Page 82 of My Scot, My Surrender
Her very virile, very indefatigable husband.
She didn’t need to see him without a shirt to have her wits scatter. A secret smile touched her lips—she’d seen more than enough of his beautiful naked body earlier that morning. With that shameless thought, she felt her cheeks burn, along with other unmentionable parts of her.
Unlike the other Scotsmen, he wasn’t shirtless. A fact for which she was very grateful. She didn’t much like the idea of other women gawking at her husband.
But they did anyway.
Sorcha had to admit Brandt wore a kilt well. When he’d asked that morning for her help to don the Montgomery plaid, she’d understood how momentous an act it was for him. So had his clansmen. Glimpses of his strong thighs were visible above his boots, sinewy and thick with muscle, with each twist of his lithe body. His handsome face was flushed with exertion, his powerful arms swinging his broadsword with deadly grace. He moved like a dancer on the battlefield, with calculated finesse. Much like he did everything else, including lovemaking. Her knees trembled slightly.
“I was in labor with him for three days,” Catriona said softly, following her stare.
A rush of heat scoured Sorcha’s skin.Christ tossing a caber.She’d been caught ogling her own husband by hismother. She composed herself, though her face felt like it was on fire. “Was it a difficult birth?”
Catriona patted the grass again, and this time Sorcha sat. The promise of learning anything about Brandt was too good to pass up.
“The delivery was quite easy, but the hours leading up to it were no’.” She smiled in memory. “The midwife wanted to force the birth by attempting to turn him, but I told her that the babe would come in his own time when he was ready. And he did.” Her fingers shook over the shears. “I held him for only a scant few minutes, but I could already tell what kind of man he would be. He wasnae sleepy, and he didnae wail. As a babe, he was so alert, so focused and quiet, observing everything around him.”
“He hasn’t changed,” Sorcha said smiling. “Stoic to the core.”
“I already kenned that one day he would be a great laird.” Catriona’s voice broke slightly. “I only hoped that by sending him away, I would be giving him a chance. I still dunnae ken if I made the right decision.”
Sorcha reached for Catriona’s hand and squeezed. “You did. If you hadn’t, your son would have met with an end much like that of the late duke’s. YousavedBrandt by letting him go, and now he has returned, as you had hoped.”
The duchess smiled sadly. “No’ quite as I’d hoped. I didnae expect that Rodric would force me to remarry so quickly, and to him.” She glanced apologetically to Sorcha. “Forgive me, I am sure ye dunnae want to hear such things.”
“No, I do,” Sorcha said, guessing that Catriona had never spoken to anyone of what had happened. She’d kept it all inside for so many years, harboring the secret silent hope that one day the son she’d given up would return. “Did he give you a choice?”
“Yes,” Catriona said. “To stay as his duchess or leave. Though it wasnae a choice, no’ really. I could have gone back to my father’s clan in the south, but if Brandall returned to Montgomery, how would I have ever kenned? In setting him free, I had closed my own cage.” Her agony was a tangible thing. “So I married Rodric, even though my heart would always belong to another.”
“I’m sorry.”
“’Twas the bed I made,” she said. “I hoped and prayed for Brandall to return. I love my children, ye ken, but Rodric was no’ the man he pretended to be. Even I didnae ken how deep his hatred of his brother had run all those years. He wanted to erase the memory of him from Montgomery.”
“Brandt told me about the portrait in the gallery. The covered one.”
Catriona nodded. “’Twas all he left of him, though he ordered it draped. I suppose he wanted to appear as if he mourned. But Rodric broke clan alliances and dismantled everything Robert had built. Montgomery became an isolated fortress, and he was its sovereign.” She swallowed. “We were forbidden to speak Robert’s name, to even reminisce of him. Those who did were punished.”
“Punished?”
She shrugged. “Whipped, beaten, humiliated. I was the worst transgressor, of course. But the pain was worth it. I couldnae let my husband’s memory be erased from history. My children ken their brave, kind uncle.”
Sorcha felt a pulse of rage course through her veins. Any man who beat defenseless women deserved a special chamber in hell. But not everyone thought that way, she knew. There were still many clans who believed it was a man’s right to do as he wished with his wife. Including the marquess to whom she had been betrothed. “I truly wish Brandt had not let him go, for it would give me great pleasure to smash my fist into his cowardly face.”
She had not agreed with her husband’s decision to release Rodric. He was too dangerous of a man to be on the loose with an axe to grind. And he would no doubt run to Malvern, if indeed they were allies. But perhaps that was what Brandt hoped for—he wanted a chance to face him on the battlefield, should Rodric return.
“I cannae regret my choices. My son has returned, and I’ve been blessed with Patrick, Callan, and Aisla.”
Sorcha wanted to chase the sadness from her eyes. Marriage to a man like Rodric could not have been easy to bear. Montgomery had not only become Catriona’s prison, the duke had become her warden. She wanted to turn the duchess’s thoughts to happier times.
“What was Brandt’s father like? Is he much like him?”
“Robert?” Her eyes brightened, and Sorcha nodded. “I see a lot of Robert in him. I see his strength and his patience. I also see his dry sense of humor.”
“Dry would be a kind way to put it.” Sorcha laughed. “What about horses? Did the duke like those? Brandt seems to have a way with them that I’ve never seen before.”
The duchess’s smile overtook her entire face, making the eyes that were so like her son’s sparkle. “Och, that he gets from me. My father raised Scottish racehorses, and I learned to ride before I could walk. Everyone used to say that we had a mystical hand with them—the fairy’s touch. ’Twas my father, his father before him, me. And now Brandt. Callan has a bit of it as well, though he lacks the patience.”
Sorcha nodded. When people had special gifts in the Highlands, it was often said that they’d been blessed with them from the fey folk. Brandt did seem to have a magical touch with Ares, and Lockie as well.
