“But has he ever done anything to gain their trust? I mean something besides kissing babies?”
She put her hands to her temples. All she could see was the four dead men on the ground. Had she caused their deaths? “He hasn’t done anything to make them distrust him either.”
Davey snorted. “He would be careful not to. He will wait until he gets their confidence before he brings his Englishmen here.”
“Englishmen? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you see?” Davey said with great patience. “Tell me, is he planning to return to England soon?”
“Yes,” she said, surprised. “I believe he plans us to leave in a few weeks.”
“That’s when he’ll bring his Englishmen back here. He’ll teach them all he’s learned about fighting like a Scotsman, and we’ll have very little defense against them.”
“No!” she said as she rose. “Davey, you can’t mean this. He’s not like this. He can be kind, and I know he’s concerned about my men.”
He gave her a look of disgust. “I’ve heard how he makes you howl in bed. You’re afraid of losing him. You’d sacrifice your clan for an Englishman’s hands on your body.”
“That’s not true! The clan always comes first with me.” She stopped abruptly. “I had forgotten how much we quarrel. I must go back now.”
“No,” Davey said quietly, his hand on her arm. “Forgive me for upsetting you. Sit here with me for a while. I’ve missed you. Tell me how Larenston is. Did you get the leak in the roof fixed? How many sons does Tam have now?”
She smiled as she sat down again. They talked for several minutes as the night closed about them, about the everyday happenings within the clan. She found out that Davey was living somewhere in the hills, but he was evasive about his life and so she respected his privacy.
“And do you enjoy being laird?” he asked amiably. “Do the men obey you?”
She smiled. “Yes. They treat me with great respect.”
“Until this morning when they turned to your husband.”
“Don’t start again.”
Davey leaned back against a tree. “It just seems a shame that centuries of MacArrans are now ruled by an Englishman. If you’d had time, you could have established your own authority, but you can’t expect the men to follow a woman when a man is there pushing her behind him.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I was just daydreaming. What if this Stephen is a spy sent by King Henry? When he has the trust of your men, he could do a great deal of damage to Scotland. Of course, you’d be there and you’d try to get your men to follow you, but by then they would be so used to disobeying your orders that you’d never even get their attention.”
She couldn’t answer him. She was remembering all the times lately that her men had gone to Stephen, whereas when they’d first returned from England, her clan had asked only her opinion.
Davey continued. “Too bad you haven’t had time alone with your clan. If you had, they’d see you had sense enough to lead them. When—or if—Montgomery betrayed you, you could lead the clan to safety.”
She didn’t like to think about his words. She had caused her men’s deaths today. Her stupidity and arrogance had caused four deaths, and Stephen was right to blame her. Her men were right to turn to him. But what if Stephen were a spy? What if he did decide to use her men’s trust against them? For generations the Scots had hated the English. Surely there was a reason for that hatred. For all she knew there could be a hundred tragedies in Stephen’s life that would cause him to hate the Scots. Perhaps Davey was right and Stephen wanted to lead them all into slaughter.
She put her hands to her head. “I can’t think,” she whispered. “I don’t know what he is or whether he can be trusted.”
“Bronwyn,” Davey said as he took her hands. “You may not believe this, but I want what is best for the clan. I’ve had months to come to terms with myself—and with you. I know you’re the one who should be laird, not me.” He put a finger to her lips. “No, let me finish. I want to help. I want to be sure he isn’t a spy, that he won’t turn on our clan.”
“Sure? What do you mean?”
“I’ll take him to my camp, that’s all. He won’t be harmed, and while he’s gone you can reestablish yourself as the true head of Clan MacArran.”
“Take him!” She rose, her eyes flashing even in the darkness of the night.
“He wouldn’t be harmed. I’d be foolish to harm him. King Henry would declare war on Clan MacArran. All I want to do is buy you a little time.”
She pulled away from him. “And what do you get out of it?” she asked coldly.
“I want to come home,” he said heavily. “If I do this good deed for you, then I hope to come home with honor. My men and I are starving, Bronwyn. We aren’t farmers, and we have no crofters to farm for us.”
“You’re welcome at home, you should know that,” she said quietly.
He jumped up. “And have the men laugh at me, saying I came home with my tail between my legs? No!” He calmed somewhat. “It would save our dignity if we could return in triumph. We’ll ride back into Larenston with your English husband, and everyone, from King Henry down, would be grateful to us.”
“I…no, it’s not possible. Stephen is—”
“Think about it. You’d have control of your people. I could return home in honor. Or maybe you care more about this Englishman than your own brother,” he sneered.
“No! Of course not! But if he were harmed—”
“You insult me! Do you think I have no brain? If I were to harm him, think what King Henry would do to us! Oh, Bronwyn, please consider it. It would be so good for the clan. Don’t confuse them any more than they already are. Don’t wait until you see them standing on a battlefield trying to choose between England and Scotland. Let them know they’re Scotsmen. Don’t make them divide their loyalties.”
“Davey, I must go, please.”
“You should go. Think about it. In three days I’ll meet you along the cliff wall. Where Alex fell.”
She looked up, startled.
“I know a lot about my clan,” he said as he threw a leg into his saddle and rode away.
Bronwyn stared after him for a few minutes until the darkness swallowed him. She dreaded returning to Larenston, dreaded facing the deaths of her men, as well as Stephen’s anger. But the MacArran couldn’t afford to be a coward. She straightened her shoulders and mounted her horse.
Chapter Nine
BRONWYN WALKED SLOWLY ACROSS THE COURTYARD. She’d had three days since her men were killed to think. Davey’s words haunted her. Every minute she became more aware of the way her men were turning to Stephen. It was natural that they’d look to a man for leadership, since it’d been only months ago that they’d followed Jamie MacArran. But Bronwyn didn’t trust any Englishman. She knew what foul, crude, greedy people they were. Hadn’t she met several Englishmen when she was held captive at Sir Thomas Crichton’s?
As for Stephen, the death of his friend affected him greatly. He didn’t talk much, and Bronwyn often caught him staring into space. Immediately after the killings he ordered the packing for the trip to England to begin. He said that he wanted to take Chris’s body back to his family.
At night, when they were alone, they lay side by side without touching, without speaking. Bronwyn was haunted by the sight of the three dead men. She wondered how her father came to terms with himself when he made a mistake that cost the lives of men he loved. She felt the knot forming in her throat. The laird of a clan shouldn’t cry. She must be strong and not be afraid of being alone.
Besides the heaviness of her guilt, she had Davey’s pleas to consider. She knew of the pride of her brother, knew that it had been difficult for him to ask anything of her. Yet how could she turn Stephen over to him?
She put her hands to her ears. She wanted to do what was right for everyone, but she felt so alone and so powerless. What was right?
She sad
dled her horse herself and left the peninsula to meet Davey.
Davey stared at her for some moments, his eyes hot and piercing. When Bronwyn looked down at her hands, trying to put her thoughts into words, he knew her decision.
“So!” he said, his eyes changing to an unforgiving look. “You’re going to put your lover before the clan.”
She looked at him without blinking. “You know that isn’t true.”
He snorted. “Then I can assume that it’s me you don’t believe in. I hoped you’d let me prove myself, prove that I’ve matured over that horrible boy who cursed his father.”
“I want to, Davey,” she said quietly. “I want to do what is right for everyone.”
“Like hell you do!” he exploded. “You only care for yourself. You’re afraid for me to return. You’re afraid the men will follow me, the true MacArran.” He turned toward his horse.
“Davey, please, I don’t want us to part like this. Come home, at least for a while.”
“And stand by and see my sister,” he sneered the word, “take my rightful place in the clan? No thank you. I’d rather be king of my own poor kingdom than a servant in another.” He nearly jumped into his saddle and thundered away.
Bronwyn had no idea how long she stood there alone, staring at the ground, feeling stupid and helpless.
“Who was that?” Stephen asked quietly.
She looked up at him, not surprised to see him there. So often he seemed to be near her even though she wasn’t aware of his presence. “My brother,” she said quietly.
“David?” he asked with interest as he looked in the direction of the galloping horse.
She didn’t answer him.
“Did you ask him to come to Larenston?” he continued. “Did you tell him the gates are always open?”
“I don’t need you to tell me what to say to my own brother.” She turned away, tears in her eyes.
He grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like it sounded.”
She jerked away from him, but he drew her back, pulled her into his arms.
“I was wrong to curse you when I found Chris dead,” he said quietly. “I was just so angry I wanted to lash out at someone. I was wrong.”
She kept her face pressed to his chest. She longed for him to hold her in his arms. “No! You were right! I did kill my men and your friend.”
He pulled her closer, felt the trembling in her body. Her shoulders were so small and delicate. “No, that’s too much responsibility for you to assume.” He lifted her chin. “Here, look at me. Whether you believe this or not, we’re in this together, and I share the burden of the men’s deaths.”
“But I was the one,” she said desperately.
He put his finger to her lips, then his eyes searched her face. “You’re so young, not even twenty, but you’re trying to take care of hundreds of people, even to protect them from me, a man who you think could be a spy.”
He laughed at the expression on her face. “I’m beginning to understand you. Right now you’re thinking that I have an ulterior motive for talking this way. You’re thinking that I’m planning some treacherous act, and I want you quietly dazed by my honeyed words.”
She pulled away from him. “Let me go!” His words were so close to what she’d been thinking that she was almost frightened.
He gave a low laugh. “Am I too close to home? You want me to remain a stranger, don’t you? Someone you can easily hate. But I don’t plan to leave you alone long enough to forget that I’m a man before I’m an Englishman.”
“You—you’re not making sense. I need to get back to Larenston.”
He ignored her as he sat down on the grass and pulled her down beside him. “Tomorrow we start for England. How do you feel about meeting my family?”
She stared at him. “I haven’t thought of it.” Her eyes flashed blue fire as she remembered her time at Sir Thomas Crichton’s house. “I don’t like the English people.”
“You don’t know them!” Stephen retorted. “You’ve met only the scum. I was embarrassed by my own people at the way they treated you at Sir Thomas’s.”
“None of them left me standing at the altar in my wedding dress.”
He chuckled. “You’re not about to forget that, are you? When you meet my sister-in-law Judith, perhaps you’ll forgive me.”
“What…what’s she like?” Bronwyn asked tentatively.
“Beautiful! Kind and sweet-tempered and smart. She runs Gavin’s estates with one eye closed. King Henry was quite taken with her and more than once asked her opinion.”
Bronwyn sighed heavily, her breath catching in her throat. “It’s good to hear of someone who is competent and doesn’t mishandle her responsibilities. I wish my father had a daughter who was worthy of the title of laird.”
He laughed and pulled her back against him, stretched out on the cold, damp ground. “For a woman, you’re quite capable as a laird.”
She blinked. “For a woman? Does that mean you think no woman is capable of being chief of a clan?”
He shrugged. “At least not one so young and pretty or so ill-trained.”
“Ill-trained! I have trained all my life. You know I can read better than you as well as add a column of figures.”
He laughed. “There’s more to ruling men than adding numbers.” He looked at her for a moment. “You’re so beautiful,” he said quietly as he bent forward to kiss her.
“Let me go! You are an insufferable, narrow-minded, ignorant—” She stopped because his hands were on her legs, caressing them.
“Yes,” he whispered against her mouth. “What am I?”
“I do not know and I do not care,” she said as if from a long way away. She arched her neck backward as he touched it with his lips.
In spite of the seeming privacy Bronwyn and Stephen were not alone. David MacArran stood on the hill above them, watching them. “The whore!” he whispered. She put her own lust before the needs of her brother. And to think Jamie MacArran thought she was more worthy to be laird.
He raised his fist toward the couple below him. He’d show them! He’d show all of Scotland who was the most powerful man, the true laird of Clan MacArran.
He sharply reined his horse away and headed back toward his secret camp in the hills.
The sun was barely up as the wagons rolled down the steep path to the mainland. Stephen’s men, now so brown, hardly distinguishable from Bronwyn’s Scots, rode beside him. They were a quiet group, apprehensive about the outcome of the journey. The wagons were loaded with English clothes, and Bronwyn’s men wondered if they’d be able to function in English society.
Bronwyn had her own worries. Morag had lectured her for a long time when the old woman heard about Davey’s plan. “Don’t ye be atrustin’ him,” she said, pointing a short bony finger at Bronwyn. “He always was a sly one, even as a boy. He wants Larenston, and he’ll stop at nothin’ to get it.”
Bronwyn had defended her brother, but now she remembered Morag’s warnings. She looked about her for the hundredth time.
“Nervous?” Stephen said from beside her. “You needn’t be. I’m sure my family will like you.”
It took her a full minute to understand what he was talking about. She put her nose haughtily in the air. “You should worry whether the MacArran will like them,” she said as she spurred her horse forward.
It was sundown when the first arrow whizzed past Bronwyn’s left ear. She’d just begun to relax and forget her apprehensions. At first she didn’t realize what was happening.
“Attack!” Stephen yelled, and within seconds his men had formed a circle of defense, their weapons ready. Bronwyn’s men slipped off their horses, out of their plaids, and into the woods.
She sat stupidly on her horse as she saw one man after another go down.
“Bronwyn!” Stephen yelled. “Ride!”
She obeyed him instinctively. The arrows flew about her. One grazed her thigh, and her horse screamed as the shaft burned the animal’s skin
. It suddenly came to her why she was so stunned. The arrows were all directed at her! And one of the archers she’d seen in a tree was one of the men who’d left the clan to join Davey. Her brother was trying to kill her!
She put her head down and urged her horse forward. There was no need to turn around; she could feel the pounding of the horses’ hoofs behind her. She followed Stephen’s horse as he led her away from the flying arrows. For once there was no thought of whether she trusted him or not.
She screamed once when her horse was shot from under her. Before the animal could even go to its knees, Stephen had circled back, and his arm was about her waist as he pulled her to the front of his saddle. She twisted until she was astraddle, then bent low over the animal’s neck.
They rode hard across unknown, wild country. Bronwyn could feel Stephen’s big stallion beginning to tire.
Suddenly Stephen slumped forward onto Bronwyn’s back. She didn’t have time to think before she grabbed the reins and jerked sharply. The horse left the bit of a road and plunged into the woods. She knew she had to get Stephen off the horse before he fell. They couldn’t move quickly in the woods, but perhaps she could find a few moments of cover.
She stopped the horse suddenly, the bit tearing its mouth. Stephen’s inert body fell to the ground before Bronwyn could dismount. She gasped as she jumped beside him. There was a bloody place along the back of his head where an arrow had creased the skin. She didn’t have much time to think, as she could already hear the other riders approaching. The forest floor was covered with dried leaves, and an idea came to her.
Quietly, so she wouldn’t be heard, she led the horse away from Stephen. She couldn’t risk the sound of a slap, so she unfastened her brooch and jammed the sharp end into the horse’s rump. It began running almost instantly. She ran back to Stephen, fell to her hands and knees, and pushed him against a fallen log. She covered him with armfuls of leaves. The heathery plaids he wore blended with the leaves. She lay beside him and dug herself in.
Seconds later they were surrounded by angry, stomping men. She held Stephen close to her, her hand over his mouth in case he should waken and make a sound.