Chapter Eleven
Brann
August
B rann strode through the crowd on the Highland Games field, dodging people, semi-aware of how good the attendance was this year, but his mind was elsewhere. Get to the competitors’ tent and make sure everyone is present and correct. Dressed in his thick boots, kilt and tight t-shirt with the legend Brawny Briars printed in bold across the back, he flexed his fingers, eager to get on with the competition.
He’d almost reached the tent when he caught sight of a group of people laughing so loudly the sound carried over the other chat, the rumble of generators, and the distant sound of someone practising a tune on the bagpipes. Without giving them much of a thought, he made to bypass them, only to hear his name being called. He knew so many people in the town it came as no surprise to be claimed left, right and centre. Already, he’d said good morning to about twelve people. Turning to do the same again, his gaze landed on a portly man wearing tweed plus fours and a matching waistcoat. Oh great. Harrison’s likening of Rupert Chattan-Blythe to Toad of Toad Hall wasn’t far off. Beside him was a young man with dark hair, tall and slim but broad shouldered. He had on a white shirt and a pair of almost salmon-coloured trousers. Taking the piss out of someone’s clothes was pretty low, but Brann couldn’t help an internal snigger. These posh folks sure dressed in weird get-ups. Brann wouldn’t be caught dead in trousers like that. The man looked about ten years younger than him. He couldn’t imagine his ten-year younger self having any desire to dress like that.
Then it clicked. He’d seen that man before with Ophelia. He was the one they wanted to marry her off to.
Rupert was waving as if to beckon Brann over. He didn’t really have time for this and was on the verge of walking on when he noticed Ophelia in the group, dressed in a slick riding jacket and her trademark tight jodhpurs and high boots. Her face was red, like she was on the verge of an explosion, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her narrowed eyes and fixed jaw were directed at Rupert’s wife. The one with the weird name. Brann had only met her once and had been treated to her death stare.
‘Brann,’ Rupert called again. ‘Just want to wish you the best of luck today. I understand you’re team leader for the tug-of-war team again this year.’
‘I am… And, er, thanks.’ He made to keep walking.
‘You know my cousin is the Earl of Dairvin and chieftain of the games,’ Rupert went on. ‘He’d be delighted to have you in his tent for drinks later. I can arrange that with him.’
‘Right.’ Brann ran his hands through his hair. ‘Maybe we should wait and see if we win first.’
‘Last year’s performance against the Highland Haulers was so close,’ Rupert said. ‘I have a good feeling about this year.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right, I should—’
‘I’m not sure you know everyone,’ Rupert spoke over Brann.
Ophelia caught his eye and gave him a commiserating look. ‘Yes, father, he does,’ she said. ‘And I’m sure he has training or something to do, so you should let him get on.’
‘Have you met James?’ Rupert waved his hand, ignoring her and indicating pink-trouser man. ‘James, this is Brann, a local builder and team leader of the Brawny Briars tug-of-war team.’
‘Yeah, we met vaguely a while back,’ Brann said.
‘James is the executive manager of Duchan Fayre,’ Rupert said, then leaned closer to Brann and added quietly, ‘Also my future son-in-law, with any luck.’
Brann’s gaze met Ophelia’s again and, although she couldn’t have heard what Rupert said, she clearly got the gist. Her cheeks reddened and her eyes flashed scarlet. That look could slay someone from twenty metres, but no one else seemed to notice.
‘Listen, it’s good to see you, but I need to get the team organised.’
Rupert genially thumped him on the back. ‘Off you go then, and good luck. We’re counting on you to get a win for the town.’
‘We’ll do our best.’ Brann glanced around the group and, as his eyes moved from James to Ophelia, he flicked her a quick wink. When he strode away, he sensed her eyes boring into him like a drill in his back.
Once he reached the competitors’ tent, he pushed Ophelia out of his mind. Why the hell did he keep thinking about her anyway? She would marry that posh dude and that was that. Why should he care what she did? She’d shafted him with the wages, run off to Edinburgh, and not even had the courage to tell him to his face.
Forget about her.
‘Ok, folks,’ he said to the team. ‘Let’s get warmed up.’
‘Your daughter came looking for you.’ Finlay dusted his hands together.
‘What did she want?’ Brann asked.
‘Not sure. But I don’t think she was that thrilled about seeing me.’
Brann smirked. Finlay was her P.E. teacher. ‘I’ll message her later. She said she was coming to watch. She probably wants some spending money.’
With eight teams competing this year, there was potentially three matches to win, though they could be knocked out straight away. The first tug was less than twenty minutes away.
‘It’s good conditions so far,’ Brann said. ‘Not too sunny and no rain either, though it’s forecast for later.’
They headed onto the field to cheers and shouts. Brann made a point of never looking at the crowd before a match. He didn’t need to know who was watching and sometimes it was better to pretend no one was. His skin prickled with the same sensation he’d had earlier. Somewhere in the crowd, Ophelia’s eyes had found him. He stayed focused; if he looked up, his gaze would land on her, though he didn’t know where she was. A sixth sense would guide him there.
The tug started as a tussle and Brann yelled at the team to hold fast. The opponents tired first, and the Brawny Briars yanked them over the line, meaning they progressed into the semis. Two other teams waited to go on as the victorious Briars returned to the tent. Brann saw the muscly Highland Haulers striding out. They looked as unbeatable as ever.
‘We’ve got ninety minutes before the next round, so let’s take a breather. Go and have some fun with your families and we’ll meet back here in just over an hour.’
Brann pulled out his phone to message Caitlin and wandered out of the tent. He headed around the arena, half watching the Highland Haulers in action and half looking out for Caitlin. If she’d been watching his match, she’d probably be around here somewhere.
After he’d hung around for a few moments, his phone buzzed.
CAITLIN: I watched your match, but I went straight to watch the horses. Some of my friends are in the competitions.
Brann winced, and his chest ached. If only he had the means to let Caitlin get riding lessons and a horse. He’d chatted to the woman who ran the stables at Glenvorneth, but the ballpark figures she’d given him for livery were sky high. He’d already investigated the other farm Caitlin had mentioned and while she could get lessons there, she’d have to wait for the new term.
He made his way towards the horse arena. A few marquees were set up behind it, with rows of trailers parked nearby. People on horseback rode by and others led horses. As he scanned the crowd, his gaze fell on exactly the person he didn’t want to see but subconsciously knew he’d find no matter what. Wherever she went, he was drawn to her, even when he wasn’t trying. She wasn’t alone. Beside her was Dagmar, the stable worker from Glenvorneth, in a very smart riding outfit too, almost unrecognisable from the jeans, messy jackets and wellies she usually sported. Her extremely long hair was plaited and coiled into a low bun. Both she and Ophelia had spotted him. Ophelia tried to act like she hadn’t seen him, but Dagmar gave him a flicker of a smile.
‘Hi.’ Brann focused on her, cold-shouldering Ophelia. Well, why not? She’d have walked past him if they’d been alone. He was sure.
‘Hi.’ Dagmar gave him an almost distracted wave.
‘Are you competing today?’ he asked.
‘Yes. In several categories.’
‘Good luck.’
‘Thanks.’
A couple of people walked by and said hello. One of them caught Dagmar by the arm and started speaking to her.
Brann switched his attention to Ophelia and raised his eyebrows. ‘And what about you? Are you in for the best in show heiress category?’
Ophelia narrowed her eyes. ‘You think you’re so funny, don’t you?’
‘I’m a damn sight more amusing than a woman who decides not to pay my wages for several weeks and then runs off, leaving some other poor minion to tell me. Wouldn’t you say so?’
Ophelia put her hands on her hips and looked away, shaking her head. ‘Is that what you think happened?’
‘No, it’s what I know happened.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wrong again.’
‘Oh yeah? Another of your games?’
‘My games?’
‘Yeah, it’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it?’ He leaned slightly closer, catching a whiff of her sweet floral perfume over the strong horse smell. ‘Playing your little games with me. Only this time you went too far.’
‘No, Brann.’ She gaped at him. ‘That’s not what—’
Dagmar tapped Ophelia’s arm. ‘I need to go.’
‘Oh, sure,’ Ophelia said. ‘Can I catch you up? I have something important to tell Brann. It won’t take a minute; I’ll see you at the arena.’
‘I can’t hang about to play,’ Brann said. ‘I’m meeting someone.’
Ophelia waited until the crowd swallowed Dagmar, then took Brann by the wrist and tugged him in between two marquees.
‘What’s this all about?’ he said. She let go of him, and he smirked. ‘You trying to drag me somewhere private so you can kiss me again? This is a bit risky.’ He nodded his head at the passing crowds.
‘No, Brann!’ Her jaw set like a bulldog clip. ‘That’s not what I want.’
‘Really? That’s surprising. I thought you were a regular little Lady Chatterley who couldn’t get enough rough to satisfy you.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Or what? You’ll get your pink-trousered boyfriend to come and kick my butt? I’d do it myself if I were you. You’ve got more balls than him.’
‘Leave him out of it. He’s a nice guy, and he is not my boyfriend.’
‘I forgot. He’s just someone you’re going to marry for his money. Well, if you think I’m going to be your bit on the side, forget it. Once I’m done with the fences at Glenvorneth, you and I are through. I’m only doing them because I got paid upfront, but if money’s run out, I can’t risk not getting paid again.’
‘That’s what I want to talk to you about. That wage thing was nothing to do with me. I didn’t know you hadn’t been paid. As soon as I found out, I made sure you got your money.’
‘So, you’re telling me the money was sitting there, but no one bothered to pay me? Sounds pretty nuts to me.’
‘No. I paid you from my own money because my father spent your wages… elsewhere.’
Brann stared at her and ran his fingers through his hair, his insides sagging. ‘You shouldn’t have to do that.’
‘Oh, but I do. My life is wrapped up in the estate. Once the livery is running again, we should start making money, and I want to invest that into more repairs. So I am begging you not to leave us. I don’t want to have to hunt for new builders or get a reputation as someone who doesn’t pay.’
‘You’ve changed your tune. A few months ago, you told me we weren’t a good fit and you didn’t want me working for you.’
‘I was wrong.’ Her expression lost its usual confidence. She seemed almost desperate. ‘As I have been about a lot of things. You’re good at what you do.’
Brann looked away, not sure what to say. ‘How do I know your father won’t do the same thing again?’
‘You don’t. And neither do I, but I think I got the message through.’
She didn’t sound convinced.
‘Ok. I’ll do it, but I better keep getting the money upfront.’
She met his eyes and nodded, wrapping her arms about herself and shivering slightly. Brann’s fingers itched to reach out to her, but he didn’t dare. ‘Thank you. I’ll see that you do.’
‘Ok.’ He pulled an uncertain face, suddenly unable to find words to fill the silence. ‘I gotta go.’
‘Yeah. Good luck with the match.’
‘Thanks.’ He gave her a brief look, then marched off into the crowd, wandering about aimlessly for a moment or two, forcing himself forward because the urge to go back to her burned him like a blowtorch.
‘Hey, Dad!’
He spun around, spotting Caitlin with a group of girls. With a groan, he approached. He hated being in the midst of her teenage friends.
‘Took you long enough to find me,’ she said.
‘Yeah. I kept bumping into people.’
‘See you in a bit,’ she said to her friends.
Brann put his arm around her. ‘Everything ok?’
‘Yeah. Kind of. I just saw this girl from the theatre club hanging about. She’s riding in a competition. I hate her. She’s always spreading rumours about people, and she loves herself because she goes to some posh girls’ school.’
‘Well, keep out of her way. Leave the posh girls to mind their own business and you stick to yours.’
If only he could follow his own advice.