be was an enigma, and she was trying to get his measure.

Bonnie wouldn’t make up stories about him, yet he was different from how she’d imagined.

She wouldn’t be surprised if he had a brutish side—and he was certainly arrogant—but his character was more nuanced and complicated than she’d expected.

He was also clever. She marked the way Malcolm verbally sparred with her father.

They argued about hunting, about politics, and even about the best way to break in a horse.

Alexander Forbes didn’t usually tolerate others disagreeing with him, yet he indulged his future son-by-marriage.

Son-by-marriage .

Greer looked down at her barely touched supper.

Lord help her, she wasn’t ready for this.

She’d imagined she’d have some breathing time when she returned from Dun Ugadale. It mattered not though, whether she met Sutherland now or in a month’s time. Her heart was already spoken for.