Page 21 of When a Highlander Weds a Hellion
“Mymother,” Brodee growled, his eyes shooting daggers at Broch. “Nae yer mother.”
“She was,” Blackswell bit out and then squeezed Broch’s shoulder. “Come sit here with me. We’ll have some wine, and I’ll tell ye all ye wish to ken.”
Broch nodded and followed Blackswell to the chairs he indicated. But he realized after he sat that there were only the two chairs and that Brodee was standing there awkwardly. Why was the relationship between the two of them so strained? Broch stood and moved to sit at the fireplace ledge and motioned to Brodee. “Take this seat.”
“I’ve better things to do than sit and hear the story of howmymother metmyfather. I’ll go to see why Mungo is nae here yet.”
“I’d still like to question him,” Broch said. He looked to Blackswell, his father. Disbelief tugged at him, yet he’d seen the proof. Part of him wanted to sit and discover all he could about his mother, but he had Katreine to consider, and his loyalty to the king must come first. Yet, if he did sit with Blackswell now, perhaps the man would reveal things he may not otherwise have. Decision made, Broch said, “I can question Mungo after ye tell me of my mother.”
Gratitude shone in Blackswell’s eyes and tightened Broch’s throat. Blackswell inclined his head toward Brodee. “We’ll meet ye in the dungeon—”
“The dungeon! But we dunnae even ken if Mungo has done these things this man says,” Brodee added, pointing at Broch.
Blackswell was on his feet in a flash and toe to toe with Brodee. “This man is yer elder brother, my firstborn son. If he says Mungo was attempting to ravish the Kinntoch lass, then he was. If he’s nae already in the castle, find him, seize him, and take him to the dungeon!”
Broch winced. If he and Brodee were to have any chance of an amicable relationship, he knew well from living among the four MacLeod brothers that too much rivalry between brothers bred hatred and jealousy. When one brother felt lesser in status, or even less beloved by a parent, dark emotions grew. Broch stood, trying to think how to curb Brodee’s growing anger. “If ye dunnae believe my words about Mungo, Katreine Kinntoch will corroborate my story.”
“Katreine would say anything to get out of wedding me,” Brodee spat. “She hates all Blackswells, especially me. And now,” he said, smiling maliciously, “she will hate ye, too. I kinnae say I’m pleased to have a brother, but I’m pleased nae to have to wed that hellion. Ye are the eldest,” Brodee said, “and now ye will be wedding her as the king decreed.The eldest Blackswell will wed the daughter of the Kinntoch laird to ensure peace.” Brodee laughed. “That is, ye will wed herifye can still find her when ye return for her.”
Broch tugged a hand through his hair. He was in a wicked mess. If he found his clan to be innocent of the raids Katreine claimed they had been making, she’d be forced to wed him, and he her. A memory of her lush curves filled his head and stirred his desire. God’s teeth, once she discovered that he was a Blackswell by birth, she’d despise him.
“Go do what ye’ve been ordered to do, boy,” Blackswell said, his voice cold. “Yer brother and I will see ye in the dungeon.”
Brodee’s jaw clenched. He jerked his head in a nod and swiveled on his heel to storm from the room.
“Sit,” Blackswell offered, motioning to the chair. Broch sat as Blackswell poured two goblets of wine and handed one to Broch.
The man stood there simply staring at him until Broch said, “Ye and Brodee seem to have a strained relationship.”
Blackswell sighed as he sat. He crossed his legs at the ankle and gazed ahead for several silent moments. “Aye. ’Tis complicated. I suppose some of it is my fault. When yer mother fled after yer births, she took ye and left him and did nae ever return…” Blackswell shrugged, drummed his fingers on his goblet for a moment, and then took a long drink.
Broch squinted in concentration, slowly going through what he’d seen since meeting both of these men not long ago. “Do ye blame him somehow for her leaving?”
“What?” Blackswell’s eyes grew wide. “Och, nay. ’Tis my fault and my fault alone that yer mother fled me. I did nae ever understand why she did nae return for Brodee, but that dunnae mean I blame him for what she did. I ken I’ve been hard on him, but ’tis only because I wish him to be a better man than I was at his age and nae make the same mistakes I did. But he keeps doing such damn fool things.”
Broch was relieved to hear genuine affection for Brodee in Blackswell’s voice, yet he suspected part of the reason Brodee kept doing “damn fool things” was because he was attempting to gain Blackswell’s affection. But Broch did not feel comfortable saying such a thing. Not yet, anyway. He could not even bring himself to think of the man as his father, let alone offer advice to him on how to be a better father to Brodee.
He took a long sip of his wine, allowing the warm liquid to slide down his throat to his belly. He leaned back in his chair. “What did ye do to make my mother leave ye?”
Blackswell set down his wine goblet and leaned his forearms on his knees. He twined his fingers together and looked at Broch almost as if he were praying or kneeling to ask forgiveness. He angled his face toward Broch’s, his mouth spreading into a thin-lipped smile. “I did nae banish my former mistress from the clan as yer mother demanded after we wed. I was young and prideful, and I did nae like that yer mother demanded I send my leman away. The men already teased me that yer mother had bewitched me, and truth be told, she had. I met her at the Fraser summer tourney, and she told me she was a gypsy. I was a fool and believed her. She begged me to take her with me when I left the tourney, and I did, nae ever bothering to delve into her past to learn if what she said was true.” He looked down at his hands and said in a low voice, “I wanted to believe her because I wanted her, and her nae having a clan allegiance made it simple to just take her.”
“She was a MacLeod,” Broch said, his chest tight, hearing about his mother. Uncle Neil had said she’d been a wild one, that she had longed to be free of their parents and the marriage they had arranged for her. She must have fled with Blackswell to escape the marriage. Did he need to tell Blackswell? He glanced at the man, the stranger, his father. No, he’d not tell him. It made no difference to the man’s memory of her.
“Yer mother had a temper as great as any warrior I ever kenned. She was fiercely vexed with me that I would nae banish my leman, and I became angry because she did nae trust me to nae ever touch the woman again. Then my jealous mind made me think that perhaps she did nae trust me because she had taken a lover. She became pregnant, and one night, when she would nae lie with me, I said horrid things. I—” He shook his head and looked up, pain etched on his face. “I said the wee bairns in her belly were nae even mine. That I’d nae claim them as my heirs. She became so livid that she started having pains, and ye both came that night.” Blackswell studied Broch. “Yet ye and yer brother dunnae look alike, except perhaps yer eyes. Ye both have the same eye shape yer mother possessed.”
Broch imagined his mother—young, angry, prideful, and reckless—giving birth. He had never known her, but he suspected she had been much like Katreine. A strong woman. A woman who could drive a man to his knees or take him soaring to the heights of Valhalla if she chose to bestow her love upon him. “So she fled with me, thinking ye were still bedding yer leman?”
“Aye. My leman told me that her sister, Nesa, was jealous of her and likely told yer mother this to be hateful and cause trouble for her sister. Yer mother left Brodee in the care of the sister, and she left with ye two nights after ye were born.”
Broch frowned. “Why only me? Why nae take Brodee, too?”
“I believe because he had developed an infection at the site of his branding. He came out weaker than ye, right from the start.”
Broch scowled. Eventually, he would have to address Blackswell’s treatment of Brodee. “Ye believe she left Brodee because she thought him weak?”
“Aye, because of the infection.” He shrugged. “And if she could only travel with one bairn—I dunnae think she could have managed two—she naturally took ye, our firstborn son.”
Broch’s frown deepened. “Were ye,” he started, memories of the four MacLeod brothers and how their relationships had developed and the problems they’d faced putting a question in Broch’s mind. “Were ye the firstborn?”
