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Flora was sobbing, though he suspected these were tears of joy. “I knew you would come. Eventually, you would come home, and all would be well…”
He groaned. “Aye, lass, I am here. And not before time, from the looks of it. If I had known of your plight… You should have told me, afore I left.”
He buried his face in her neck and breathed her in. Flora had lost weight, and perhaps she was a little paler than he might like, but she was clearly recovering from whatever might have ailed her. Even so, he could not start to fathom how his beloved sister came to be here, seeking sanctuary in the keep of their enemy. There was still much to resolve, and he would start with the man who had followed her across the drawbridge.
Flora remembered her manners and sought to make the introductions. “Stephen, this is my brother, Robbie. I told you of him.”
The marquis observed his visitors with undisguised suspicion but still managed to offer his hand. “Indeed so. Welcome to Elborne, my lord.” The polite veneer was wafer thin, but it appeared that the Englishman was at least trying.
Robbie was nowhere close to being ready for such overtures. He eyed the outstretched hand, then glared at the marquis. “I understand that my sister has given birth to a child. And that you are rumoured to be the father.”
The arrogant bastard did not even try to deny it. “Yes. Alister is my son.”
Fuck the archers, their bows at the ready. Fuck the damned English and the fact that they outnumbered him three to one. Robbie was not about to let this go. His punch landed fair and square on the marquis’s jaw, sending the man staggering. Stephen of Elborne would have been laid out on the ground had the other man beside him not been quick enough to halt his fall.
And he would have fucking deserved it.
Robbie was ready to do battle. Charles, Duncan, and the rest drew their swords. The archers cocked their arrows. Stephen of Elborne and his companion pointed their blades at his throat.
“Hold.” Stephen looked to his archers and to the rest of his guards. He rubbed his abused chin and flexed his jaw. “I will grant you that, since you are entitled. But no more. Our families are to be joined, so this ends here.”
The man was clearly demented. That must have been a better punch than even Robbie had realised since it had obviously addled Otterburn’s brains. There would be no joining of families, not as long as he drew breath.
“Joined? I think not,” he replied. It was perfectly clear to Robbie that the best thing all round would be if he were to put his sister and newborn nephew upon his own stallion and get away from this place with all speed. Joining of families, indeed…
But the bloody marquis beat him to it. He kissed Flora—full on the mouth, no less—then actually smiled at Robbie. “We have much to discuss. Flora, please bring the earl inside. I am sure you will welcome some refreshment, my lord, after your journey.”
CHAPTERFIVE
To describe the atmosphere as tense would have been laughable. The Scottish warlord entered the Elborne hall, flanked by two warriors who appeared almost as formidable as their chieftain.
The Scots were greeted by angry, sullen glares. There could barely have been an English hand not clutching the hilt of a dagger as the people of Elborne watched their despised enemy march into the very heart of their home. Katherine wondered if perhaps Stephen had taken leave of his senses. She offered up a quick prayer that all would show at least a modicum of restraint.
She would do her part to oil the wheels of civility. Katherine clapped and began to direct the startled servants. “Ale, quickly. And wine. Sweetmeats, too.”
They rushed to do her bidding. Soon, the earl and his men were provided with mugs of foaming ale. It was the best stuff, too. Katherine would never be accused of stingy hospitality.
She glanced more than a few times in the Scottish lord’s direction, struck initially by his similarity to Flora. He shared the same mossy-green eyes, and the auburn hair, though she fancied his might be a shade or two darker. He was taller, of course, and broader. In fact, the Earl of Roxburghe was quite…what was the word she sought? Striking? That would do. She stopped short of admitting that he might be deemed handsome. Without doubt, though, he was solid, muscular, with an aura of strength about him. And of authority.
He wore a white linen shirt and dark woollen trousers, with leather boots. His clothes appeared expensive and well-made. His two companions wore the traditional Scottish tartan kilts, but their laird seemed content to settle for just the MacKinnon plaid slung across one shoulder.
His gaze was both keen and observant. The chilliness of his welcome in the Elborne hall had not escaped him, and the earl remained alert, ready to defend himself should the need arise. Katherine had no doubt he would do so with ruthless efficiency. Once or twice, she caught him looking at her but quickly averted her eyes. It would not do to antagonise this man.
She busied herself with arranging refreshments and accommodation for the laird, his companions, and the Scots left outside. And when Robert of Roxburghe requested to meet his nephew, Katherine was quick to volunteer to go fetch the baby.
She needed the respite, to gather her wits. Perhaps she should have dawdled more over the errand as she was still somewhat exercised when she returned, baby Alister in her arms.
Stephen had finished introducing the Scots to his brother, the duke, and to Frances. He took Alister from her arms. “May I introduce Lady Katherine Bramwell, sister to the previous marquis?”
The laird rose and bowed. His eyes appeared to darken. He murmured something about her kind hospitality.
Unusually flustered, Katherine continued her efforts to bolster Stephen’s cause. “It is nothing. Flora has become very dear to us. I hope this will be the first of many visits…”
How could I be so stupid? Of course he does not wish to return. Ever.
The earl narrowed his eyes but made no further response. He seemed more interested in making the proper acquaintance of his nephew, for which Katherine was grateful. She took the opportunity to compose herself by replenishing already perfectly well-supplied tankards while Frances regaled their guests with talk of how much the baby resembled his father.
In Katherine’s opinion, that was not a particularly wise observation to make, at least not quite yet. Sure enough, when Stephen declared his intention to wed Flora MacKinnon, her brother’s response was unequivocal.
