Claimed by the Highland Warrior
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To change the subject, she said, ‘I’ve sent for food and a bath.’
Bram moved to stand in front of her. It was as if he were memorising her face, burning it into his mind. A blush warmed Nairna’s cheeks when he drew his thumb over her lips, his palm cupping her cheek.
Upon his wrists, she saw striated lines and a matching band around his throat. Nairna was caught between the desire to know everything and the stoic don’t-ask expression on Bram’s face. She didn’t know what she could say to put him at ease about the past, but it seemed best to say nothing.
He moved past her and rested his hands upon the edge of a table, his head leaning down. He looked as if he were in pain and she suspected he might need her help in the bath. Although it didn’t bother her to see a man unclothed, she didn’t know how Bram would feel about having her assist him.
Before she could ask, Jenny arrived with the food and clean clothing, which she set down while servants carried in the wooden tub, filling it with buckets of hot water.
‘Leave us,’ Bram ordered. The older woman hesitated before Nairna inclined her head and Jenny scuttled away.
When the door had closed, Bram regarded Nairna before touching the food. ‘Have you eaten?’
She nodded, startled that he would ask about her first. Then he turned to look at the meal Jenny had left. Though it wasn’t much—only some mutton stew and a few oat cakes—he studied it with hungry eyes, breathing in the scent as though he feared it might vanish.
‘How long has it been since you’ve eaten?’ she murmured, the truth suddenly dawning.
‘Two days,’ he admitted. He picked up the oat cake and dipped it in the stew, eating slowly as if to savour every mouthful. She half-expected him to attack the food, but instead he ate carefully and not nearly enough. He left most of the food unfinished, and when she started to clear it away, he stopped her. ‘Leave it. I’ll try to eat more later.’
He unlaced his tunic, eyeing the bath. Nairna wasn’t certain whether he wanted her to go or stay, but when he lifted the garment over his head, her breath caught in her throat.
Massive scars covered his chest, hundreds of red-and-white markings, as though they’d tried to cut the flesh from his body.
Oh, sweet God above. What had they done to him? Her stomach clenched at the injustice and she feared that the simple touch of warm water would cause him pain.
Seeing him like this made her want to take care of him again, to heal the physical darkness he’d suffered. How much torment had he endured in captivity? It frightened her to think of it.
Bram offered no explanation, but when he began to remove the rest of his clothing, Nairna turned away. She waited until she heard the slight splash of water before asking, ‘Do you want me to stay or go?’
He didn’t answer, so she ventured a glance. His knees were drawn up in the water, his back hunched over. She took a tentative step forwards, then another.
‘If you’d rather go, I wouldn’t blame you,’ he said at last. ‘I know what I must look like.’
She bit her lip hard, her ribs tight within her. There were no words to describe the scars carved upon his skin. ‘Tell me what happened.’
But again Bram gave no reply. Instead, he laid his head back against the tub and she moved towards him, offering a cake of soap.
He took it from her, seeming to understand her reluctance to touch him. The fear of hurting him made her nervous about assisting him in the bath. She reached for a drying cloth, placing it within his reach. An awkward silence descended between them, leaving Nairna with little to say or do.
She shouldn’t be this nervous. Heaven knew, she’d helped Iver in his bath dozens of times.
But this was Bram, a man she hadn’t seen in seven years. She didn’t know what would put him at ease, and the longer she waited, the more her apprehension attacked her self-confidence.
She reached out to touch his long dark hair, offering, ‘Do you want me to cut your hair?’
He caught her fingers. ‘It hasn’t been cut in seven years.’ His hand lingered upon hers and the wetness of his palm made her shiver.
‘I’ll take care of it for you, then.’ At least now she had something to do. Something that wouldn’t cause him pain.
His thumb rubbed slight circles against her palm. ‘I’m sorry, Nairna.’
There were years’ worth of apologies in those three words. She met his brown eyes with her own, and when she found herself leaning in, her heartbeat quickened. He was going to kiss her again, if she allowed it.
Her cheeks grew warm and it was hard to breathe. It had been so long since any man had given her affection. Iver had never bothered with it. She might as well have been a spare tunic instead of a wife.
Her fingers laced with his and she waited. Beneath the veiled desire in Bram’s eyes, she saw an unnamed emotion. Whether it was anger that she’d remarried or frustration of another kind, she couldn’t tell.
He let go of her hand and closed his eyes.
Nairna hid her disappointment and went to retrieve a sharp dagger to cut his hair. When she returned with the knife, Bram’s palms gripped the sides of the wooden tub. He steeled himself when she knelt beside him, as if he couldn’t bear to see the weapon.
Gently, she reached out to take a length of his hair, the locks limp against her palm. His mouth was a thin slash, his eyes staring straight ahead.
She hesitated, one hand holding his hair. ‘Would you rather I left it alone?’
‘No. But do it quickly.’ The abrupt words spurred her into action.
Nairna cut the length to his shoulders, slicing his hair with the dagger. She tried to keep the length even, wishing she had shears to do a better job of it. Her hands moved over his scalp, and only when she’d set the dagger aside did his tension seem to dissipate.
She helped him lower his head into the water, washing his hair. With the soap, she massaged his scalp, the warmth of the water rising up against her skin.
When he sat up, his hair rinsed, Bram’s eyes bored into hers. In the dark depths, she saw the same sort of hunger he’d had earlier. His bristled cheeks were wet, his mouth firm. Water slid down his face to his scarred back and the air grew heavier to breathe.
Nairna’s attention was drawn to his chest and she found it difficult to think clearly when he was looking at her that way. ‘Tell me what happened to you, after our wedding,’ she asked, hoping to distract him. ‘I know Glen Arrin was attacked.’
It had been both bewildering and humiliating. One moment, she’d been celebrating her wedding, and the next, her bridegroom had fled with his father and kinsmen.
‘When we arrived home, it was under siege. The English set fire to Glen Arrin and slaughtered our clansmen. All because my father wouldn’t pledge his allegiance to Longshanks,’ Bram said. His mouth tightened with distaste at the English king’s nickname.
He leaned closer, and she saw the wildness in his eyes. Rage was there, brimming beneath the surface. ‘And they still have my brother Callum.’
He stood up from the water before she could stop him and droplets spilled over his skin, down his ribs, to his thighs. He showed no embarrassment at revealing himself to her and Nairna’s cheeks burned at the sight of his manhood. It had risen slightly, as though he wanted her.
Don’t stare, she warned herself. She averted her eyes, though she was curious. When she handed Bram the drying cloth, she asked, ‘How are you going to free your brother?’
‘I don’t know yet. Perhaps we’ll raise an army. Or a ransom.’ He dried his face and chest before wrapping the cloth around his hips.
Ransom? Did he honestly believe that the English would accept his bribe and hand over his brother?
‘A ransom won’t work,’ she answered honestly. ‘They’ll seize your coins and keep Callum a prisoner.’
‘I’ll get him out, Nairna.’ The resolution in his voice spoke of a man who would keep his word, even if it meant his own death. He reached for his fallen clothing, retrieving something from his belongings that she couldn’t see.
‘I hope you do.’ She turned back to busy herself with his uneaten food, while he dressed in the new clothing. She didn’t know how to respond to him and it felt as if her life had been opened up and dumped upon the floor, like the spilled contents of a trunk.
She rested her hands upon the table, taking one breath, then another. Behind her, she heard Bram’s footsteps before he caught her around the waist, turning her to face him. His touch penetrated the rough wool of her gown, warming her skin. He held her imprisoned, his fingers spread apart beneath her ribcage. She met his eyes with her own and in his direct gaze, she felt her thoughts scatter.
‘He touched you, didn’t he?’ His breath moved against her cheek, sending spirals of heat through her skin. ‘He consummated your marriage.’
She gave a single nod and saw the tension within his jaw. But she couldn’t lie. Not about this.
She’d married Iver MacDonnell because he’d seemed like a reasonable match, even if she’d had no feelings towards him. At the age of eighteen, she’d wanted a family of her own, instead of remaining in her father’s house.
‘All those years,’ he murmured, ‘I was locked in chains and I dreamed of you. Only to find out that you wed someone else—’ His words broke off, his anger palpable.
Nairna felt her own hurt rising up. ‘I can’t go back and change the past, Bram.’ She straightened her spine, staring at him. ‘But I can leave it where it belongs and start again.’
He gripped her hands and the emptiness in his face made her feel as if she’d betrayed him. There weren’t any words to make it any easier.
Then his mouth came down upon hers. He kissed her to mark her as his own, as if punishing her for wedding another man.
Then, abruptly, it shifted to a softer embrace. The second kiss was as gentle as the first one he’d ever given her. With it, he reminded her of the years between them and the feelings she’d once held. He coaxed her to respond, taking her face between his hands.
Bram stared at her, his expression unreadable. ‘We’re leaving within a few hours, Nairna. Finish packing your belongings.’ He pressed something hard and cool into her hand.
And after he left her chamber, she opened her palm. Inside lay a grey stone, with streaks of rose quartz to make it sparkle. It was the same stone she’d given him upon their wedding day.
Nairna squeezed it in her hand, letting the tears fall.
Chapter Four
‘I’ve sent word to the MacDonnell chief,’ Hamish MacPherson informed Nairna. ‘Father Garrick will negotiate the settlement of your belongings.’
‘What settlement?’ Nairna asked, feeling uneasy about the entire situation. Although her stepson was a reasonable man, it unnerved her to think that her second marriage had not been a marriage at all. She’d made a life for herself while Bram was still alive. And though she understood, logically, that it was simply a mistake, she felt the shame of it.
‘The return of your dowry,’ her father replied. ‘Since you will not receive a dower portion of the MacDonnell holdings, your belongings must be returned to you.’ He came forwards and rested his hand upon Nairna’s shoulder. ‘You needn’t worry about it. I’ll make the arrangements so you can go home with your husband.’
Nairna nodded, but everything had changed so suddenly, she was torn between confusion and thankfulness. No longer did she have to return to Callendon.
She could walk away from that life, starting again with Bram. In her palm, she fingered the coloured stone he’d given her, sending up a silent wish for a good marriage.
‘It will be all right, Nairna,’ her father reassured her. ‘But you should make your way to Glen Arrin soon, in case more soldiers come looking for Bram.’
Nairna’s heart grew cold at the thought. It disturbed her to think that he’d nearly been murdered before her eyes. If her father hadn’t spoken up, if he hadn’t bribed the soldiers … She didn’t want to think of it.
‘I’ve ordered a wagon of supplies for you,’ Hamish continued. ‘Go now, while there’s light.’ His expression turned grim. ‘You still have to travel past Lord Harkirk’s stronghold.’
She wished there were another way to avoid it, but the Baron’s fortress lay between the mountains, and there was only one road to Glen Arrin.
Her father led her into the outer bailey, where Bram was waiting. Hamish had given them a horse and wagon, and she saw her trunk of belongings inside, along with sacks of food and other supplies.
‘I’ve sent you with fifty pennies,’ her father added.
‘No, save it for the clan. They’ll need them.’ She couldn’t take a single coin from him.
‘The MacDonnells will return the funds to me from the dowry I gave you before. I’ll get the coins again, you needn’t worry.’
Nairna embraced him tightly, feeling her eyes blur with tears. ‘Thank you.’
‘Go on, then. Send word that you’ve arrived safely,’ he ordered. To Bram, he directed, ‘Take care of my daughter.’
Bram met his gaze and gave a nod. He sat holding the reins, waiting for her. Nairna looked around for her maid, but there was no sign of the elderly woman.
‘Jenny is coming with us, isn’t she?’ Nairna asked.
Bram shook his head. ‘Not yet. Perhaps later, once I’ve seen how Glen Arrin has fared.’
‘What about escorts?’ She couldn’t imagine that he intended to travel alone with her, not with all the unrest in the Highlands.
‘It would only attract the attention of Cairnross and his men, if they’re still looking,’ her father pointed out. He exchanged a look with Bram. ‘And after what happened with Harkirk’s men yesterday, we want nothing that will draw notice.’
Nairna didn’t like it. It was dangerous, especially in enemy territory. Bram sensed her uneasiness and he touched the hilt of a claymore Nairna hadn’t seen before. It was strapped to his back, hidden behind a cloak of dark wool. ‘We’ll be safe enough.’
He helped her climb into the back of the wagon, among the goods. And as the wagon rumbled along the road outside the gates, Nairna prayed it would be true.
The foothills rose higher as they continued further north-west, transforming into mountains. The gleaming silver of the loch brushed the stony banks, contrasting against the vast green expanse of grass. The trees grew sparser and rain spattered against the wool of her hood.
Nairna was used to the rain, but today it took on a more ghostly atmosphere with the clouds skimming the edges of the mountains.
The MacKinloch clan dwelled a two-day journey on horseback through the valley. Nairna had only been there once, and after Bram was believed dead, she’d chosen to stay with her family instead of living among strangers.
She studied Bram from her position in the wagon, noticing the lowered shoulders, the heaviness in his posture. He kept his gaze fixed upon the horizon, watching for enemies. Exhaustion weighted him down and she wondered what she could do to help ease him.
After another hour, she moved to the front of the wagon and sat beside him. His apprehensions about the journey were evident from the set of his jaw and the cast of his face.
‘You haven’t seen your family since you were taken captive?’ she ventured, breaking the silence. Though she already knew the answer, she’d hoped to get him talking.
Bram only shook his head once.
She tried again. ‘Will your other brothers be glad to see you?’ He gave a shrug as if he didn’t know the answer.
By the saints, this was going to be a long journey if he didn’t speak a word. ‘Did you leave your voice back at Ballaloch? Or are you planning to ignore me?’
Bram slowed the horses and turned to look at her. Unrest brewed in his eyes, along with unspoken frustration. ‘They didn’t try to free us, Nairna. My brother and I were locked away for years. Not a single person from my family came to look for us. And I don’t know why.’
The vehemence in his voice made her regret pushing him. ‘They sent word to my father that you were killed in the siege.’ She touched his sleeve, hoping his own family hadn’t truly meant to abandon him. ‘I suppose no one knew the truth. I’m sorry.’
Her words did little to ease his black mood. Bram increased the pace of their horse again, the wagon bumping along the path.
The afternoon drew closer to evening, and the mist lifted just enough to see the path that lay ahead. Tucked near the side of a hill with a steep ditch on all sides lay the motte defended by Robert Fitzroy, Baron of Harkirk.
She reached for Bram’s hand, fear rising up in her throat. ‘The men who tried to kill you yesterday … they came from Harkirk’s fortress. There.’ She pointed to the structure.
Though it had once been nothing but a wooden garrison, from the looks of it Harkirk had begun transforming the enclosure into a more permanent structure with a tower. Knowing that her father’s coins had gone into the construction irritated her further.
He squeezed her hand once, then released it. His eyes studied the fortress. ‘How long has this been here?’
‘They built the first garrison five years ago. It’s changed since then.’ Unfortunately, it had grown larger, as if Harkirk intended to build a castle.
‘I thought the land was part of your father’s holdings.’
‘Not anymore.’ Not since Hamish had made the peace agreement with the English. ‘Lord Harkirk governs it now. He claims it’s for our protection.’
Bram unsheathed the claymore from his back and set it at his feet. The weapon was a gift from her father.
From tip to hilt it stood as high as Nairna’s chest, and wielding the two-handed sword required strength. She wondered if he was capable of defending them with it.
Though he kept his hands upon the reins, there was a visible shift in his demeanour. His face grew distant, his eyes searching the horizon.
When they started to pass beyond the outskirts of the fortress, two soldiers rode forwards to intercept them.
Nairna’s heart sank. She’d hoped they could make it past without being noticed. Though she tried to push back the fear rising up inside, her nerves were raw. She couldn’t stop thinking about the soldiers who had captured Bram, intending to murder him.
As the soldiers drew closer, Bram kept the wagon at a steady pace.
‘Should we ride faster?’ she ventured.
But there came no reply. He was staring straight ahead, as if caught in a trance. ‘Bram?’ she asked again.
‘There are only two of them. And if they threaten you, they answer to me.’ The flat emotionless tone frightened her as much as the soldiers, for she suspected he would kill without any remorse. Nairna prayed it wouldn’t be necessary.
She risked a glance behind at the mounted soldiers. They wore chainmail armour and both carried spears. Lower-ranking soldiers, she realised. Likely sent to question them.
Bram maintained their pace and as the men came closer, her nerves wound tighter. The men surrounded them, keeping an even pace with the wagon. One sent her a slow smile that made her skin crawl.
Bram hadn’t moved, not wavering from his course. If it weren’t for his tight knuckles, she’d have wondered if he had even noticed the soldiers. His gaze remained focused upon the road ahead of them.
‘Aren’t you going to stop?’ one taunted her. ‘Lord Harkirk would want to offer his … hospitality.’
Nairna gave no reply, for it would only goad them on. She moved closer to Bram, not making eye contact with the soldiers. Silently, she prayed that the men would leave them alone. But instead, they continued riding, one on each side of the wagon.
‘I’d like a piece of the woman,’ came the voice of the other soldier. He smirked and Nairna shrank away.
At that, Bram raised up the claymore. His arm muscles strained as he pointed it at the soldier who had threatened her. In his other hand, he held a dirk.
Nairna took the reins from him and held her breath, for she hadn’t known he possessed the strength to hold the weight of the claymore with only one hand.
‘If you touch her, I’ll remove your hand.’ He sent them a dark smile. ‘Or your head. And I’ll enjoy doing it.’
The soldiers eyed one another, as if they weren’t certain whether he would follow through with the threat. In the end, they fell back.
‘Go on your way.’
Bram never tore his gaze from the men until they were far in the distance. The interaction had affected him somehow, the shadow of his past crossing over his face. Every muscle in his body was taut, like a tightly strung bow, before he lowered the claymore and dirk, taking the reins back.
Only when several miles lay between them and the garrison did Nairna start to breathe again. Too much could have gone wrong. They could have questioned Bram or taken him into custody.
Her father had been right. They needed to get far away from Ballaloch. Only at Glen Arrin, among Bram’s family, would they be safe.
When the sun had begun to descend, she asked Bram, ‘Where do you want to stop for the night?’ Though she wasn’t quite ready to sleep, she was growing hungry.
Nothing. It was as if she’d spoken to empty air.
‘Bram?’ she prompted again. He didn’t turn, didn’t move, except to keep his gaze fixated upon the road ahead. It was then that she noticed his hands were shaking. Though his posture remained perfectly upright, something wasn’t right.
His eyes were unseeing, as if he were caught within a dream. Was he even aware of anything?
‘What is it?’
Bram didn’t speak, so she pulled against the reins, ordering the horse to stop. He didn’t seem to notice that they were no longer moving. His brown eyes were vacant and she reached out to take his hands in hers. His flesh was icy cold.
‘Tell me,’ she whispered, suddenly frightened. The sky was darkening, the wind shifting around them. Bram appeared lost in a world of his own thoughts and she suspected he didn’t hear her at all.
She reached out to touch his cheek, hoping that the gesture would awaken him from the spell he was under. Gently, she slid her fingertips down his skin to his throat. When her touch grazed against his scar, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Madness brewed in his eyes and he stared hard at her, as though she were an enemy trying to slay him.
The pain made her gasp and she closed her eyes, wondering how in God’s name she would break through to him. Though he’d lost a great deal of strength, she didn’t doubt he could snap her wrist in half.
‘Bram, it’s Nairna,’ she insisted. ‘Look at me. It’s your—’ she let out a shuddering breath ‘—your wife,’ she managed. ‘Please let go of my wrist.’
When he didn’t, she fought back against the harsh pain. ‘You’re hurting me, Bram.’
Agonising minutes stretched on while she spoke quietly to him, praying that he would somehow see her.
And then, abruptly, he let go. He blinked at her, his eyes suddenly narrowing. When he saw her clutching at her wrist and her reddened skin, he let out a tortured breath.
‘What did I do to you, Nairna?’
She shook her head, not knowing what to say. Her heart shook within her chest and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he breathed, trying to examine her hand, but she kept it far away from him. ‘I was dreaming. I must have fallen asleep.’
‘Your eyes were open,’ she insisted.
He rested his elbows on his knees, letting his face sink into his hands. His fingers were still trembling, she realised. A deep fear sank inside her, for she didn’t know whether or not Bram was telling the truth. It might have been a waking dream, or it might have been madness. She didn’t know.
‘Let’s stop here for the night,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll get some rest and start again in the morning.’
‘Nairna.’ He lifted his head and she saw the regret etched on his face. ‘Never in a thousand years would I knowingly hurt you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’