The Promise (Highland Lairds of the Crest #4)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

When Brianna had calculated the route from Dunhill to Abersoch, the Welsh estate where Darach MacTavish had mentioned he was staying, she’d made sure to include a stop at a lovely bed and breakfast along the way. A much-needed and very necessary solo retreat on the heels of her aunt and uncle’s table-side revelation. In learning the truth about the death of her parents, the news of the missing letterboxes, and even the loss of the sword, took second place. How could it not when the story she’d told herself for nearly her entire life, the premise she’d built her entire emotional value system upon had been irreparably cracked? And although she hadn’t realized it at dinner, later, when she was alone in her room, it’d become clear that everything she’d once believed had suddenly changed.

With her head spinning as Christopher told her what he’d learned about the explosion, gathered from reports filed by the coastguard, she’d sat in silence staring at the sconces on the wall behind his head. By the time he had finished, and her aunt and uncle were looking at her imploringly with eyes full of pity, Brianna had already decided her next step. The usual one. Flee.

It wasn’t the most mature reaction, but at that moment, it was all she could come up with. The thought of digging through the family archives had lost its appeal. And sadly, that welcoming and warm embrace she’d felt upon arriving, from her relatives as well as Dunhill itself, suddenly felt tainted. Settling on an out, she announced abruptly that she had a meeting with Darach MacTavish in Wales. Of course, Brianna didn’t actually have a meeting with Mr. MacTavish, but by that point what did it matter? She was in the UK, and so was he. She’d expected some pushback, for Christopher and Michelle to beg her to stay, but at the mention of Mr. MacTavish’s name, they exchanged a quick glance before turning to face her, slow smiles spreading across their faces. Oddly, her aunt and uncle seemed almost pleased with the prospect of her departure, but with so many conflicting thoughts swirling through Brianna’s head, it hadn’t occurred to her to ask why.

In fact, until that moment, Brianna hadn’t even considered crashing Mr. MacTavish’s vacation, or his business trip, or whatever it was that he was doing there. She’d been satisfied that he’d responded to her call with an invitation to meet with her when he returned to the States. It had been his response that was the motivation she’d finally needed to restart her search through her grandfather’s papers.

When she’d come up empty-handed again after her careful plunder of their entire home in the States, she booked her trip to Scotland. She was sad to be leaving Dunhill after only two nights, but it wasn’t as if the estate was going anywhere. She told herself she would visit again one day, with the express purpose of exploring its hidden depths at length as an adult. For now, though, she needed a goal, a quest, so to speak, so she’d Googled the best route to the Montgomery estate (and one that included a stop in a lovely little town along the way), then repacked her bags, already feeling a little more clear-headed at the prospect of a project.

She’d still been a bit raw that morning when she said her goodbyes, but optimistic, too. This would be good, and the reset she’d desperately needed. Her aunt and uncle had followed her to her car, then waited while she synced her phone with the car’s display, showing the route to the B&B she’d chosen. It was a little more than a six-hour drive, and Brianna was looking forward to a bit of exploration before her dinner reservation.

As she drove, her mind filled with images from those idyllic years of her life, the Camelot of her existence. Now, she wondered if she’d embellished or invented some of those memories. It was only a brief thought—she knew that she hadn’t of course. Her early childhood with her parents truly was perfect. What she was really struggling with was unearthing the old family belief in the wee bit of magic. She’d closed the door on such things long ago, but what her uncle suggested was that her memories of her parents surviving those few days floating in the sea with her wasn’t a trauma response, but proof in magic. Proof that her parents, although very dead, had somehow managed to stay with her until help arrived. It was almost too perfect—leave it to her parents to be the proof—Brianna had to smile. Not that she had decided to accept this hypothesis as true, of course, but it was nice to think that the wee bit of magic she dismissed that day happened right before her eyes.

Preoccupied with her thoughts, the time passed quickly and before she knew it, Brianna was pulling into the car park of the lodging she’d booked. It was still a couple of hours before check-in, so she left her bags with the front desk and walked the short distance into the village. It was a lovely town, and Brianna meandered in and out of a few shops, feeling the first spot of calm she’d had since dinner the night before. On her way back, she happened upon an arts and crafts fair, her favorite kind of thing to explore when she visited anywhere. Thrilled at the run-in, the new Brianna—the one who was supposed to start believing in a wee bit of magic considered that maybe it was destined.

Lost in a plethora of local treasures, she made her way up and down the rows of booths, stopping in her tracks when she spotted a gorgeous, no, stunning replica of a fifteenth-century Venetian gown on display. The dress had been cleverly styled with a large leather satchel, worn cross-body. Noble medieval chic never looked so good. Instantly drawn to the ensemble, Brianna stepped inside the tented area to get a better look, then nearly stumbled over her own feet when she saw the woman standing beside it. If Brianna had ever had a picture of a quintessential fairy queen in her head, this woman would be it. Ethereal with long hair and perfect features, wearing a stunning handcrafted gown that appeared to float around her body.

The woman smiled warmly but something about the twinkle in her eye snagged Brianna’s thoughts as she murmured hello and fixed her attention back to the display. Still a bit flustered and embarrassed, she took her time admiring the piece before moving on to the table beside it, filled with a selection of gowns, kirtles, and chemises.

“These are beautiful,” Brianna whispered to herself, as her hand brushed along the heaping piles of soft linen, wool, and silk. Examining the cuts and colors, Brianna realized the pieces all replicated styles worn throughout Europe during the late Middle Ages. The fabrics though, all spoke wealth.

The woman running the booth sidled up next to her and began rummaging through the messy, but organized piles. “These,” she said of the outfits she’d put together from undergarments to gowns. Brianna eyed the woman, her curiosity piqued—the clothing she’d picked suited her perfectly. At least it would have, were she a noblewoman circa mid-fifteenth century England. “And these,” said the woman, tossing some hose and a pair of fur-lined ankle boots atop the growing stack.

It really was fine work, almost indistinguishable from the antique designs she’d come across in her career. “These are incredible replicas,” Brianna murmured.

The woman smirked, and without breaking eye contact, plucked a few more items from the end of the table. “You’ll want these, too.”

Brianna looked down and grinned, reaching for the bags the woman had added. Never one to resist a great purse, Brianna couldn’t help but be impressed. The woman’s selections continued to be spot on. As she examined the silk and leather bags, Brianna gasped when she found a compact mirror inside a matching pouch. Even if they weren’t authentic, Brianna was smitten.

“Deal,” she said, grinning. “I’ll take them.”

“Of course, you will,” the decidedly odd—yet intriguing—woman said, taking Brianna’s credit card and running it. The receipt was printed, but before she handed it to Brianna, the woman gave a small smile, almost to herself, then made her way to the entrance of the booth, where she began defrocking the mannequin of the display gown that brought Brianna in to begin with, gently cradling both the dress and leather satchel that had hung there.

“Oh,” Brianna said, raising a hand to stop her. “I’m not sure either of those are in my budget.”

“No, they’re probably not,” the woman said. “But they’re perfect. So, it’s a gift. ”

“Oh, no,” Brianna said, waving her hand now with purpose. “I couldn’t.”

“You can,” the woman insisted.

It was such a generous gift—and from a veritable stranger at that—that Brianna, never one to feel beholden to someone, decided she’d drop some cash on the table before she left. It wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to pay for the dress, but it’d be something. She watched mutely as the woman packed everything in the leather satchel, and when Brianna took the bag from her, she clutched the bundle in her arms, feeling torn. She wasn’t sure if she should give it back—it was a very expensive piece. Simple in design, but the leather was supple and worn, without looking used. Not sure what got into her, but certain that the bag felt right in her hands, Brianna decided right then that she was keeping it. The strap went over her head, and she adjusted it cross-body like it belonged there. When she reached for her wallet again, the woman stayed her hand.

“It’s a gift, Brianna,” the woman said, and for a moment, Brianna froze. How did she know her name? Brianna looked down at her wallet and her shoulders relaxed slightly. Of course, her credit card, which the woman had just run, had “Brianna O’Roarke” printed right on it.

“You’ll make good use of them, and that will be payment enough,” the woman said.

Brianna held the woman’s gaze for a long moment. The sincerity in her voice was unmistakable, and any guile Brianna had felt previously was now gone. This was a gift, and Brianna decided she would accept it as a good omen. After a moment, she nodded and thanked the woman, before sort of floating off down the road, wondering at her new belongings, and the odd and ethereal woman who’d given them to her.

By the time she returned to the bed and breakfast, her room was ready, and her bags had been placed inside. Since she was only staying the night, there wasn’t much to unpack besides pajamas and a change of clothes for the morning. As she spread a hand towel on the marble counter to lay out her toiletries, she realized whatever tension she’d felt from her visit to Dunhill felt far away now. Relishing in her little unexpected excursion, she took her time freshening up before dinner, a lovely meal served tableside with a view of a stunning sunset through the picture windows. She capped off her night with a hot shower, and when she slipped into bed, Brianna sighed happily, sinking into a plush featherbed and fine linens.

When she awoke the next morning, Brianna felt surprisingly well-rested. Usually one to toss and turn, especially when away from home, she made a mental note to inquire about the bedding before leaving. While repacking was a bit more challenging considering yesterday’s purchases (and gifts), she didn’t regret a thing, not even the odd encounter. After a delicious breakfast, eggs Benedict served with the most divine hollandaise she’d ever tasted, Brianna decided to order a boxed lunch to take with her. One less thing to worry about, and given what she’d sampled so far, it was sure to be another win.

Refueled, she and the car, Brianna set off again, intent to hit the gates of the Montgomery property by mid-afternoon. Paying close attention to her unfamiliar surroundings, as Brianna turned down the road that led to the estate, she ran through the words she was planning to say to Mr. MacTavish. If the man even let her in. Her earlier calm started to give way to jittery nerves.

She suddenly felt apprehensive, worried that she would fail in recovering her family’s heirloom. She’d been tracking the sword for nearly two years now and finally had an opportunity to negotiate its safe return to the O’Roarke family coffers. She hadn’t even known her grandfather had sold it until after he’d died and Brianna had taken on the task of going through his papers and various collections. The shock at seeing the sword’s case empty was with her still. And now, here she was, uncertain whether she’d be able to get it back. Losing the sword itself had been one thing, but to learn that the MacTavishes were claiming that they were the rightful owners just didn’t sit well with her.

Brianna considered all of this as she parked her car and made her way up to the front door. No easy feat since the pictures she’d found of the estate online did not do it justice. Brianna had done a bit of research on the property—which was well within her purview as a historian and art collector, not that she had to justify it, but still. She’d dug into everything she could find. And call her crazy (no, don’t) but in yet another odd turn of events, she discovered that the estate’s owners, the notable Montgomery family had their own mysterious history, loose ends that, from what Brianna could tell, had never been fully tied.

Finding herself on the front steps, she paused before the doors, a stunning mahogany set, inset with leaded beveled glass, and took a deep, fortifying breath. You can do this Brianna . Time to reclaim your family’s history . Before she could talk herself out of it, Brianna rang the bell, then stepped back, hands clasped before her. The door swung open a moment later, and much to her surprise, it was Darach MacTavish himself who opened it. Naturally, she’d Googled him as well, curious about him and his wife, as well as their connection to the Montgomery family. Still, seeing him in person, this large dark-haired man with a terribly serious look, nearly an arm’s length away, was intimidating, to say the least.

“Mr. MacTavish,” she said, hating how meek she sounded. She was here to reclaim what was rightfully hers, for goodness’ sake! Get a grip, Bree!

“Miss O’Roarke,” he said, and for a moment she startled. How could he know her? But of course, the man must have done his own research. That realization made her relax slightly as Mr. MacTavish spoke again. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

It wasn’t a flat-out reprimand, but Brianna flushed all the same, hoping he’d allow her inside. If nothing else, after her long drive, the use of the restroom was necessary .

“I’m sorry to intrude,” she said, putting some strength behind her voice this time. “I know when we last spoke you said you would be in Wales at the Montgomery estate for a time.”

“And you followed me?”

She shook her head. “No, no, no,” she said, waving her hand. “I found myself at Dunhill only two nights ago. Unplanned.”

“Dar?” A soft feminine voice called. That was unexpected. Brianna hadn’t realized it was a family trip.

Mr. MacTavish stepped back and gestured Brianna inside, his attention now on the very pregnant woman who’d called his name. Brianna recognized her as his wife, Celeste, and saw how his eyes warmed, his entire expression and body language a beacon of true love. Without a word, he pulled her close to his side, then bent down and whispered something to her. It took Brianna’s ear a moment to adjust once she realized he was speaking French. “It’s Brianna O’Roarke. Christopher and Michelle’s niece.”

Celeste glanced over at Brianna, so briefly that she almost missed it. “As in…” Celeste whispered back, also in French.

Brianna, suddenly even more uncomfortable at the idea that even Celeste knew who she was, looked away just as she caught Dar nodding.

“Why is she just standing in the doorway? Have you invited her inside?”

Dar glanced back at Brianna and was about to answer when Celeste sighed. “As in all the way inside ?” she said.

“She has questions about the sword,” Dar told her. “We were supposed to meet at the end of the month.”

At this, Brianna glanced back at the pair, and when she did, she caught Celeste’s eye for a millisecond. The other woman was looking at her differently now, with a bit more wariness.

“Then why is she here ?” Celeste asked her husband. “In Wales?”

Brianna could hear them perfectly, even from across the room, but she did her best to remain aloof and pretend she didn’t understand. Might as well learn as much as she could, since it appeared the MacTavishes were being secretive. He must have sensed she was all ears because Darach glanced at her then and started speaking in a different language again. Scots Gaelic. She knew that one too, but stopped short of rolling her eyes. They’d have to do better than that if they hoped to keep her in the dark. All O’Roarkes spoke enough English, French, and Gaelic to get by, and some spoke even more. Credit all the way back to the De La Cour sisters—according to all records, Cateline had taught her nephew’s second wife, Margret, the language back in the Middle Ages, and then Margret had taught her children, and their children taught their children, and so on. And thus began the family tradition, which had since been passed down through the generations. Margret was responsible for another tradition as well. According to some letters that Brianna had come across, Margret had been the one to ensure that all O’Roarke females were proficient in some sort of weaponry, primarily used for self-defense, though at the beginning, protecting her husband Callum had been her motivation.

Brianna waited patiently, admiring the staircase to her right and an enormous ballroom that overlooked the grounds. While the MacTavishes discussed the merits of inviting her to stay, a man who by his looks had to be Darach’s father, appeared from another part of the house. He smiled warmly at her, before interrupting the couple, still deep in debate. When he spoke, he did so firmly, pointedly, and in English, obviously for her benefit.

“She’s an O’Roarke. She stays.”