Chapter 7
He might have guessed Montgomerie was her cousin.
It made perfect sense, the two of them being English, but it might have been easier to deal with a Scot. Piers was reputed to be a fair man, but he was a bloody Sassenach first, and that hadn’t changed simply because he’d wed himself to a Highland lass.
From what he recalled of the dispute Montgomerie had had with the Brodies, Montgomerie was a hard man who gave no quarter.
Known as King Henry’s lion of justice, he was rumored to have a fearful temper, particularly when defending his territory.
It was said he’d gone with sword in hand to claim Meghan Brodie from her three brothers and that none of them had dared move to stop him, so fearsome was his wrath at finding Meghan gone from his home.
He had stolen her, taken her maidenhead and claimed her for his bride.
Broc knew the Brodies well enough to know that none of them feared any man easily.
Three more stalwart brothers he’d never met.
But Piers had been ready to do battle for the woman he loved, and in the end they’d let her go.
Piers was a formidable man, but Broc knew Meghan would defend him to Piers.
And if Meghan loved Montgomerie, as Colin said she did, Montgomerie must be a good man at heart, Sassenach or nay.
And Elizabet was Piers’ own flesh and blood, after all.
He shouldn’t have to argue her position.
Montgomerie would surely champion her of his own accord.
Och, but his little harridan was lovely... though that was certainly not why he was intervening on her behalf. It was simply the right thing to do.
Only a year ago he would have loathed her for her Sassenach blood, and in truth, he might have abandoned her to her fate, but much had happened to soften his anger.
He still did not trust the English, and he thought King David of Scotia a fool for dealing with Henry, for the English would stop at nothing to bring Scotia to its knees.
But neither could Broc any longer justify his once blind hatred.
He was wary of men like Montgomerie, to be sure, but he could no longer despise them simply for their birth.
And anyway, some good had come of Piers’ settlement here.
A tentative peace had come to their clans.
No longer were ancient feuds, such as that between the MacKinnons and the MacLeans, nursed.
No longer did Montgomerie and Brodie war upon one another.
Marriage had brought unity to their peoples.
Together, the MacLeans, MacKinnons, Brodies and Montgomerie had stood against Page’s bastard da.
Broc made his way quickly through the woods, telling himself that she would be safe until his return. Though the night was almost too dark to travel, he didn’t need much light to make his way. He knew these border woods well.
He heard the voices before he saw them as he broke into the clearing near Montgomerie’s manor, and he retreated into the woods to assess the scene before continuing.
In the courtyard, two men on horseback sat their mounts before Montgomerie. Another man stood talking to Piers, and beside them, stretched out upon the ground, lay two bodies. Huddled together on the steps with the newlyweds, Colin and Seana, Broc spied Meghan, with her hand covering her mouth.
Montgomerie held in his hand a parchment, reading from it, and Broc awaited Montgomerie’s reaction.
Two men were dead, he realized. He had very likely killed one of them, but not two.
John had been alive when he’d fled with Elizabet. He was certain of it. He hadn’t even used his blade upon the lad, only the butt of his dagger. There was no way he could have killed him. No possible way.
His first consideration was for Elizabet; he had promised her that her brother was alive and well, that he would suffer no more than a headache. How could he return and tell her that he had been mistaken? That he had killed her brother, in truth?
Or had he?
Christ.
If someone had meant Elizabet harm, then so too could he have intended the same for John. Broc must have given the bowman a perfect opportunity.
Remaining at the forest’s edge, he moved closer to the party, trying to listen to their discourse, keeping to the trees. But he couldn’t get near enough to hear what they were saying, and he grew frustrated.
Who were they blaming?
Deep down, he knew.
This did not bode well for him. They would band together, he realized.
Were they all in league together?
A million questions hammered at his brain.
Montgomerie finished the parchment and rolled it very deliberately, fury evident in his gesture. One hand fell to his side, and he clenched it, forming an angry fist.
Broc moved closer, his heart hammering within his chest as Montgomerie spoke sharply to the men mounted before him. One of them rattled off an explanation that Broc could scarce hear—bits and pieces only.
“Came from nowhere,” he heard. And then, “Took us unawares... stole Elizabet... killed John and Edmund.”
Broc’s gaze fell once more to the bodies lying upon the ground.
Liars!
He moved nearer, as close as he dared without risking discovery.
“Fetch my horse!” Montgomerie shouted, his tone fraught with anger. “Gather men at once! Meet me before the stables!”
He spun toward the manor as his men scattered to heed his command, leaving Elizabet’s traveling companions to await his return. When he was gone, the three of them spoke in low tones to one another, though at this distance, it was impossible to hear what they were saying.
“I’ll gather my own men and search the north woods,” Colin announced and then turned to kiss his bride upon the cheek.
He lingered, as though speaking softly at her ear, and then Meghan reached out to embrace her new sister in marriage.
The two of them held each other as Colin turned and left them upon the stairs.
What the hell was he going to do about Elizabet?
Broc didn’t feel confident about going to Piers anymore. He scarce knew the man, and neither did Piers know him. Why should he take Broc’s side when it was Broc’s word against three of his own compatriots—one of them Elizabet’s own kinsmen.
Searching for the bowman, Broc looked closer, trying to make out their faces, but he could barely see more than their silhouettes against the torches lit behind them. He recognized Piers more than aught else by his stature and voice. He was one of the few men who stood nearly as tall as Broc.
Should he come forward to Colin? If he did, he would be forced to hand Elizabet over to Piers.
He was certain Colin would bid him do so.
And in doing so, he would place Elizabet once more in danger.
He couldn’t expect Colin to keep his confidence in such a serious matter.
He would risk a blood feud between Piers and Meghan’s brothers.
In that vein, he couldn’t take Elizabet to Iain either. The last thing he wanted to do was force his own laird to take a stand against Montgomerie. This wasn’t Iain’s problem. Christ and be damned. It wasn’t his either, but what options did he have?
None, it seemed, except to return to Elizabet and tell her what happened.
Except that her brother was dead now, and Broc couldn’t prove it wasn’t by his hand.
The riders were beginning to disperse now, and he didn’t want to lead them to Elizabet, so he thought it best to go.
Cursing himself for the mess he had managed to embroil himself in, he turned and fled into the woods.
Not daring to look back, he raced through the forest, weaving blindly through the trees in the darkness, relying on instinct to guide him.
Only one thing did he know for certain. No longer at stake was her life alone. Regardless of whether or not he chose to let her go, the blame for her brother’s death would fall to Broc, and the peace that had fallen over the MacKinnon, Brodie, and Montgomerie clans would be no more.
No doubt, his laird would stand behind him, as would Colin.
Piers might love his wife, but Elizabet and her brother John were his own flesh and blood, and he would surely champion them.
Unless Broc could bring John’s murderer to light, his own clan would be forced to take up arms against Montgomerie—and mayhap Colin against his sister’s husband.
Broc couldn’t bear to have the blood of his kinsmen on his hands, but neither could he in good conscience simply hand Elizabet over to her murderer.
Not to mention the fact that Elizabet would likely name him as her brother’s murderer along with her Sassenach companions, and where would that leave him?
When he reached the hovel, he was drenched in his own sweat and reluctant to go in. He fell upon his knees to catch his breath.
What the bloody hell was he supposed to say when he faced her? Her trust in him was tentative at best. No matter how he looked at the situation, he was damned either way. Och, but what a pretty kettle of fish he had boiled himself within.
It made a man wish he’d never gotten out of bed.