Page 32 of When a Highlander Weds a Hellion
The smile that had been on Broch’s lips faded to a sardonic twist of his mouth. “Ye dunnae have to hate me,” he said. It was a statement, but she also heard the pleading in his voice.
A tear slipped from her eye, which shocked her. She started to wipe it away, but Broch’s fingers were there before she could even move. “Tell me what I can do.”
“I wish I kenned,” she replied honestly. “Even if I find ye honorable, ye are still a Blackswell. I kinnae forgive yer family or live in peace among them.”
He nodded, appearing to think upon what she had said. “Let us first see if ye find me honorable, aye? ’Tis a place to start.”
She should say no, but what she should do never seemed to reconcile with what she actually did when it came to this man, so she nodded. But even as she did, she vowed to herself that there would be no more kisses. She could not touch Broch again because, clearly, she had no control where he was concerned.
Twelve
His wife had a will that would put many a warrior to shame. Three days. It had been three days since she had touched him. He had been impressed and irked with the clever way she had fixed her problem of stopping herself from becoming entangled with him when she slept. Several rolled-up blankets now divided their bed into two sections, one for him and for her. He despised it. Yet he could not help but be proud of how she endeavored to stick to the promise she had given her father, however misguided it was.
In the last few days, he had striven to show her the good that he had come to see in the Blackswell clan, but obviously it was not enough. He had taken her to cook in the kitchens with the friendly women one day, and though Katreine had begrudgingly admitted they were nice and seemed honest enough, she had also said the men were the problem, not the women.
So the next day he’d had her talk to Father Donnely, who Broch had spoken with himself two sennights before when making his own inquiries about the clan. She’d asked the white-haired, gray-bearded, gentle-eyed man if he suspected anyone in the clan would be going to Hell for murder and theft.
Broch had been forced to clench his teeth on a chuckle at her indirect yet direct question and Father Donnely’s shocked expression. The priest had stammered about and then told Katreine that he believed all the Blackswells to be in good standing with God, to which she had patted the portly priest’s hand and said in a placating tone that she understood he had to say that. She’d not stopped there though, no. She’d said that she was certain God would forgive Father Donnely for his falsehood begotten by fear of punishment. Father Donnely had turned red as a beet and tried to say a prayer for her, but instead, she’d taken out a coin to pay for a penance for him.
On the third day, Broch had woken with such a sharp ache to touch his new wife, to kiss her, that he’d been bound and determined that this would be the day she saw some good in the family they were both now tied to. He’d taken her to speak with the bard, Alban, who knew the history of the clan. The man had told them that the Blackswell healer Esmerelda had birthed Broch and Brodee, and then he’d told tales of the Blackswells’ daring feats for King David and his father. The bard had spoken of the honor of Broch’s father and the ferociousness of Brodee in battle, which had won King David his last victory in the Rough Bounds. Unfortunately, Katreine had seen that same ferociousness as the very thing that pointed to Brodee being a murderer.
Now, morning had come again, and Broch was at a loss as to what to do next. He sat in the great hall alone, as most people had not even risen yet. He stared at the rich tapestries hanging on the walls, which depicted battle scenes the Blackswells had been engaged in over the years, and he wondered if there would ever be a tapestry made depicting him with his father and brother. It was the first time he had allowed himself to think of the Blackswell as his actual father. He’d hesitated to do so, he supposed because he was being careful, wanting to ensure he did not actually uncover something he had missed that would show the man as guilty of the things Katreine was convinced he—and Brodee—had done. As far as Broch could see, the only thing that Blackswell was guilty of was his harshness toward Brodee.
Broch desperately wanted to carve a place for himself in this clan, but how could he do that when his wife hated his family? He drummed his fingers on the table trying to order his thoughts when footsteps fell in the great hall, and he turned to see his father striding toward him.
“Why do ye look so vexed?” Blackswell asked, sitting down beside Broch.
“I kinnae unravel how to make Katreine see that Brodee is innocent of murdering her sister…” He eyed his father, knowing the man had previously worried Brodee may have done it.
Blackswell shook his head. “Yer brother is nae a murderer. That was foolish of me. Brodee has nae ever raised a hand to harm a lass. Truth be told, he loved his leman and wished to wed her, but I told him he could nae. I told him that he had to wed Lenora so we could obtain half of Derthshire. I shamed him, I’m sorry to say. I made him feel he’d ruined so many things. I even said I would nae be surprised if he somehow ruined our chance at obtaining the land.”
“Ye are too hard on him,” Broch said, deciding it was finally time to speak his mind.
“Aye. I did nae ever realize how cold and distant I’ve been to him until ye came back into my life, Son. Ye returned a warmth to me that I suppose I’d denied myself out of guilt for kenning I drove yer mother away.”
Broch nodded. “I suspected the guilt part.” He didn’t know what to say about the warmth part. He was not a man for soft conversation or words. Still, he cleared his throat. “I, er, feel glad to have found ye, as well.”
Blackswell grinned at that, which was a great relief. Broch would rather yank out a tooth than sit and exchange soft words with his father. Blackswell clapped Broch on the shoulder. “Give yer new wife some time. Why dunnae ye focus on finding yer place in the clan? Once ye have, she will see and follow.”
Broch nodded. “Perhaps. My current plot is nae working.”
Blackswell chuckled. “Well, I’d like to give ye the training of my personal guards. I’m too old to be doing this anymore.”
“I’ll take it,” Broch said, thinking about Brodee. “But only if ye give me half the responsibility. Give Brodee half, as well, aye?”
Blackswell nodded, his eyes shining with what Broch swore was pride. “Ye are going to make a fine laird someday.”
And damned if the praise did not lodge a lump in Broch’s throat.
Katreine hid behind a crowd of women who had gathered to watch the afternoon training of Blackswell’s personal guards, and she scowled. She stared at her husband, clad only in his braies, which clung sinfully to his hips, and her stomach tightened. She knew the feeling well. He laughed with the men, even his brother for a moment, which made her clench her teeth so hard that a pain shot through her jaw.
For a sennight now, Broch had spent all his mornings and days training with these men, including Brodee. At first, she’d been ecstatic when she’d learned he and his brother were to train the personal guard together, because she’d been certain that would give Broch a chance to see that his brother was evil. But Brodee was apparently cleverer than she had thought.
They had disagreed at first, and Brodee still seemed very reluctant to share control with Broch, but to her dismay, he seemed to be gaining Broch’s allegiance. At supper the last several nights, they’d sat laughing about training stories from the day, and the two of them had taken to swimming in the loch after supper and staying out so late that she’d been asleep the last three nights when Broch had come to their bedchamber.
Things could not continue this way. She had to somehow show Broch what his family was really like, and…and…what? Frustration made her curl her hands into fists, even as her gaze was riveted to Broch, who launched an attack on Brodee to show the other warriors defense moves.
Broch moved with the grace of a God and the skill of a man born to conquer. He made her mouth water and her thoughts spin. God’s teeth! She lusted for her husband! Not only that but, to her dismay, she liked him. Tremendously. She might even be starting to care for him. Perhaps, if she could somehow make him see the treachery that surrounded him, he would come with her to her home. There, they could live together, learn each other, and—she swallowed as a newfound hope welled in her—they could even love each other.
