Nine
An extra round of ale made the tavern a merry place at midday, though Michael knew better than to linger.
He’d be toasted into standing for another round, and then another.
Somebody would alert Davey MacCray that the pipes were needed, and soon nobody’s afternoon would be productive and everybody’s wives would be wroth with the laird.
He walked out into the bright afternoon sunshine, a Gaelic blessing ringing in his ears.
A kiss from his wife, a toast from his people, and life was good.
“Showing the flag before the troops, are ye?” Angus fell in step beside him, and the glow of the day dimmed. Angus would have been tolerated among the good spirits inside, much as Michael had been tolerated among his French and English confreres, but never welcomed.
“Angus, good day. I wanted to discuss cows with Hugh MacLogan, and a pint or two seemed in order.” He’d meant to discuss cows with MacLogan anyway.
“A bit of fraternizing on the laird’s part makes sense when he’s been off to war. A henchman’s role is different.”
Angus had apparently appointed himself to the role of trusted delegate. They gained the trees at the bottom of the hill, and in the shade, even the summer day bore a slight chill.
“My return will change things, Angus. I appreciate that you’ve taken an interest in the estate in my absence, but you’ve earned the right to pass that burden to me now.
” Such diplomacy. Michael’s former commanding officer would have been proud of him.
Of course, St. Clair had also excelled at the delicate art of torture.
“I will pass the estate burdens to you, gladly. Particularly if you think cattle can thrive in a land that knows much more of winter than any other season.”
Michael said nothing. The Highland cow had been a staple of the crofters for centuries and gave birth happily in blinding snow, which was not at all the point.
“How are the plans coming for your wee party?”
“I’m on my way to discuss that very topic with my lady wife.” And perhaps to cadge a few more of her fierce, sweet kisses.
“You’re wise to keep your hand in. Brenna’s a good girl, and she’ll want very much to impress you, but you mustn’t let her be too extravagant. Folk will take it amiss.”
Angus fell silent as the path up the hill reached its steepest point.
“We’re to celebrate my return, but not too lavishly?” Though hadn’t this celebration been Angus’s idea in the first place?
“Aye, that’s it exactly. Ever since—On second thought, Brenna won’t want to appear unthrifty, so likely I’m worrying for naught.” Angus made a great production of huffing and puffing, when Michael damned well knew his uncle was healthy as a mountain goat.
Also crafty as a fox. Michael took the bait anyway. “Ever since what?”
“Brenna will tell you in her own time. We had a spot of trouble a few years after you left, and people in these parts have long memories. Brenna was little more than a girl, and she doesn’t deserve to be held accountable for ancient history, but she’s a MacLogan.
They were never a very trustworthy bunch. ”
As if the Brodies had never shifted allegiance? Never made pacts with the various devils who’d taken a hand in Scottish politics? And in what corner of Scotland had less than a decade ever qualified as ancient history?
They crested the hill, the view of the village below and the fields and loch beyond steadying Michael.
It was good to be home, and unlike those fellows in the pub, Angus gave his loyalty freely and did not expect Michael to still be earning it when his grandchildren were climbing this hill beside him.
“Why don’t we stop by the dower house, and I can retrieve some of the ledgers you’ve stored there?”
“Those dusty old things?” Angus snorted. “You aren’t so very anxious to return to your bride, are you, then?”
“I’m very anxious to return to my bride, but if I have those ledgers to study, then I also have an excuse to remain at the castle, rather than hare all over the shire trying to look busy.”
Which seemed to be what Angus’s day consisted of, come to think of it.
Angus’s smile made him look very like Michael’s father. “She’s training you already. Good for our Brenna, I say. Come along, then.”
The dower house sat just outside the bailey, the location chosen by Michael’s mother. His father had groused and stomped about the castle, complaining about the expense, but he’d spared no effort to please his wife.
“You’ll wait here,” Angus said as they reached the door. “A bachelor household isn’t always prepared for company, and it’s a fine day to enjoy the fresh air.” He winked and disappeared into the house, so Michael took a seat on the front steps.
It was a fine day to enjoy the sunshine, and even if Michael had wanted to see the inside of the house that his mother had fitted out down to the last teacup and table runner, Angus was entitled to his privacy.
Michael could visit the dower house anytime, and Brenna awaited him at the castle—Brenna and her kisses.
“I’ve missed you, Wife.”
Strong arms encircled Brenna’s waist from behind.
Her inclination to struggle was checked at the last instant by two things: Michael’s vetiver-and-lavender scent enveloped her at the same moment she would have raised her foot to stomp on his arch, and Michael’s mouth landed on the slope of her shoulder.
Already, she knew him by his kisses.
“You miss me after a few hours in the village?”
“I miss you after a few minutes in the village. Let’s go to our rooms.” He growled his suggestion against her neck and let Brenna feel the rising evidence of his arousal against her backside.
She wanted to go to their rooms, though they’d have plenty of privacy here in her solar. Wanted it badly, but alas, not for the same reasons he did. And yet, she made no effort to leave his embrace.
“You randy pestilence, I have work to do.”
“So do I. We can do it together, in bed. I’ve ever been enthusiastic about reading in bed.”
To be teased by one’s husband was a lovely addition to the day—provided he was teasing, and Brenna could not be certain he was.
“You’ve been swilling ale, Michael Brodie. Shall I read you temperance pamphlets in bed?”
“I’ve been missing my wife.” He turned her by the shoulders, and with no more warning than that, covered her mouth with his.
Maybe the ale had made him a bit clumsy; maybe the altercation with Angus had left Brenna more off balance than she knew.
In an instant, Michael shifted in her mind from a teasing husband to a menace she could not control, a menace she’d faced many times without warning, and in circumstances she could not flee.
When Michael’s arms tightened around her, she struggled in earnest, the only thought in her head to get free.
“Brenna, calm yourself.” Michael had her loosely by the upper arms, his green eyes full of concern. “I seek only your kisses.”
She could not break his hold, could not—
“Wife, you’ll do yourself an injury. Please cease your thrashing and—”
His pleading tone penetrated her panic, and Brenna abruptly went still. “I’m sorry. You startled me.”
Michael’s hands dropped, slowly, the way a canny groom backed out of a stall when a green horse had turned aggressive.
“Do you want to hit me, Brenna?”
His tone was cautious, full of bewilderment, but also holding a note of self-doubt, and that tore at Brenna’s composure in a whole new way.
“I will never intentionally strike you, Husband. Will you sit with me?” Because her knees were weak, and the last thing she wanted, the very last thing, was for him to leave her alone just then.
He held out a silver flask to her, one engraved with the Scottish thistle. “Ladies first.”
Brenna helped herself to a bracing tot of fine potation, watched as Michael did the same, then took a seat on her sofa. That shared nip of good whisky restored something to her, and Michael’s taking the seat beside her restored something more.
“Do I need to kill somebody, Brenna Maureen? Somebody who presumed in my absence to pester you with attentions you’d not encouraged?”
His trust in her was every bit as startling as his embrace had been.
“You’re sure I was so loyal?”
He grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I love you.”
“Husband, your flask please.” For the day had indeed taken a disconcerting turn. Several of them. “What has that last declaration to do with anything?”
She wished she’d had warning he was about to gift her with this pronouncement, so she might have anticipated his words. He’d said them once before, and she hadn’t known they were coming then either.
He passed her his flask, and Brenna had to disentangle their hands to uncap it. The second sip tasted every bit as fortifying as the first.
“More for you?”
He shook his head and set the flask on the table before them. “Did you tat that lace?”
The table runner was russet blond lace, not particularly intricate, but pretty. “The first winter you were gone. Why did you say…what you just did?”
“I love you, Brenna Maureen, and I know you. I know you are loyal to your bones, and that you are deserving of my loyalty as well.”
Brenna did not have a strong head for drink, and she had even less ability to withstand the inebriating effects of her husband’s forthright speech and affectionate manner.
“You’ve implied you remained faithful to me when you went soldiering, and I thank you for that.”
The words were inadequate, because as handsome as he was, as charming as he could be, Michael had had offers. Brenna knew he’d had many offers.
“Faithful and loyal are not the same thing. You are my wife. You deserve both, and while I was keeping my breeches buttoned, you were without benefit of my protection here. This brings us back to my earlier question: Who needs killing? Please tell me the bastard has taken ship for the New World, lest I mark my return here with a bit of homicide, upon which the fellow’s relatives and the justice of the peace would surely frown. ”