Bearing It All (24 page)

At eight-fifty, Anisa was escorted into the small courtroom used for military hearings and court-martials. She limped slightly, but it was her bruised and battered face and arms that caught everyone's eye. After she'd verbally harassed Major Mouzon, he'd damn near gone berserk, but his fighting skills were lacking.

Granted, he'd worked her over pretty good. Her one eye was completely swollen shut, her nose broken, and her lips distended and cracked. On the other hand, both of his eyes were blackened and four of his front teeth were missing. His arms were bruised, as were a couple of his ribs, severely, if not cracked. After she'd broken his knee, she'd taken the cane to his ass and left several welts until he'd begged for mercy. Since she was a sweet, gentle soul, she'd granted it. After all, who liked a mean bitch?

She stood at attention alone at the defendant's table. A man in a kilt and a fancy jacket joined her. “I'm Donnel Matheson, yer lawyer,” he whispered. “I need ye to sign this paper applying for Scottish citizenship. 'Tis the next step in your seeking asylum. I'm trying me best to rush things through with the contacts I still have in the UK. Now, Anisa, before the court proceedings begin and pandemonium breaks loose. That is, if ye want to marry Ronan…”

She snatched the pen from his hand and signed everywhere he indicated.

“Sign this second copy for us to keep. Who beat ye? Has anyone examined ye?”

“Major André Mouzon. He came to my cell last night. It was his wife who poisoned me and later tried to shoot me. No one's examined me. He threatened my life if I told. Like a little threat would close this big mouth. Besides, wait until you see him. He'll be the one on crutches.”

The French Military Review Board ambled in and took their seats at the front table. Their gazes went from Anisa's beaten face to the man standing tall beside her.

Anisa was so nervous, she nearly jumped out of her skin when bagpipes played along with sounds of men marching through the back door, their steps in unison. She whirled around to count ten men in kilts and fancy jackets with golden braid and other decorations. Bringing up the rear was petite Effie in her plaid sash over a turtleneck, plaid skirt, and plaid baffies. Creighton and Ronan led the procession. As soon as Ronan saw her face, his face hardened bright red in anger.

“I'll sit behind me woman.” He stood back to allow all the clan members and Effie to file into their seats. Creighton waited, too, taking the seat next to Ronan, no doubt to keep him from killing someone. Ronan leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck. “Beloved. Are ye okay? Were ye beaten?”

“Not as much as my attacker, luv. I can't believe you're all here.”

The man in a French military uniform sitting in the middle chair at the tribunal table pounded his gavel. “This is a court-martial, not a circus. Anisa Brosseau, is the man beside you your legal counsel?”

Donnel stood and replied in rapid-fire French. “I am, your honor. May I approach the bench to show my legal documents to practice law in France? I am Donnel Matheson, a resident of Paris, living on rue du Bac.”

“You may.” The Frenchman motioned him forward.

He carried his documentation to the bench for everyone's perusal. “I represent the defendant in this trial since she is engaged to my cousin and is in the process of seeking Scottish citizenship.” He presented that paper as well. “She's already filed forms for political asylum and residency. Here's a copy of her form with the governmental stamp and case number affixed.”

They kept both the citizenship and asylum papers before returning to Donnel his legal proof of being able to practice law in France.

The judiciary branch of the French military began his opening speech. Dry facts, quickly delivered.

When prompted, Donnel began his history of Anisa's military career. He moved on to her discovery of secret intel. On a movie screen, he played parts showing how her apartment and car were both bugged and wired with cameras. Using a PowerPoint presentation, he presented reports she had turned into her American CIA supervisor, with a date stamp, that were never forwarded to anyone else in ICAT.

He introduced emails between Todd Anderson, Mitch Franklin, and French Major André Mouzon and agents in Russia. Next, he detailed deposits from the Russian government to Swiss accounts held by these three men. He mesmerized everyone with the facts he'd so methodically assembled.

“If you'll take a look at my client, you'll see she had a visitor at her cell last night. That visitor who beat her was Major André Mouzon. Anisa, would you stand and show everyone your injuries?”

She did amid much whispering and gawking.

Donnel continued, “Now, Major André Mouzon, would you stand and remove your sunglasses to show how Anisa used her extensive military training to desperately fight you off?”

“I will not! This is preposterous.” His voice whistled and lisped from the loss of his front teeth. “I refuse to have a man in a skirt tell me what to do.”

The officer in charge of the proceedings pointed at him. “I see nothing wrong with his request. Remove your sunglasses. While you're at it, stand and present your hands for our inspection.”

Anisa leaned to whisper to her lawyer. “Too bad he can't drop his pants to show everyone how I beat his ass.”

When he removed his glasses, both of his eyes were black and blue. There were scratches on his cheeks. He leaned on a crutch to stand and held up his hands, his knuckles scabbed and swollen.

“Honorable men of this tribunal, I implore you to end this reign of terror for Anisa Brosseau. She has served her country well. Pay her back by giving her a discharge and allowing her to move to Scotland so she can marry and live her life there.”

The man in the middle chair cleared his throat. “We still have the matter of the cost of the drone.”

Donnel engulfed each man on the bench with his forceful view. “Yes, you do. May I be so bold as to suggest you have Major Mouzon pay for it from the Swiss account stuffed with monies gained illegally from the Russians? Why should he benefit from betraying his country?” He sat and leaned back.

His self-assurance was evident to Anisa, but she couldn't relax until the verdict was in. She lowered her hand and Ronan took it. There was comfort in his touch. They waited while the officers stood in a group and whispered.

Five minutes passed by.

Ten minutes.

There was much hand gesturing.

Fifteen minutes of head shaking and nodding.

Meanwhile, Ronan slid his chair next to hers and took her in his arms. “Baby, baby, what did that bastard do to ye?”

“Once I have a hot bath and you rub lotion over me, I'll be better. If you hold me in your arms all night, I'll feel safe and loved.”

“Done, me luv. However I can help ye, I will.”

“Of course, all this depends on their verdict. If we win, I want champagne.”

The officers finally sat in their previous chairs. Donnel helped Anisa to her feet. The middle man spoke, “We have reached a unanimous verdict. Anisa Brosseau will be granted an honorable discharge.” This was something she hadn't expected. “She has two days to move to Scotland. From that point on, she can only set foot on French soil for a family illness or funeral. Major Mouzon will pay for the drone and give any remaining monies from the Russians to a named orphanage before he is confined to jail for the rest of his life.”

The officer nodded to the guards who had escorted Anisa into the courtroom. “Place Major Mouzon under arrest and put him in solitary confinement until further arrangements are made for the remainder of his time.”

“No!” Major Mouzon lunged across the aisle for Anisa. His eyes filled with hate. “She always gets her way!”

Magnus roared as Ronan punched the attacker. “Ye will nay hurt me woman again.”

The Major dropped to his knees and yelped in pain before the guards dragged him away, blood running from his mouth.

“It's over!” Anisa wrapped her arms around Ronan's neck and he swung her slowly around as he whispered how much he loved her. He gently set her down. “This nightmare is finally over, thanks to you and your family.” Anisa shook everyone's hand and hugged them all. “Thank you so much.”

Effie took her hand. “Come with me to the restroom, Rose Petal. I'm not sure which way it is.”

Once in the restroom, Effie put her fingertips to Anisa's nose. “Hold still. I'll fix this broken nose.” She applied gentle pressure and spoke a few words. “Any serious injuries?”

“No. Just bruises.” She smiled. “I want Ronan to pay special attention to those. But I do appreciate your help with my nose. I can breathe better already.” She knew how much healing took out of Effie. She didn't want her weakened because of her.

“Part of my duty as a witch is to protect those who cannot protect themselves.” Effie lay both of her hands over Anisa's abdomen and stared into her eyes. “Ye have a bairn, too small to handle much physical abuse to his mother. Allow me to chant a few words of protection. He's fine. We just want to keep him that way.” Both women stood cheek to cheek as Effie spoke words only she understood.

When Effie was through, she pressed a kiss to both of Anisa's hands. “I told Creighton you might need me. Of course Earnan acted all macho because I didn't listen to him and stay home.” She winked. “I know how to soothe the savage beast.” She pivoted and slipped out the door, her back end twitching.

Once Anisa and Ronan said goodbye to everyone who had come for support, they went to her apartment on rue Galande. She opened the windows to let in some fresh air and showed him where the cameras and listening devices were in her bedroom and bathroom. He removed all of them while she ran a hot bubble bath and soaked her sore and weary bones. Part of her felt good to be back in her own flat and part of her was beyond ready to move on. She would be Scottish, living in the Highlands she'd always dreamed of with a man she never imagined existed.

“Need yer back washed, luv?”
Oh, that deep sexy voice of his.

She handed him her loofah and leaned forward with a wet washcloth over her battered face. For a large man, he was so gentle with her.

Her life had changed so much in just a few hours. “After I get out of the tub, will you gently rub some lotion on some of my bruises before I put on some pajamas? Promise you'll hold me close all night.”

“I will, luv. Me strength and endurance has returned.” He held up a towel and she stood. “Och, sweetheart, all yer bruises. I canna stand seeing ye hurt.” He blotted her dry, kissing parts of her that relished the touch of his lips. “I'll hold ye, but nay sex. Not fer a few days. I'm almost afraid to kiss yer lips. They look so painful.” He gently rubbed lotion where she indicated.

“I'll heal. The bruises will go away.” She went to her dresser, pulled out a set of pajamas, and slipped them on.

Ronan stood behind her and placed her sapphire necklace around her neck. “Time for ye to have this back. It looks better on ye than on me. Now, there are two gifts for ye. This one Magnus pointed out to me and the other I found on me own.”

She took the small jeweler's box from Cartier and opened it. There were sapphire earrings inside just like the sapphire pendant on her necklace. She gasped with joy. “Oh, I love them. How beautiful! Please tell Magnus I adore them.”

“Magnus is pleased. He's been frightfully worried about ye.” Ronan reached into his bag. “I picked this out.” He extended his hand with a larger Cartier box.

“Oh, wow, this is my lucky day. I got you back. My freedom. These earrings and now this.” She opened the box and found a matching bracelet of sapphires and emeralds, the colors of the Matheson plaid. “Oh, man of mine, put this on me. I love it. I'll always have your colors with me.”

He closed the clasp on the bracelet. “I love ye.”

“I love you.”

“I'm not one in favor of long engagements, me Beauty. I'm thinking next month.”

She burrowed into his embrace. “I'm thinking I agree.” Especially if Effie is right and I'm pregnant.”

“Ye will always be me heart. Beloved.”

“I need to call my mama and tell her the news. I'd like to spend tomorrow with her if that's okay with you.”

“I think ye would break yer mum's heart if ye left Paris with nay contact or farewells. Here, use Creighton's cellphone. Make some plans to get together.”

She dialed home and when she heard her mama's voice, she started to cry. “Ma…Mama?”

“Anisa? My princess?” She started crying, too. “I've just heard on the news you were cleared of all charges. Where are you?”

“At my apartment.”

“Grandpa and I are on our way over. We have so much to talk about. Who is this Scottish man the news says you will marry?”

“Ask Grandpa if he remembers an apprentice he had about six years ago from Scotland. Ronan Matheson. It's him.” There was muffled conversation in the background and her grandpa's
“Oui, oui. Bon.”

“We're coming now.” The line went dead.

Anisa looked at Ronan. “They're so excited, they're coming over right now. Grandpa remembers you. I better slip into something more respectable. Mama will not approve of my entertaining you in my pajamas. I'll need to please Mama. I hope you don't mind.”

“Compared to me family, this is nothing.” Ronan smiled, watching her grab clean clothes from her dresser. “Ye look so happy. That pleases me.”

She'd no sooner put on underwear, black slacks, and a pink sweater with a lower neckline that Ronan wholly approved of than pounding sounded at her door. She slipped on black flats and ran for the door, the tears already flowing.

Ronan had put his jacket back on so he was in his full regalia, eager to make a good impression on his future in-laws.

“Mama!” Anisa hugged her and kisses were shared, mingled with tears of joy.