Page 26 of His Forgotten Highland Bride

“The whole clan is a-chatter about what happened at the meal last eve,” Ada whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.

Brenna’s cheeks went hot in embarrassment.

“Don’t fash, lass. Everyone is wondering what was wrong with the laird to treat ye as such. There’s no shame for you to bear. You’ve been a fine wife, better than he deserves if he plans to treat you the way he did last night.” Corinne was known to speak her mind as much as the truth. “We all remember how things were when he left.”

Brenna remembered as well. After that first morning when she came down to find out he’d left, she felt lost in a new clan with no one to help her find her way. She’d wanted to start over with a new clan, but she hadn’t realized she would be so alone to do so.

She’d spent days in her room, hiding from the unknown. She couldn’t even miss Ronan properly because she didn’t know him well enough to have missed him. Still, it hurt that she’d been eager to start a life with him, and he’d…gone off and forgotten her.

But, eventually, she’d made friends with many of the people here, including the laird. For the next several months, she thought she would be fine. But then she was forced to face something so horrible she was sure she would die. And in those darkest moments, she found herself wishing he’d been there, hating him because he wasn’t.

That hatred had rooted deep.

The other women frowned at Corrine’s mention of those lost months she’d spent in agony.

“Ronan just needs some time to know ye as we do. All will be well. You’ll see,” Jane announced, motioning everyone back to work. Brenna shook off the memory of that pain and busied herself to help her friends until one of the maids came in with wide eyes.

“Ye must come quick.”

***

Sweat trickled down Ronan’s spine as he shifted in his seat. A laird had many duties, and ruling over his people was one that Ronan most dreaded. Having heard this second disagreement between feuding crofters, he had no answer.

“I will consider the matter and give you my ruling tomorrow,” Ronan said again. It was the same decision he’d given the first time.

The hall broke into murmuring and pointed stares in his direction.

“Ye must give your judgment,” Ewan whispered in his ear. The scent of sour ale twisted the unease in Ronan’s already unsettled stomach. “Ye are the laird.”

“I know that,” Ronan said as he clenched his fingers. “And I wish to think further before making a rash decision.” He knew well enough what came from making the wrong choice.

“It is a bit of grain that surely belongs to the older man.”

“I wish to think on it. Next!” Ronan called, though he wished he could say he was done for the day.

When a small boy was pushed before him, Ronan rubbed his temple. The rounded man with the pinched face spoke his displeasure.

“This lad stole my bread.”

Ronan stared at the trembling boy, wondering if his thin arms could hold a loaf of bread or if his scrawny legs could carry him and a loaf away.

“Is this true?” Ronan asked, giving the boy the chance to explain. But he only looked up at the table with wide brown eyes. Tears streaked down his dirty face as he bobbed his head in a nod.

“Ye must take his hand,” Ewan whispered next to him. Ronan wondered if the hiss of his voice was similar to what Eve experienced from the serpent in the Garden. Then his words sunk into Ronan’s thoughts.

“His hand?”

“Thieves have their hands cut off. Do you need a blade?” The man seemed almost eager to see a child’s hand severed from his body.

“Nay. That is much too extreme,” Ronan said louder than he’d meant to.

“He needs to be punished severely. Otherwise, everyone will know the Grants accept stealing, and all law will be abandoned.”

A few “ayes” caused Ronan to swallow and gaze across the people waiting for him to act.

“I should think on it and—”

“My laird, with all respect, letting him go now will allow him to run away without justice being served,” the man, likely the baker, said with his beady eyes narrowed on the boy.