Page 20 of His Forgotten Highland Bride

“Aye,” Will said in his commanding voice. “You’re the level-headed lass the old laird saw ye to be. We shall watch over Ronan as you have requested.” The other men followed along with their war chief and nodded in agreement, some even holding a fist over their hearts, pledging their oath on the matter.

She relaxed, knowing her husband would be protected. Ronan might not be the leader she’d hoped for, but he was all that stood between them and Ewan running the clan.

“For as quickly as Ewan is tossing back that ale, he’ll not be a problem tonight,” Gabe noted.

Brenna looked up at the table where Ewan was guzzling down the ale as soon as his tankard was filled. He noticed her and offered a slimy smile and a wink. “The man is even more dangerous when he’s in his cups. It is, after all, why Ronan was forced to marry me.”

She’d asked the laird about the conversation she’d overheard before their wedding. Ewan had run into one of her clansmen at a tavern and lost all his coin in a game. When he was tossed into the street, having lost everything, including his boots, he attacked the unsuspecting Innes.

Geordie said Ewan had told them a different tale then, but he’d sought out the truth, getting the facts from witnesses at the tavern.

It could have been seen as an act of war between the clans, being the laird’s brother had murdered one of her father’s warriors. But the marriage created the necessary alignment to keep the peace when the truth was discovered. Brenna could only be grateful she was married to Ronan instead of the vile man who’d done the crime. Her life had not been easy after Ronan left, but at least she’d not been Ewan’s wife. The reason they’d wed was no longer critical. They were married; somehow, she’d need to work out her anger with her husband.

“Did you notice his limp?” As much as she wanted not to care, she did.

“Aye.” Malcolm nodded. “I take it that is a new injury?”

“Will, can ye check on him and make sure he doesn’t have a fever? And if he’s in pain, have Moira bring him a draught.”

“The man is fine.” Hugh grimaced. “He deserves a bit of pain for treating you like he did. I might kick him in his other leg.”

Hugh earned an “aye” from the other men.

“I thank ye for your loyalty, but I am no longer acting laird of the clan. It would be best if you protected Ronan. Starting now.”

Begrudgingly, Will and Hugh stood and returned to the high table to speak to the laird.

“Are you sure you’re well, my lady?” Malcolm asked.

She didn’t know how to answer his question. Her heart was raw and hurting from today as well as the old wounds had been pulled open.

“We will have to wait and see.” She had put her blood, sweat, and tears into this clan and earned a place of respect here after years of being the jester of her own family. She would not allow Ronan to take what she’d built.

***

The feast continued into the evening, and after the meal was cleared away, Ronan saw his wife directing people as the proper mistress of the keep. A lute player came in and began the night’s entertainment.

He watched Brenna to see if she paid attention to any of the warriors, but other than the two that hovered close, looking serious and deadly, she stood alone. One by one, the people in the hall began to leave—first, the families with little ones who had fallen asleep, then the men who would be called to drills early in the morning.

Brenna kissed the bairns’ heads and accepted her thanks as a gracious hostess would. If not for the things Ewan had said about her, he wouldn’t know she was anything but the efficient lady of the castle. And if she was so horrid, why did his people seek her out to thank her and wish her well?

He thought of his mother and how she stayed clear of the kitchens and anything resembling work. While the MacPherson laird waited on Deirdre’s every word, the rest of the clan had not been as enamored of their mistress. From spending five years in battle, Ronan knew well enough the difference between a person who earned respect and those who grasped hold of their power with fear. These people—his people—respected Lady Brenna. He needed to find out more, though it wouldn’t be from his uncle, who was hunched over the table, sleeping in a puddle of drool.

When she left to go toward the kitchens, he followed at a distance. Of course, her two pups followed as well. Ronan had watched them for any indication they lusted over his wife, but while they gazed upon her with affection, it was that of friendship and loyalty.

Leaning against the wall outside the kitchen, Ronan silently cursed his leg. He’d used it too hard today, and now it trembled, threatening to give out. He wouldn’t be able to stand there long.

But perhaps it was long enough.

“The meal was wonderful, ladies. Everything was perfect. Thank you for all your hard work,” his wife praised the kitchen maids. “Jane, did you have one of the maids get the laird’s chamber ready?”

“Aye. ’Tis ready for his high and mighty,” she said grumpily. “We heard what he did, casting you from your rightful place at his side for that worm. We should have put a rat in his bed since the new laird likes to keep company with them.”

“I hope you didn’t,” his wife said, a bit of scolding in her tone. Of anyone, he would have thought she would be willing to set beasties on him, but it was clear she didn’t stand for this.

“Of course not. The other girls talked me out of it.”

“Good. I’ll not have the housekeeper put in the dungeon when I need you.”