Highland Thunder (Isle of Mull Series) (11 page)

A figure coming down the hill caught his eye. Rona called out a greeting, waving excitedly.

“Bloody hell,” he heard Brenna curse from within her hut. “I cannot suffer her company for another day.”

Duncan chuckled as he hurried to intercept Rona. “Good morrow, Rona. Is your family well?”

“Indeed they are and good morrow to you, Duncan.”

“’Tis glad I am to hear, but I’m afraid it has not been such a good morning here.” Rona’s eyes widened in concern as she hurried to move past him, but he gently grabbed her arm. “Nay, lass. They are in no danger. Nellore took with a fever last night and is on the mend, but with all the wee ones in your home, I think it best if you stayed away,” he said.

“But how will she nurse Nellore alone and see to the chores?” Rona asked.

“Do not fret. I shall see to their needs but come back on the morrow. I’m sure Nellore will be better by then,” he said.

“If you are certain, Duncan. Please do not hesitate to fetch me should the need arise.”

“My thanks, Rona, and I thank you for all you’ve done over these last few days,” he smiled. Rona blushed from his praise. Then she hurried back up the hill.

Brenna threw open the door and raced outside. “Where is she going? What did you say to her?” She gave him an accusing stare. “I suppose you were just being your naturally rude self.”

“On the contrary, I praised her efforts but told her she was not needed today. I thought you might enjoy a day’s reprieve from her chatter, but alas, she will return on the morrow.”

“But I’ve washing to do; we are fresh out of bannock, and Nellore’s tunic needs mending. Despite how tedious her company may be, I need her help. Go after her, Duncan,” she said.

“Nay, lass.
I
shall help you today.”

“You?” she said. “Perhaps I did not speak plainly enough just now. Permit me to try again. I do not care for your company,” she said but continued in a softer voice. “You make me feel… less certain about myself.”

The vulnerable honesty of her words struck his heart like a pounding fist. He took a deep breath.

“Forgive me, Brenna. I know I’ve not been the friend you deserve.” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration as he searched for the words to right the wrongs of the past. Then he took hold of her hand and smiled. “Let us start over again, Brenna.”

She pulled her hand from his grasp. “I am not a young maid easily swayed by a smile and a tender touch. I do not ken why you seek this change. For years, your behavior toward me has been less than gracious without justification. Can you refute this?”

“Nay, I cannot.”

“And what’s worse, you’ve shown me little mercy over recent months: a time when most have shown me sympathy. In the least, you should have stayed your tongue out of pity alone, but instead you’ve been your cruelest.”

“Aye, Brenna, I’ve much to atone for.” He let his hands rest at his sides. He stood tall and looked her straight in the eye. “I am not asking for your trust, only the opportunity to earn it.”

She stared at him for some moments. Then she turned back toward her hut. As she retreated, cold dread stiffened his limbs as he again searched for the right words to sway her mind. He considered telling her the truth—she was the breath that fed his body. She existed so that the world held something worthy enough for the sun to shine upon.

He took a deep breath ready to bare his soul, but then she stopped and looked back at him. “Are you coming?” she said.

His heart lay on his tongue. Words he swallowed time and again ached for release. But he looked into her eyes and silenced his heart. Her gaze held suspicion, agonizing vulnerability and something that cut him deeper than her disdain ever could—hope.

For the first time, he saw beyond her courage and her indomitable strength. He saw her fear and loneliness.

He smiled to show his gratitude for the invitation. Then he followed her inside.

“So you plan to do my washing?” she said.

“Aye,” he laughed. “I am your servant, lass.”

“Can you sew well enough to mend Nellore’s tunic? I do not want her wearing a mess.”

Duncan’s hand flew to his heart, and he cringed as though her words stung. “I am an islander, a sailor. By my troth, I needle a fine stitch,” he said. Then he walked toward her. “But first allow me to appraise how your hands are healing.”

“Nay,” she said too quickly as her hands flew behind her back. “You just keep your distance, Duncan MacKinnon.”

Putting his hands out in front of him, he approached her as he would a spooked mare. “Easy, lass. I am not going to hurt you. Those bandages are filthy. I smell the fish you were chopping yesterday.”

“Aye,” she said as she moved to stand behind the table. “I remember the fish yesterday too. I also remembered what happened when you offered to help. Stay back.”

“I merely sought to aid,” he said as he drew closer, making his way around the table. “I promise to behave.”

“Do not take another step. Already your eyes have a glint I do not trust,” she said.

He stopped and a smile spread across his face. “Are you certain ‘tis not yourself you mistrust?”

Her reaction did not disappoint. Her mouth fell open in shock. Then her face turned almost as red as her hair. Fury claimed her features as her eyes narrowed and the stubborn set of her jaw snapped shut. She stormed around the table as she tore at her bandages. Then she thrust her bare hands in his face.

“I accept your aid,” she said.

He smiled, “As you wish, lass.”

He took her hands and led her to the table. Pulling out a chair, he motioned for her to sit. She complied, resting on the edge with a rigid back and one foot pointing toward the door. He glimpsed the shiny waves peeking out from beneath her scarf. Her torso tempted his hands with its gentle curves and sleek length. Her now familiar scent awoke the desire he fought to suppress. He swallowed the apprehension that tightened his throat. He dared her to submit to his care, and now that his hands were about to touch her, he began to worry about his earlier promise to behave.

Just then he felt a tug on his plaid. He looked down to see two big, green eyes smiling up at him. Resisting the urge to sigh with relief, he reached down and scooped Nellore into his arms.

“Good lass,” he whispered. Then with one hand, he gathered the salve and some clean linen.

The lass’s laughter broke the thread of tension. Duncan settled down beside Brenna with Nellore in his lap. A wave of relief washed over Brenna’s features. She leaned close and gave her daughter a kiss.

Duncan lifted Brenna’s hand for a closer inspection. “Your skin heals quickly.” He turned her hand over and studied her palm. “I see no infection, but your fingers reek of fish.”

She swatted his shoulder playfully. “’Tis not as bad as all that,” she said. Then she sniffed her fingers and frowned. “For once, I shall not argue. ‘Tis offensive. How did I not notice?”

“Perhaps you were distracted by something else,” Duncan said as he caught her gaze. She blushed and looked away. He bathed her hands and then applied a thick layer of salve before wrapping her wounds in fresh bandages.

“Why did you not ask Rona to clean the fish?” he asked.

Brenna laughed. “I sent her away. The stench of fish is preferable to the lass’s company.”

“Her chatter never ceases,” he said, smiling.

“Never,” she said. “But that I could tolerate. ‘Tis her mother I cannot abide.”

“I was unaware of Margaret’s visit,” he said.

“Margaret has never before stepped foot in my hut. She claims the hill would be too taxing, yet, I tell you, Duncan, she’s here every day. Apparently, she disapproves most heartily of every decision I’ve ever made from how I wear my hair to my mothering of Nellore, even to my treatment of you.”

“It might relieve you to know Margaret condemns us all. So what offense have I committed now?” he said

“You? Nay, Duncan, you are a saint. ‘Tis I who am wicked, having forced you to sleep out of doors, exposing you to the balmy summer nights.”

“She has championed me then?” he said.

“Aye. You have Margaret to thank for your fine accommodations,” Brenna began. “If it were not for the lady’s harping, you’d still be sleeping under the stars.”

“It would seem I am in Margaret’s debt. I must offer my thanks when next I see her.”

“Don’t you dare, Duncan. If that awful woman believes I’ve heeded her advice, I’ll be forced to suffer her council for the rest of my days. A worse fate I cannot imagine.”

Duncan finished knotting the bandages. “You need not worry. I go to great lengths to avoid Margaret’s company. ‘Tis sorry I am that Rona distresses you so, because she will return on the morrow. I am leaving for at least a fortnight, and your hands will need to remain covered for a few days longer.”

“Oh,” she said. “Where are you going?”

“Just away, but Ronan will expand the watch to include your land. I’ve also instructed Kenneth’s youngest brother, Liam, to sleep in the barn and make sure you have all you need. He’s a good lad and strong despite his age. You’ve naught to fear.”

She turned her gaze to the window, her mouth set in a grim line. “You dismissed my question as though I were a child.” She grabbed Nellore and headed for the door. Before leaving, she turned and said, “Trust begins as respect, Duncan.”

Duncan hesitated. It never occurred to him that Brenna might ask where he was going. He had no brothers or sisters. His mother had died when he was a lad. It had been years since someone had concerned themselves with his whereabouts.

He stepped outside and spotted Nellore playing near the forest. Brenna had removed her scarf and was dipping it into the river. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. Water sluiced from the fabric as she wrung it out. Then she pressed it to her cheeks and neck. He came up behind her.

“Are you well?” he asked.

“My skin is on fire. ‘Tis a hot day,” she said.

Her words flooded his mind with images of her skin, hot and slick with sweat. Her hair tangled in wild disarray, her lips, bruised by his kiss, making a trail of heat down his throat.

“God’s blood,” he swore.

“What have I done now,” she said, glaring at him from her place by the river.

“Nay,” he said, going to her. “’Tis nothing you’ve done. I am vexed with myself.”

“Aye, well at least we can agree on something,” she said as she pressed the wet cloth once more to her cheeks. She did appear flushed. He felt her forehead. “’Tis a mild day with a breeze. You should not be this warm.”

“I ken,” she snapped as she stood to her full height. “But that does not change the way I feel. I know what I should be. I should not be concerned with where men go. I should be content knowing my place. Content to be prudent. Content with my duties. I’ve spent my life striving to be what was right, and I’ve been satisfied.” She squeezed her hands into tight fists. “But I have something inside of me,” she whispered as tears filled her eyes. “’Tis restless, urgent. I do not ken what it is, but reason tells me it can never be satisfied, which makes me so angry I wish to scream and never stop. And it grows larger by day.”

“Given your loss and the uncertainties you face, ‘tis no wonder you are not content,” he said.

“Content? You do not ken what I am telling you, Duncan. I no longer wish to be content,” she said. “I wish to matter.”

She turned away, but he took hold of her arm and spun her around. “What is it that you need, Brenna?”

She grabbed hold of his plaid as she gritted, “For the first time in my life, I’ve no father, no husband to answer to or please, and ‘tis as though I do not exist. The women tell me to find a husband—how can I care for Nellore without one? You tell me to give up my land—what good is it without a husband? I ask you, my reluctant guardian, what takes you from me for a fortnight and you dismiss me.”

“Forgive me, Brenna,” Duncan began, “I come and go as I please with no one to answer to. I am not used to being accountable to someone. You may not have a father or a husband, and you may see fit to defy me, but you still have a chieftain and so do I. ‘Tis by his order I leave.”

She turned her eyes heavenward as if calling for the almighty’s aid. “If such is the case, why tell me naught as though I’m daft? Explain yourself, and I will not press you. ‘Tis not the leaving that offends but your indifference to my concern.”

“Are you concerned about me, lass?” he said as he took the scarf from her hand and once again dipped it in river. Then he stood before her and gently grazed the brisk fabric across her brow and slowly down her cheeks and neck. Clearing his throat, he said, “By order of our laird, I am leaving for a fortnight, perhaps longer. I am joined by Jamie, Cormac, and the chieftain himself. We travel to Islay to learn what we may of the trouble on the mainland and what threats, if any, come this way. The Lord of Islay is very powerful. I believe our laird also seeks an alliance.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled a long, slow breath. He continued cooling her skin. “I vow to you here and now, Brenna, I shall never again try to persuade you to move to the village. And Brenna,” he said, causing her eyes to open once more, “you matter more than you could ever know,” Duncan said softly as he battled the urge to pull her into his arms. With a deep breath, he stepped back and returned her scarf.