Chapter Thirty-Three
Ronan woke up with a start, knowing he was in danger, though he couldn’t quite recall why. It didn’t take him long to remember what had happened the night before. At least he hoped it was only the night before.
He couldn’t be sure how long he’d been out, but it was day now. Bright sun filtered through the forest, bathing everything in bright green light that seemed to pierce directly into his aching skull.
Ronan raised his hand to shade the sun so he could take in his surroundings, not that there was much to see. His arm didn’t reach his face before a chain pulled taut and dug into his wrist.
Ronan didn’t know where the chain had come from, but it looked as though it had long served its purpose. It was rusted through in many places, and it appeared someone had bent the links to take up for the missing bits.
He gave the chain a good tug, expecting it to break apart under his strength, but the chain proved stronger than it looked, for it held. The clinking of the chains must have alerted his uncle to his wakefulness, for he came around a crumbling wall with a smile on his smug face.
“Good day, nephew. Welcome to my home,” he said in a lilted greeting. “Temporary as it may be.”
Ronan had been on Grant lands when Ewan had found him. He probably hadn’t been far away to happen by Ronan where he slept. The bit of forest where he’d stopped ran the length of a cliff where the old castle had clung until the years and weather had worn it down and Strathspey had been built.
“The ruins of Brahstraud.”
“Aye. Remember how we used to play about here as lads with our wee wooden swords fighting off the English invaders?”
“I remember. It seems you had more honor back then than now.” Ronan lifted the chain, making it rattle. “At least, until you were about twelve.”
Ewan narrowed his gaze on Ronan.
“What happened when I was twelve?”
Ronan stared him right in the eye when he spoke, watching for some sign he was wrong.
“When you tried to drown me.”
Ewan’s brows went up, and his lips pulled up in a sinister grin.
“Ye finally puzzled it out, did you? That took a fair amount of time.”
“Why would I have had reason to assume such a thing? We’d been friends, nay, we’d been brothers.”
“Nay,” Ewan sneered. “If we’d been brothers, I would have been heir because I was older than you.”
“You can’t truly want to run the clan. You’ve never shown any great skill in leading and no interest in the duty that comes of it.”
“True enough. I don’t wish to be bothered by the clansmen’s squabbles or whether the larders are stocked enough to get through winter.
But my father was laird, and it should be my birthright.
You moved away to the MacPhersons. Even when you were old enough to return, you chose not to.
It is true it’s my fault you had to wed that Innes bitch, but you just left again.
And even if you had died in France, I still wouldn’t have been heir.
Not when that witch was carrying your babe. ”
Ronan was fine to let the man blabber on until nightfall, despite the pain and stiffness that had settled into his leg, but when Ewan spoke of the child Brenna was carrying, Ronan couldn’t help but react.
Ewan laughed cruelly and shrugged. “I managed to take care of that.”
Rage the likes Ronan had never known burned through his veins as he pulled at the chains.
“You bastard! What did you do to my child?”
“I sought a wise woman in another village who gave me an herb for such things. She warned too much would end the mother as well, but I used all of it, and while it was a close thing for a few days, your wife lived.” Ewan seemed mildly disappointed as if rain had doused his plans for the day.
Ronan had chastised his wife for banishing this demon from the castle. He’d already thought himself the lowest of the low for not reading her letters and forcing her to deal with such heartache alone. But now this?
He felt the shame of his betrayal tenfold, and it manifested as anger for this monster who had caused so much pain for anyone who had the misfortune to be caught in his path.
It was then Ronan heard a low moan from somewhere in the shadows.
It was a woman. Ronan searched the darkness, wanting desperately to see who made the sound.
Was it his wife? Did Ewan have Brenna held captive as well?
“What have you done?” Ronan asked through clenched teeth.
“Ah. Now that you should be thanking me for.” Ewan left and returned with a slim woman with straggled blond hair. Not Brenna then, but his relief was short. Whoever the woman was didn’t deserve this fate. She raised her head, and it took Ronan much too long to recognize her.
“Mother?”
She hadn’t changed much in the years since he’d seen her last. It was seeing her in a such a state that made it difficult. He’d rarely seen his mother with a hair out of place and in the best gowns his stepfather could afford.
Seeing her now, dirty, disheveled, and clearly ill, was a shock.
The smock she wore had once been light blue, but blood stained the front from the left shoulder to her slim waist. MacKenzie had said she’d taken a dagger when fleeing his home. From the grayish cast of her skin, it seemed that injury had festered and poisoned her.
“Ronan?” his mother said in a breathy voice. A smile graced her face briefly and, in that moment, he saw the mother of his memories, the one that got whatever she wanted with that smile, fake as it might be.
“What has happened?”
She looked down and shook her head. “I only fell on a branch…” She faded off with the lie when Ewan laughed.
“The MacKenzie didn’t take kindly to her plan to rob him, and she took a dagger. Your bride refused to treat her wounds.”
“That’s not true,” Deirdre spat.
Ronan wasn’t sure if he could believe anything either of them told him.
“Lady Brenna and Moira tended the wound and stitched it. It was just that your wife locked me up in a bed chamber for your return. So I escaped, and during my retreat, I was thrown from the horse, breaking the stitches.”
“You need to return to Strathspey so they can see to you,” he said as if this were an option. There was no way Ewan would allow his mother to ride off to the castle only to tell everyone where Ewan was hiding with the laird held his captive.
Instead of responding, she turned to Ewan. “Ye said you wouldn’t hurt him.” His mother pointed to Ronan’s hands, which were now covered in blood where the chains had dug into his skin.
Ronan wanted to laugh. For all his mother’s worldly pursuits, she was incredibly naive to think Ewan’s plans wouldn’t end in death for both of them.
“He caused those wounds himself,” Ewan said in a soothing voice. “He will be fine. We’ll use him to get the ransom as planned, and then you and I will escape to England. I’ll buy you the finest jewels. Just as I promised.”
His mother smiled and nodded rather wobbly. “Then let’s do it soon, for I don’t wish to sleep in the forest another night. I’ve grown chilled.”
Ronan wanted to point out she was most likely fevered as the day had grown warm. Instead, he tried to reason with her. “Mother, he doesn’t plan to ransom me off and leave Scotland. He wants to be laird, for whatever reason. He plans to kill me and take over the clan.”
His mother looked at Ewan with the shrewdness only another liar could muster.
“He is daft,” Ewan crooned. “Our plan is already underway.”
“Meaning you’ve sent a messenger to the castle demanding a price? Who? Who did you send, uncle? Did you send a note? Do you have a pot of ink and parchment here in your castle? Or mayhap a scribe since you never took much to writing.” Ronan taunted the man.
At the sharp kick to his ribs, he realized mockery probably wasn’t his best plan, but he needed his mother to see the truth. And if she couldn’t see it in its entirety, he would point out the smaller clues.
“Who do you plan to send?” Deirdre asked with wide eyes. She looked almost surprised that she hadn’t considered this. “I can’t sit a horse. How do you plan for us to ride off to England?”
Good. His mother was puzzling out the lies.
“God. He’s telling the truth. Ye plan to kill him and take over as heir of the Grants.”
“Stop your fussing, woman.” Ewan’s mask dropped, and the manipulating rogue was gone, leaving behind a feckless viper. His mother was in danger, and she was still observant enough to see it.
She immediately changed course. “You’re right. It makes no sense that you would want such a responsibility. Emptying their coffers and fleeing to live a life of luxury with me is a much better plan.”
Ronan wanted to point out how neither of the plans required Deirdre and that she was in a precarious position. Though he wouldn’t call out his mother for trying to save herself, he wanted her to know who she had sided with.
“This man killed your grandson. A defenseless babe, still in the womb.”
For a moment, it seemed his mother had turned away, not caring what Ronan had said. But then, with more energy than he thought she still managed, she turned back to Ewan with a dagger in hand.
A loud cry left her lips, the volume that would make even the strongest war chief proud, and she ran at Ewan, blade out.
“Mother, no!” Ronan yelled, having seen the knife Ewan held at the ready. But it was too late to change the path she was on. Her dagger was deflected, causing only a cut along Ewan’s arm while his sunk deep in his mother’s chest.
She dropped to the stone a few feet from Ronan. “I’m sorry, lad. Sorry for it all.” She blinked. “You were never to blame for what happened.”
And with that, her eyes—the color of the Highland skies in September—hazed over in death.
“It was a merciful thing,” Ewan spoke, barely breaking the silence that had fallen over them when his mother’s raspy breaths had stopped. “The wound to her shoulder had poisoned her blood. She’d not have lived much longer anyway.”
Ronan had seen the pallor of death on many men in France, and for once Ewan was not lying. He’d known his mother was not long for this world. But he’d not allow Ewan to pretend he’d done anything for the mercy of another human being.
Rather than argue with the lout, Ronan closed his eyes and thought of all the happy times he’d had with his wife.
If he was to die, he wanted to do so thinking of Brenna.
He’d never have the chance to beg her forgiveness.
Perhaps he would be destined to spend eternity a restless soul. It was what he deserved.
***
It was growing dark when Brenna and the warriors came upon Brahstraud.
Will had told them tales of playing there with Ewan and Ronan as a child. It offered shelter despite it having fallen to ruin nearly a century ago. They’d left the horses behind, and moved on foot, not wanting to give Ewan any warning of their attack.
But as they crested the small rise that dropped off with a view to the ruins, they encountered another problem.
“This is the only way in,” Gabe said, having investigated the entire perimeter. “Until we make it down to them, the laird’s throat will be cut. ’Tis a proper defense Ewan’s set up here,” the man added, sounding begrudgingly impressed.
Will nodded once before casting a serious gaze on her. “We’ll need an archer to take him down.”
“From this distance?” Hugh asked still looking out over the ledge. “To miss will mean death for the laird. Either because Ewan will have time to respond, or because Ewan’s standing too close to the laird and we could hit him by accident.”
Will was still watching her, and she knew what he would say before he spoke. “Brenna can make that shot.”
Gabe and Malcolm both nodded as Hugh winced. “She’ll not be hunting a wee rabbit, Will.”
“I’d say a rabbit moves faster and is a smaller target than Ewan makes,” Malcolm put in.
“Aye, but if she misses a rabbit, the stew may be a little thin, but no one loses their life.”
It was true enough and only what Brenna had been thinking since Will had honed his gaze on her. She looked down through the narrow opening where Ewan paced on the far side of her husband.
She waited a moment to hear them discuss another plan, but when she turned back, they were all still looking at her expectantly. There was no other plan.
The foundation of the old castle clung to a cliff. Rubble from the larger towers had fallen, blocking off most of the one side. Gabe was right. This was their only chance.
She was Ronan’s only chance.
“I shall not miss,” she said, hoping speaking it would make it so. “We need to hurry before our light is gone.”
Gabe retrieved her bow and arrows and held them out to her. She wiped her damp hands down her skirt before taking the weapon with shaking hands.
If she missed, it wouldn’t only be her husband’s demise. Ewan would become laird of the Grants, and many other good people would suffer.
She could not fail. Everyone was counting on her.