Chapter Nineteen
“Brett?”
Triona stared at the man striding toward her. Despite the hurt he had left her with when he had ridden away, longing still filled her abused heart whenever he came to mind. Which was far too often, she thought crossly as she looked him over, finding no signs of any horrible wounds that would explain why he had been gone for so long. That longing rushed through Triona now, so strongly she had to fight the urge to fling herself into his arms, and she firmly reminded herself that he had sent no word that he would return, given her no hope that he ever would. Even if he had changed his mind, had decided he wanted to stay with her, it should not have taken him so long.
“I was told that I was to meet the new laird of Gormfeurach,” she said, tensing against the rush of heat in her veins when he kissed her hand.
“And so ye have,” he said.
She frowned in confusion. Then she looked around him but saw only a grinning Harcourt. There was no stranger around, not even one of the men she might recognize from the rare times Sir Mollison had sent someone to Banuilt. And then the look of mischief on Brett’s face, one blended with a very large dose of pride, began to push aside her confusion.
“Ye are the new laird of Gormfeurach?” she asked, not surprised at how small her voice was as the realization sunk in—that the man she loved, the man who had left her with no more than a smile, a wave, and not even the tiniest hint of a promise, was now going to be living close at hand. It would be impossible to hide her secret from him.
“Aye,” he replied. “Once they were left with no laird, and none amongst them could clearly be named an heir and thus step up to be named laird, I thought I might have a chance to make a claim. It took far longer than I thought it would, for it appears the ones who built Gormfeurach were too arrogant to think they could be left with no heir at all. The Grants couldnae e’en make a true claim, for their close blood ties to the men of Gormfeurach were lost a long time ago. ’Tis a verra long tale, Triona.”
“I am certain it is, Sir Brett Murray,” she said, and nearly nodded in approval when she heard the courteous chill in her voice.
Brett nearly winced. He had had warmer greetings from complete strangers. It was foolish of him, but he had rarely considered the possibility that Triona would be furious with him, either for leaving as he had or for never sending her word of his plans. It was only recently, during talks with his family, that he had begun to think he would have to do a lot of soothing and explaining. He began to soothe his own unease with memories of their time together and the knowledge that Triona was not a fickle woman, nor one who gave her affection lightly, and would not swiftly and easily cast aside what she had felt for him.
“I would verra much like to tell ye all about it,” he said, smiling at her and ignoring the way she narrowed her eyes at him instead of smiling back.
Triona wanted him to go away. There was an urge within her to grab him, hurl him to the ground, and take what she wanted, that hot passion that had haunted her dreams every night since he had ridden away. At the moment it was an urge easily controlled by the anger she felt over how he had acted, but she did not trust herself to hold that anger up as a shield for too long, especially if he decided to be charming. She sternly reminded herself that she needed him but swore that she would not allow him back into her bed and her life unless she was absolutely sure that he wanted to be there.
Questions clamored in her mind so loudly that she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from giving voice to them. Why had he left without a word if he had always planned to return? Had he returned just for Gormfeurach, or for her? She had to clench her hand into a fist, hiding it in the folds of her skirt, to stop from rubbing her forehead in the vain hope of quieting her mind.
“Then mayhap ye can tell it all as we dine,” she said, refusing to be a bad host just because she wanted to throttle him. “The evening meal will begin soon.” She nodded toward Angus, who looked as if he was going to do a little dance of joy over Brett’s return, and that thoroughly irritated her. “Angus, please show our guests to a place where they can wash away the dust of their journey. I will see to the setting of extra places at the table.” And more food, she thought as she turned and walked back inside the manor, refusing to see it as a retreat.
“Weel, at least she didnae have a weapon,” said Harcourt, “or I think I would be trying to get your blood off my boots right now.”
Brett glared at the MacFingals, standing behind Harcourt, but it did nothing to silence their laughter. “At least she didnae have me tossed outside the walls and the gates closed to me.” He sighed. “I was a fool nay to think that anger would be awaiting my return, especially considering the women in our family.”
“Aye, ye were. Ye have time now to think of how ye may soften it.”
It was not going to be easy to do, Brett thought as they followed Angus inside. There was a good chance that Triona would do her best to make certain they were never alone, and all his best ideas for soothing her anger required some privacy. Then he saw Ella coming toward him, her smile of welcome easing a little of the chill her mother had left behind. She was slow to come to him when he held his arms out to her, and he suddenly noticed that she was moving with an odd, shuffling gait. Brett walked up to her and crouched down in front of Ella, giving her a kiss on the cheek, idly wondering if that soft growling noise he heard was her stomach rumbling with hunger.
“Have ye hurt yourself, Ella?” he asked, leaning back a little to look at her feet.
“Nay, I have a kitten,” she said, and lifted her skirts up to her knees.
Between her plump little legs sat one of the kittens they had played with in the stables, although it was nearly full-grown now. Its markings were a swirl of black, brown, and copper with an occasional splash of white. It was also staring at him with eyes uncomfortably similar to Harcourt’s, its black tail with its white tip twitching back and forth. Then, still staring at him, it reached up with one paw that had far too many claw-tipped toes, caught the edge of Ella’s skirts, and tugged downward, causing the child to drop her skirts back down over the cat. Brett felt as if he had just been given the feline equivalent of a door slammed in his face, and the poorly smothered laughter of his companions told him he had not imagined it.
“He likes it under there,” said Ella as she leaned forward, put her arms around his neck, and gave him an awkward hug.
Brett was sure he had just heard a soft snarl from beneath her skirts. “What did ye name him?”
“Clyde,” she replied. “I like the sound. Clyde. ’Tis a fine name.”
“Aye, that it is.”
“Are ye going to stay with us now?”
“That is my plan.”
“Mother is a wee bit angry at you, I think. I will get ye some flowers to give her.”
“Thank ye, Ella. That would be verra helpful.” He watched her start to shuffle away. “Mayhap ye should try to teach Clyde to nay walk with you like that. Ye could fall.” This time he had no doubt that Clyde had just snarled at him.
“Nay, I am used to it, and he doesnae do it all the time. Sometimes he rides up on my shoulder.”
Brett stood up and watched her leave, catching the occasional glimpse of that white-tipped tail flicking out from beneath her skirts. He looked at Angus. “Are ye certain that Clyde is actually a cat?”
Angus sighed. “We are nay too sure some days. Come along, m’laird. It isnae much longer ere the food will be set out.”
Brett found the meal a torture. Triona was all that was courteous, the food was good, and everyone listened with gratifying interest to his tale of how he had become laird. When it came to Triona, however, he felt as if she had never been in his arms, had never cried out his name in the throes of passion. It had been difficult to even sit next to her, as she had obviously done her best to see that he did not. He supposed he ought to be pleased that she had underestimated his stubbornness.
It was not until the fruit and tarts were set out that he decided he had had enough. They needed to talk, and yet he did not want to lay out his heart in front of everyone. He knew they were all aware of why he was there, or had guessed—everyone except Triona—but that did not mean he wished to let them sit and hear everything he had to say to her.
“I would like to have a private word with ye, Triona,” he said, and nearly winced at the look she cast him, her anger not hidden well.
“I am nay sure what ye think we have to speak about, Sir Brett Murray,” she said.
If she called him that one more time he was going to say or do something that could embarrass them both, he decided, and leaned closer to her so that he could whisper in her ear. “Ye will come somewhere private with me now, lass, or I will pick ye up, toss ye o’er my shoulder, and carry ye to a place of my own choosing.”
Triona turned her head slightly to look him in the eye. It had not been easy to sit next to him and maintain her air of calm and distance. Even the scent of the man had her stomach tied up in knots of desire too long unfed. Yet she did not know if she wished to speak alone with him. Without the shield of all the others, keeping her wanton urges at bay was going to be dangerously difficult. The look in his eyes, however, told her he would do exactly what he had threatened to.
“As ye wish, Sir Brett Murray,” she said, and could see in the way he narrowed his eyes how that angered him. “If ye would follow me, we will go to my ledger room.”
She stood up without waiting for him and started to walk away. Brett slowly stood up to follow. He could understand her anger and tried to battle his own. However, although he had not expected to be greeted with open arms, this coldness she was showing him was hard to bear. It made him afraid, which fed his growing anger.
“Shall we prepare some bandages?” asked Harcourt.
Brett grabbed a hunk of bread and tossed it at his brother’s head before following Triona out of the great hall. His mind busy struggling with what he would say, he looked around as he strode after her. The signs of improvement at Banuilt were obvious. The place had always been orderly and well cared for, but now it nearly shone, it was scrubbed so clean. He had to wonder why Triona had worked so hard when it had not really been necessary.
Once inside her small ledger room, she sat behind the worktable and stared at him. Brett wanted to grab her and make love to her right there. He clenched his hands at his sides and sat in the chair to face her across the table. Soothing her anger this way would require a skill with words he was not sure he possessed. He had hoped to use seduction to his advantage, but it was difficult to seduce an angry woman when one could not even touch her.
He leaned forward, rested his forearms on the table, and was pleased to see her tense. If his getting even that close made her look so defensive, he felt he had a chance. She was not feeling as cold as she pretended to be.
“Is there something ye wish to change about the customary arrangements between Banuilt and Gormfeurach?” she asked.
There was a slight tremor in her voice, and Triona silently cursed when she heard it. It was easier to hold that chill between them during a meal with other people around. Now there was nothing to divert her attention from the look in his eyes. She could not guess what he had to say, but he was obviously intent on talking about something, and she had the feeling it was not about his being an ally.
She bit her tongue against the urge to scream questions at him, to demand to know what game he was playing with her now. Triona prayed he was not about to suggest they be lovers again. She did not want that, now that he was back and would be staying at Gormfeurach. To be used like that would destroy her.
The problem was that she carried his child. It was not something she could hide, and yet she had no idea what to do. She did not want him at her side because he felt only some sense of responsibility for his child. She needed so much more from him.
“I am nay here to talk about the alliance between our lands,” he said. “I am here to discuss ye and me.”
“There is nay ye and me,” she said, and knew her ability to hide her anger and hurt was disappearing rapidly. “Ye left.”
“Aye, that I did, and I had good reason to do so.”
“Without a word that would imply ye might return.”
“Because I didnae ken when I would return. It may have been wrong, but I would offer no promise of returning when I didnae ken if I could get what I sought, or how long it would take. I needed something ere I came back, and if I didnae get what I first sought, I would have had to seek out something else. What was I to say? ‘I will be back when I can,’ which might be months, mayhap e’en longer?”
“Aye, unless ye didnae wish anyone to wait for ye.”
Brett sighed and dragged his hands through his hair. “I did wonder if I was mistaken in my plan. I just didnae wish ye to wonder why I was nay yet back as the weeks went by and I didnae return. It seemed better to just say nothing. I always meant to come back, Triona,” he said quietly, and reached out to clasp her hand in his, ignoring her attempt to pull it away. “Always. I but needed to get something before I did.”
“What? What could ye need to get if what ye wanted was here?”
“In a way, I sought a dower to bring ye.”
She stared at him and slowly blinked. That made no sense. A man did not need a dower. He sought one from the woman he chose. That was always the way. At best a man had to show he was a good match in blood and breeding, mayhap show he could defend his wife or provide her with a roof over her head, but all men expected the woman to bring a nice, fat dower to the marriage. For once she had been perfectly happy to have something a man might want—Banuilt being her very nice dower—and yet he went to find something else?
“I dinnae understand,” she said, and idly noted that he now held both her hands in his and she had no urge to yank them free.
“Ye told me that Boyd wed ye for your purse, and we both ken why Sir John was trying to marry ye. I decided it was time that a mon asked for your hand without expecting anything from ye. So, with Gormfeurach without a laird, I saw my chance to gain my own land and thus come to ye with nay need of yours.”
She found the strength to yank her hands free of his and stood up to pace the room. Her heart was pounding so hard she was astonished he did not hear it and remark upon it. Triona tried to make sense of his words but was afraid to believe in them. He sounded as if he was after her hand in marriage, and everything inside her wanted to yell out aye, but the thought that she might have heard him wrong made her hesitate. It would be so humiliating if she was wrong.
Brett did not hesitate to take advantage of the fact that a table no longer separated them. He leapt up and caught her in his arms as she walked by him, too lost in her thoughts to evade him. For a moment she stood like a pillar of stone in his arms, but slowly she softened, her body resting against his.
“I kenned that when your troubles were solved and it was time for me to leave, I did not wish to leave ye,” he said as he rested his chin on the top of her head and savored how it felt to have her back in his arms.
“But ye did.”
“I realized I had a chance, though it may have been a small one, to claim Gormfeurach. Then I could come to ye with something of value. Ye should have that, should have a mon who comes to ye and wants nothing but ye. Nay your purse or your land. I can do that now.”
She leaned back a little and looked at him. “Ye want me?”
“Och, aye,” he whispered, and lightly brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “I did for a long time ere I left. I was just a wee bit slow in seeing exactly how much I wanted ye.”
“Weel, ye got what ye wanted,” she muttered, and blushed.
“Aye, or so I thought, but then I wanted more. Yet I was wary. I loved a lass once, and I lost her. For years I have blamed myself for her death, was so certain I should have been able to save her. We were planning to run away and get married when she was murdered. I think the fact that she carried my child at the time only added to my guilt o’er not being able to save her. She was attacked so near to me as I sat awaiting her, unaware of how she needed me.”
“How verra sad. Why did ye feel guilty, though? Was it your enemies who murdered her?”
“Nay, they were enemies of her clan. And Brian made me see that I have been, as he put it, wearing a hair shirt o’er something I could nay change. I wasnae there. ’Tis that simple. I would have done all I could if I had been, but I wasnae. I didnae heed him much at first, but that realization has settled in now.”
“And ye still love her?” she asked quietly, bracing herself for him to confess that he did.
“She will always have a small place in my heart, if only because she was going to be the mother of my child, but ye dinnae need to fear that she still holds my heart as she once did. For a long time, though, I was so troubled by what had happened, and my guilt, that I had difficulty being with a woman.”
Triona thought of how often and vigorously they had made love, and frowned. “I didnae sense that ye had any trouble.”
“I didnae with ye. This is going to make ye think I am mad, but I would see her ghost whene’er I tried to be with a woman.”
Triona stared at him and could tell that, even though it made him uncomfortable to tell her, he was speaking the truth. “A ghostie like Ella sees?”
“Something like that. She would appear and that would end my desire to be with the woman I was with. Nothing stopped the vision of the ghost save for a great deal of drink, but that only made it go away whilst I was blind drunk. So, when I didnae see her when I was with ye, I began to think it was because of ye, because it was ye I was about to bed down with. Nay, it was because I wasnae bedding down with ye but making love to ye.”
He watched her closely as she thought that over. The fact that she had not immediately told him he was mad or telling her a lie allowed him to relax. It had been right to tell her. He doubted he would see Brenda’s spirit again, but he did not wish to hide such a thing from Triona if he did.
“I see. So ye wish to stay with me because ye dinnae see the ghost?”
“Nay, I want to stay with ye because I cannae abide being away from ye.” He kissed her, his kiss quickly revealing how hungry for her he was when she did not push him away. “I want to marry ye, Triona,” he whispered when he ended the kiss and brushed his lips over her cheek. “I have my dower and I have shed that cursed hair shirt I have worn for seven years and I wish to make ye my wife.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Ah, lass, because I cannae be without ye at my side. Ye are what I need to be happy. I kenned that before I left, and the knowledge just grew stronger every day we were apart. I ne’er realized how alone I had become until I rode away from here that day, and I dinnae want to be alone anymore.”
Triona gave herself over to his kiss, craving the taste of him. It was not until he started to push her up against her worktable that she regained enough of her scattered senses to push him away, although only far enough to put a small distance between their bodies. She knew what he wanted right now, did not have to feel the hardness of him against her to know it. It was there in his kiss and his eyes. Triona also knew that she would somehow find the strength to say no.
For a moment she thought on all he had said. There had been one glaring omission. He had not said he loved her. He had said he wanted her, needed her, felt alone without her by his side, but had made no declaration of love. That stung, but she told herself not to be an idiot. The man had gone to a lot of trouble just to come to her and ask for her hand in marriage, in a way that could never make her think he did it for Banuilt. For now, that and all he had offered would be enough, at least for her to say aye.
“So, are ye formally asking me to be your wife?” she asked.
“Aye, Triona, marry me. Be my wife. Have my bairns or nay, as ye please.” He grinned. “Although I would verra much like to have a bairn or two with ye.”
He would get that far sooner than he planned, she mused, and almost told him. But then she bit her lip against the words. There would be time for that after they were married. For just a little while she wanted to be only a bride. She also intended to be a bride before she became his lover again, and pushed him away far enough to slip free of his hold.
“Triona?” he asked, his whole body aching for her.
“This time we willnae be slipping into a bed”—she blushed and looked at the worktable he had been pushing her up against—“or hopping on a table until we are properly married.”
“But we have already been lovers, and everyone here kens it,” he protested, even as he struggled to cool his need because he could tell that she was very serious about this.
“I ken it, but nay this time. The next time we are in a bed together, I want to call ye my husband.”
“Then ye had best start preparing for a wedding, as I will be off to fetch a priest as soon as the sun rises.”
She grimaced. “I fear that will have to be Father Mure. He is still at Gormfeurach.”
“Nay the best choice. We could go . . .”
“Nay, it can be him. I willnae wait any longer than it takes to fetch him.” She reached out to caress his cheek. “I have missed ye as weel, Sir Brett Murray. I dinnae wish to wait weeks to find another priest willing to journey here to marry us.”
“Then ye had best find your friend Joan and talk to Nessa, for I was nay jesting when I said I will be off to fetch the fool in the morning.”
After giving her a kiss that left her slumped against her worktable struggling to catch her breath, Brett left. Triona was torn between wanting to dance about the room and wanting to fret over the fact that he had still not given her any words of love. It was going to take work not to think about that too much and be happy for what she had. The man her heart had been aching for was back and intended to marry her, even spoke of how much he wanted and needed her, even missed her. She would get the rest of what she needed after they were married. Triona refused to believe she would fail to win his heart, for the thought of being trapped in another loveless marriage was enough to make her want to run away. Brett desired her, liked her, and respected her. The seeds of love were there. All she had to do was make them grow strong enough to last a lifetime.