Page 5 of The Heart of a Highlander
“Brothwell,” Esther yelled, “yer father is nae the rightful king! He made ye a bastard! Why do ye even support him?”
Brothwell shoved Ada away and stormed toward Esther, raising his hand as if to strike her.
“Brothwell, nay!” Ada screamed, lunging toward him and grabbing his arm. What Esther said was true: the Steward had taken Marjorie and Brothwell’s mother as his mistress long ago but had refused to make her his wife, even when she bore them. To say it aloud, to remind Brothwell, was dangerous. She feared Esther had pushed Brothwell too far.
“Brother, Esther is an old, babbling fool.” Ada shot Esther a pleading look to cooperate and stay quiet. “I ken as ye do that yer father did what he had to for Scotland, which makes him a great man.”
The lie made her stomach turn, and she prayed her disgust did not show on her face. The Steward was a horrid man, but in the long years since Brothwell’s father had turned his mother away, Brothwell had concluded that his father had made a great sacrifice for Scotland by wedding a woman other than Brothwell’s mother. The truth was, his wife had brought him more power than Brothwell and Marjorie’s mother ever could have.
“I need to teach yer companion her place,” Brothwell said, jerking out of Ada’s hold and once again raising his hand to Esther. She flinched but held her ground.
“I’ll do as ye say!” Ada blurted. “I’ll choose a husband!”
“Ada!” Esther cried out, and Ada glared at her, willing her to silence.
“Cease talking, Esther,” Ada commanded, knowing Esther’s loose tongue would worsen matters. The woman was stubborn and outspoken. If only she cowered or stayed quiet in this moment, she would live another day. A day they could use to figure out how to escape.
Brothwell turned to her. “Ye finally relinquish yer misguided loyalties to King David?”
Ada nodded as her mind turned on how to get away from the guards. “My father is dead, and as ye have said, ye are my laird now.”
Brothwell held his hand out to her. What did he want her to do? Take it? The thought repelled her, but she reached for it, willing to grovel briefly to keep Esther safe. He smirked at Ada when her fingers grazed his, and he pulled his hand away. “Nay, sister dear. Kiss my ring.”
She gritted her teeth. The conniving liar! The thief! He had convinced her ill and confused father that he should give Brothwell the ring of the laird, thereby giving his support to the Steward.
Oh, Father!Her heart ached.I ken ye did nae ken what ye were doing.
“Ada,” Brothwell said. The word was a reminder, and Ada forced herself to kiss the ring, though doing so made her want to retch.
“Ye are a clever lass, and ye have pleased me today. My father will recognize me when he becomes king. He has vowed to claim me as his son, which will bring this clan more land, more coin, and more power. And I will be generous to ye.”
Brothwell was a fool. The Steward would never acknowledge him as his son, nor Marjorie as his daughter. He was using Brothwell, but Ada bit her tongue on saying words that would only fall on deaf ears.
Brothwell reached out and grabbed her by the neck, drawing her close once more. “Since ye have pleased me, I have a gift for ye.”
Ada could only imagine, and it made her tremble.
“I’ve decided to have a tournament here in a fortnight. Yer stubbornness in nae choosing a husband from the men I already presented was actually a blessing.”
Heaven above, what was about to happen? She saw Esther’s uneasy look, and she prayed her longtime companion would hold her silence just a bit longer.
“I was nae thinking properly,” Brothwell said.
“Nay?” she asked weakly.
“Nay!” He squeezed her neck, causing a shooting pain that made her wince, but his hold did not lessen. “Ye are the King Maker! I was simply putting men before ye that supported the Steward, but I thought too small. When men hear ye are to finally choose a husband, they will come from far and wide. Yer hand will command the greatest warriors, and they will join forces with me to aid me in putting my father on the throne.”
Ada knew she should hold her silence, but she could not. “Whatever makes ye think any man that would willingly betray his king will nae betray ye? They will come in hope of becoming king themselves or of putting whomever they support on the throne.”
To her surprise, Brothwell agreed. “Aye…some will.”
Esther’s eyes had narrowed into two gleaming slits of disgust, and Ada had to wonder if she looked the same way.
“Ye are verra astute, Ada,” Brothwell went on. “But I already considered this. The men will believe that all they must do is fight in the tournament to win the chance to woo ye. But any man who dunnae pass a test of fealty to me and my father will nae advance in the tournament. All ye must do is choose a husband from the last two men standing, and I will allow him to woo ye. See how generous I am?”
The urge to slap him was so strong, Ada had to curl her hands into fists to control herself, but even allowing that was a grave error.
Brothwell’s face flushed red, and she realized too late that he’d seen her action. He shoved her aside, reared his hand back, and hit Esther so hard, she fell to her knees, head hanging down.
