Chapter Six
Ronan wanted to be angry at his brother for the slow pace he kept.
As soon as they’d crossed over into Scotland, Ronan had wished to nudge Brimstone into a trot, all the faster to get home.
But he couldn’t. His injured leg was troubling him something wretched, and a faster pace would be excruciating.
And yet Shane meandered, making it seem their speed was at his request rather than Ronan couldn’t keep up.
While Ronan’s leg was a constant reminder of their time at war, he’d not complain, for Shane’s pain was not physical. He’d lost a wife in France and had not been the same since.
Shane was a good brother. He’d kept Ronan alive the last five years they’d fought in France. And now they were both going home or instead to their respective clans. Ronan had called the MacPherson clan home for the ten years before he left, but now he’d return to take over as laird for the Grants.
He’d gotten word from his grandsire in July it was time to come home.
The missive had arrived only days before Shane and Ronan planned to leave France anyway.
Geordie would have only written such a message if the situation had been dire.
Ronan hoped to arrive in time to say his goodbyes, but their slow pace had made that unlikely.
And now, somehow, Ronan would be expected to rule his clan, which he hadn’t called his own in many years. It wasn’t only the duty to his people that awaited him at Strathspey, but his duty as husband to Brenna. His wife. The thin lass he’d left only hours after consummating their marriage.
As he had many nights looking up at the stars, waiting for sleep to claim him, he tried to conjure an image of his wife’s face.
He recalled hazel eyes—green shot with amber and gold—but he couldn’t recall the tilt of her brows or the curve of her lips.
He remembered her being quick to laugh but couldn’t summon the sound.
It had simply been too long. His grandfather had told him to bed her and forget her, and while the suggestion had seemed vile at the time, Ronan feared it had come to pass without his realizing it.
But once he was home, he would have plenty of time to relearn everything about her. Including the intimate knowledge they’d shared that one night. It had been a difficult five years, but he’d remained faithful to his vows while away.
“Are ye ready to be home?” Shane asked on their last day together.
“In some ways,” Ronan answered as honestly as he could. He worried about the reunion with his wife. She would surely hate him for leaving without a word. “What of you?” he asked Shane rather than overthinking what awaited him at Strathspey.
Shane shook his head. “I am not ready to be laird. I just got done being captain. The last thing I want is people yipping their complaints at me all day. It may sound selfish, but I wish I could have time to myself.”
“Ye are welcome to my cottage if ye wish a respite before returning to the castle and all the responsibilities that await you there. A rest would be well deserved.”
“What things are you looking forward to on your return?” Shane asked.
The first thing that came to mind at the question was sharing a bed with his wife, but he didn’t answer as such, mainly because his brother didn’t know Ronan was wed.
It seemed silly now, but when they’d left, Ronan worried Shane might not take him along if he’d known Ronan had just married the day before their departure. So he’d not mentioned it.
Later, when it would have been too late for Shane to return him to the Grants’s, their discussions had turned to other things. Eventually, Ronan felt too much time had gone by to bring it up, and what did it matter anyway?
When Shane married, Ronan saw the man change from a gruff soldier to a doting husband. Much like Shane’s father had with Ronan’s mother. Ronan would not fall prey to such a demise. He might respect his wife as he should, but he’d never lose his heart or head in such a way.
If Ronan had met an untimely end, Shane would have sent word to Strathspey, and Geordie could have told the clan what happened.
Not long ago, Ronan worried such a letter would be dispatched.
After he’d injured his leg, he’d lain in fever for several days.
Shane later told him he was sure he’d be returning from France alone.
Fortunately, Ronan had lived. In his fevered state, he’d dreamed of many unsettling things, but it was the fact he would die without having read the words his wife had written to him in the few letters he’d received.
Letters that remained unopened in his pack even now.
Eventually, he and Shane reached the place on their journey where they would part ways.
“Do you wish me to see you home to Strathspey?”
They’d watched over each other, fighting back-to-back, for the last five years. Their subsequent battles, whatever they be, would be faced alone. “Nay, brother. We both have duties waiting for us. I’ll not keep you from yours.”
Shane cleared his throat. “Speaking of that, I may take you up on the offer of your cottage for a few days before stepping into the duty that awaits me. I feel I could use…some time…to prepare.”
Ronan nodded. “That sounds like a suitable plan. You’re welcome to my home for as long as you need.” After all, Ronan’s home was with the Grants now. He nodded toward the east where the Grant lands lay. “I will no longer need it.”
“Mayhap when you come to visit,” Shane suggested.
With a clasping of bracers and a hearty pat on the back, they left each other to head off to their fates.
“Godspeed, brother.”
“May we both have the strength to find our happiness,” Ronan answered and stood watching until his brother was out of sight before turning Brimstone toward home and everyone who waited for him there.
After making camp for the night, Ronan continued for home the following day.
A cool rain made Ronan’s leg ache, causing him to pull Brimstone into a slower walk and extend his travels even longer.
He’d wanted to spend the night on Grant lands, but as evening fell, he knew he’d not make it that day.
Surely, the following day, he’d be able to breathe in the mountain air of his home.
Knowing he was only a day from seeing the towers of Strathspey on the horizon brought a smile to his face despite the grim day.
He was about to stop to make camp when he saw a man walking along the path toward him.
As he drew closer, the man looked up, and Ronan was hit with recognition, though his tired mind couldn’t quite make the connection—not until the man smiled.
Despite the raw wound on his jaw, Ronan realized it was his dear uncle.
“Ewan!” he shouted as the man laughed. It was good to see a familiar face, even if it was significantly changed.
The man had not aged well. His muscles had gone to waste.
His eyes, once filled with mirth, were red-rimmed and bloodshot.
Ronan knew this as the telltale trait of a man who spent too many hours in his cups.
Ronan recalled his wedding day and the way Ewan had been drunk. It seemed the man had spent much of the last five years in the same state.
“Nephew! I’d expected you’d be coming home this way. I’d hoped she’d sent word your dear grandsire has passed.”
“The laird wrote to me when he’d fallen ill. He told me it was dire that I come home but not much else.”
“Ah. Well, you’ve missed him. The funeral was long past, not that I was permitted to attend.”
Ronan moved slowly to dismount so he could look at his uncle and oldest friend. Before Ronan had spent all his days with Shane, he’d lived at Strathspey with Ewan, and the two of them were as close as brothers. They hugged, and then Ronan considered what Ewan had said.
“What do you mean you weren’t permitted to attend the funeral? Who would keep a man from mourning his father?”
“Your wife, or dare I say Queen of the Grants?”
Ronan didn’t understand. Surely, the slender lass he’d left wasn’t in charge of the clan.
“Much has changed here, Ro. Your woman is as slippery as your mother. She has honed the skill of manipulating men, and while she is not as beautiful as Deirdre, she knows how to get what she desires by casting favors on the men.”
Ronan nearly choked at the thought. His mother was a wily woman, but she’d only manipulated one man. The laird of the MacPhersons was obsessed with Ronan’s mother from the day they’d met and offered marriage the same day. Ever since, he’d done everything he could to make her happy.
Ronan had vowed never to allow a woman to claim him in the same way. Hearing his wife had learned such a skill made a chill crawl down his back.
“She did this.” Ewan pointed at the angry cut across his face.
“Ones on my arm, wrist, and chest, too. I barely escaped her attack with my life. Like a venomous spider, she came to my chamber to rid herself of the only competition to her rule while I slept. Then had her men cast me out. Threatened a rope if I stepped back on Grant lands ever again. Left me with nothing. Not even a knife to hunt with or put myself out of my misery.”
“The slip of a lass I left here has done all this?” Ronan couldn’t believe it. Ewan might have been rowdy, but he’d never been one to lie. This story seemed beyond anything one could conjure up. So absurd, it must be true.
“You know well how women get when they are desperate. And how they come into their powers of seduction as they grow into womanhood.”
“Seduction? Brenna? You jest.”
But Ewan shook his head. “You left a knotted-haired mess of a girl when you escaped to France. You return to a bonny temptress.”
“And she’s seduced men while I was at war?” he asked, his blood churning as his anger grew. He’d spent years aching with need and held tight to his vows while she’d warmed her bed with his clansmen?
“Aye. I’m ashamed to say I almost fell for her charms but stopped myself because of my fealty to you, nephew.”
“And the rest of the Grants? Who do they pledge fealty to?”
Ewan rubbed his jaw and shook his head. “Her claws are sharp. Many are afraid to speak against her.”
“We make camp tonight, but tomorrow we arrive together to take down the witch who has claimed our clan.”
“You won’t want to show up with me. She’ll be furious. She and her loyal guard have banished me.”
“You are my blood. She has no right to throw you out of Strathspey. You will return with me to your home.”
“Then I shall go with you and serve as advisor so we might win back what is ours, or rather yours.”
“Aye.” And Ronan would make sure his wife understood who was in charge of the Grants.