Chapter 17
Too Late, I’m Afraid
The door to the convent was locked. This was something of a surprise—Brendan couldn’t ever remember the door being locked before. He forced himself to wait patiently, hearing footsteps slowly approach along the hall.
Freya’s words circled round and round in his head.
“For future reference, Brendan Grahame, I do not belong to ye, or to yer father, or to my father. I am me, and nobody owns me. I come and go as I please. Don’t ever get in my way again, or ye will be sorry.”
I am sorry, lass, he thought, lifting a shaking hand to push through his hair. I should have told ye how I felt. I should have told the truth before it was too late.
But it can’t be too late. It can’t be. I won’t believe it.
A lock clicked, and bolts slid back, and the door inched open. To Brendan’s amazement, the Abbess herself stood there.
“Oh, it’s ye, Brendan,” she said, with palpable relief. The door inched open a little further. “What brings ye here?”
“Why are ye answering the door?” Brendan asked, foolishly. “Ye are the Abbess.”
She gave a wry smile. “Ye think I am too high and mighty for chores? It’s all hands on deck today.
The infirmary is packed to bursting, and the sisters are all nervous, what with the chaos in town.
There’s danger here, and the soldiers have no respect for the women of a convent.
I thought it would be safer for me to answer the door, instead of one of our young, pretty lassies. ”
He swallowed thickly. “I… I wasn’t aware that things were so bad.”
The Abbess tilted her head, eyes glittering. “No? That’s no surprise. I am fond of ye, lad, but ye have a habit of burying yer head in the sand. Perhaps it’s time to come up for air.”
What was that supposed to mean? Brendan only pressed his lips together, meeting her eye squarely.
“I am here for Freya. We… parted badly, and I want to set things right.”
Because she is mine, my woman, and I cannot let her leave like this, not without baring my heart to her. Not without being honest, for once in my cowardly life.
The Abbess held his gaze for a long moment, and he saw pity written clearly in her eyes.
“Ye are too late, I’m afraid,” she whispered softly.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose. “What do ye mean?”
She sighed, passing a hand over her face. It was rare to see the Abbess showing any emotion beyond cool composure, but now she looked tired, tired and a little angry.
“She left a few hours ago. There was some argument with her friends here. I don’t know the details, but…”
There was a brief scuffle behind the door, and the Abbess disappeared, replaced by Senga. Brendan saw at once that Senga had been crying.
“There were harsh words exchanged, Brendan,” she said bluntly. “But we’d like to make amends. I-I never thought she’d really leave. We argue every now and then, but we always make up.”
He shook his head, panic bubbling up inside him. What wasn’t being said? What hadn’t the Abbess told him? There was something else, he knew it.
“Freya isn’t used to being forgiven,” he muttered. “Which way did she go? I’ll go after her, and try to bring her back.”
The Abbess pushed the ashen-faced Senga away. The woman was grim now, a look of warning flashing in her eyes. Any hope Brendan might have been nursing was now gone, entirely gone.
“Sister Bertha was in the garden when it happened,” the Abbess said, speaking slowly. “Freya was taken as soon as she stepped off the convent grounds. Taken by Grahame men.”
Brendan felt as though his heart was slipping downwards, into the tangle of his gut, where the life would be squeezed out of it.
“Laird Grahame has her?” he whispered.
The Abbess tightened her lips. “We must assume so. I’m sorry, Brendan. I don’t know if anything can be done. Senga wanted to go after her, but I forbade it. I won’t risk the lives of my girls.”
Brendan nodded slowly, fists clenching at his sides.
“I’ll go after her,” he heard himself say.
The Abbess blinked. “Lad, she’ll be at Keep Grahame by now.”
He smiled faintly. “Then at least I’ll know where to find her.”
“Brendan, please, reconsider.”
“I won’t, so don’t bother trying to convince me.” He half turned away, paused, then turned back. “If I don’t see ye again, Abbess, thank ye. Thank ye for everything.”
The woman stood still like a statue, then carefully inclined her head.
“Ye are a brave man, Brendan. Don’t let anyone tell ye otherwise.”
He allowed himself a tight, mirthless smile. “Och, I won’t.”
Keep Grahame was an ugly building. The forest hemmed in closely around it, cutting off much of the light. The building itself was sprawling and sharp, built of an unnatural-looking gray stone.
Perhaps it’s not so ugly, Brendan thought vaguely. Perhaps it’s only the man who rules it that makes it ugly.
There was no sign of life in the Keep, besides the soldiers standing in front of the arched front gate, and the soldiers patrolling the battlements. Brendan crouched out of sight in the forest, choosing a position that would shelter him but allow him to keep an eye on the place.
He’d been waiting for close to half an hour, and it was getting unbearable.
There was nothing to indicate that Freya was inside, but he knew, in his heart, that she was.
Laird Grahame would be furious at her betrayal, and simply killing her or returning her to her father would never be an option.
She would have to uphold her end of the bargain. She would be his, one way or another.
He shivered.
Brendan wasn’t enough of a fool to go stalking into the Keep himself, so he’d collared a boy and sent him in with a message for Noah. Had his message gone astray? If so, he would probably only find out when a parcel of soldiers jumped on him.
On cue, a familiar figure strode out through the gates, head up and gaze snapping around. The soldiers on guard jumped to attention as he walked past, but he barely seemed to notice.
Brendan put his hand to his mouth, making a muffled bird cry. Noah glanced his way and hurried over, diving into the undergrowth beside him.
“Were ye followed?” Brendan whispered.
“Not that I know of, but ye can never tell in this place. Ye are back, Brendan! I’m glad to see ye, lad. When ye said ye would come back, I…” he paused, shaking his head. “Some of my men thought ye were lying, saying whatever I wanted to hear to get me away, but I believed in ye.”
Brendan glanced away, ashamed. “Ye give me too much credit, Noah. Look, is the lassie here or not?”
“Lass?”
“Freya McInnes,” Brendan added, impatiently. “She was taken from a convent not too far from here by Grahame soldiers.”
Noah bit his lip, eyeing Brendan for a long moment.
“Ye aren’t here because of yer promise to me at all, are ye? Ye are here for that girl.”
Brendan couldn’t meet his friend’s eye.
“Ye know I never wanted to be laird,” he whispered. “I only wanted a quiet life.”
Noah got to his feet, lips pressed tight together. “Few of us get what we want, lad. How could ye lie to my face?”
“Ach, Noah, don’t make it sound so bad.”
“I’m not making it sound bad, I’m only telling the truth. If ye don’t like it, I’m sorry for it, but there it is.”
Brendan got to his feet too, facing his friend. “Noah, don’t be like this. I only—”
“We are dying, Brendan!” Noah hissed, his nose suddenly a bare inch away from Brendan’s.
“Look me in the eye and tell me ye don’t care.
Outside the Keep, folks kill and steal and starve as they wish, with no protection from the Laird.
They’re crushed by taxes and the constant summons for fighting men.
Inside the Keep, we live in constant fear, fear of murder or execution.
Occasionally, it seems entirely random. I watched my brothers hang, Brendan!
When I got this position, I told my family that I could protect them now, and Laird Grahame, gods curse his soul, made a liar out of me.
It’s only going to get worse, and there’s no one to save us. No one.”
He took a step back, drawing in a breath. Holding Brendan’s gaze, Noah shrugged helplessly.
“No one but ye, that is,” he finished, his voice quiet.
Brendan couldn’t find the words. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. At last, Noah glanced away.
“Yer lassie—Freya McInnes, that is—was brought here about an hour ago. Fought every inch of the way, she did. Hard not to admire her, although of course it’ll do her no good.
The Laird plans to marry her right away.
Today, and then consummate the marriage straight after, so there’s no chance of an annulment or anything like that.
If ye have any plans to save her, now is the time. ”
Brendan drew in a ragged breath, nodding slowly. “I don’t have a plan, but I won’t let this happen.”
Noah stared at him, frowning. “This lassie… ye know her, then?”
“Aye, I do. We met after she fled from the Laird.”
Noah eyed him for a long moment, eyes narrowed. He almost certainly had guessed more than he was letting on. The silence mellowed between them, until Noah sighed tiredly, and pulled a hand through his hair.
“We need ye, Brendan. At the moment, perhaps all ye can think of is yer lady-love—don’t look at me like that, all offended.
I’m no fool. Try, please try, to think of how the rest of us are suffering.
Laird Grahame is mad, we all know it. He’ll not stop until we’re all dead and the clan is burnt to ashes. ”
Brendan swallowed hard, still not meeting Noah’s eye. “Do… do ye think they can forgive me?”
“Who?”
“The clan. The ones who live in the Keep, the ones who live outside and suffer every day. Do ye think they can forgive me for running away when they couldn’t, and then not coming back? Do ye think they’d forgive me for not being the man they all needed?”
Noah took a tentative step forward, placing a hand on Brendan’s shoulder.
“They’ll forgive ye if ye set it right, lad,” he said, voice soft. “Look at me, Brendan. They’ll forgive ye if ye do the right thing. I think ye know what the right thing is.”
Brendan closed his eyes. “Aye, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it. He’s my father, Noah. He’s my father.”
Noah swallowed, nodding. “I can’t imagine how it feels. But, lad, we’ll know no peace until that man is dead.”
Brendan breathed in deeply, calming his mind. He found himself thinking of his home, the little cottage he’d built with his own hands. His sheep, which he’d had to give to a neighbor, his barn, his horse.
He thought of Argentum, sitting in the middle of the clearing outside the barn and howling mournfully because Brendan had told him to stay.
It was the right thing to do, leaving him behind.
Argentum could hunt and take care of himself, and besides, Laird Grahame had a history of cruelty towards animals.
He would do just about anything to hurt his son, too, including doing something terrible to his son’s beloved dog.
No, it was the right thing to leave Argentum, but that didn’t stop Brendan’s chest from aching at the loss.
He thought of Freya, too, probably tied up in some satiny bedroom, awaiting a fate that she’d fled so far and so fast to escape.
Brendan opened his eyes, meeting Noah’s gaze squarely.
“I’ll do what I must,” he said, his voice steely. “But our first problem is how to get inside the Keep.”
“I think I can help with that, son.”
Brendan’s blood turned to ice in his veins at the unfamiliar voice. Color drained from Noah’s face, and the hope from his eyes. Brendan turned slowly, hearing the rustling in the undergrowth for the first time, and saw exactly what he’d expected to see.
Laird Grahame stood behind them, half-hidden in the trees, with a dozen warriors, all aiming arrows at Noah and Brendan. He gave a tight, cold smile when he met his son’s eyes.
One of the warriors took a step forward, clearly gloating.
“Remember me?”
Brendan eyed the man dispassionately. “Fergus. Turning up like a bad penny.”
He turned his back, and Fergus gave a gasp of outrage.
“Hello, Father,” Brendan heard himself say, his voice surprisingly calm.
Laird Grahame sneered. “Welcome home, son. Ye are just in time for the wedding.”