Highland Thunder (Isle of Mull Series) Page 14

  “For mercy’s sake,” she said aloud as she stood from her chair and kicked dirt on the embers, smothering the flames.

  Once again, fire and fury filled her soul. She had felt certain whatever ailment she suffered was over, and she had returned to her old, reliable self. She slid under the covers, ignoring the voice in her head that spoke of the disturbing coincidence between the return of her unrest and the return of Duncan. She refused to believe one had anything to do with the other.

  Then a low rumble sounded in the distance, causing Brenna’s eyes to fly open. A storm approached. Of course, an incoming storm would explain her burgeoning excitement. Storms always unleashed her impulsive side. She threw off her blanket and turned to Nellore’s pallet to tuck the covers tighter around her shoulders.

  She opened the door to the first storm of autumn. The air was thick and restless. She breathed it in, feasting upon the penned up energy about to be released. Thunder rumbled, closer than before—a fierce promise of what was to come. Brenna’s spirit surged along with the building storm. It called to her, but despite the weeks that had past free of ghostly intrusion, she dared not go out into the night.

  Soft drops fell, cool and crisp. She leaned forward and tasted the chilled drops on her tongue, reveling in anticipation. Then bright fingers of lightning darted like silent ghosts across the sky, illuminating the raw beauty of summer’s farewell. The steep hill was cloaked in the violet of nightfall. Her breath caught in her throat as a boom followed that shook the earth beneath her feet and the heavens opened, releasing sheets of rain.

  With a deep breath, she stepped just beyond her doorway and stood still, letting the rain wash over her.

  The water cleansed her, body and soul, soothing away her grief and worries. At the same time, the wildness bolstered her strength, filling her with power, giving her freedom from the constraints that ruled her everyday life. She felt a part of the fierce tumult barraging down the moors and surging up from the sea.

  Threads of lightning wove around the clouds, revealing a sky that writhed and undulated as it pounded the earth with pelting raindrops that washed away reason and burst her dam of control. Her heart pounded in her ears, matching the din of the thunder that called to her, tempting her with its power.

  “You are beautiful,” a voice whispered, coming up beside her.

  She whirled around and found herself staring into Duncan’s bare chest. She gasped as she looked up just as a bolt of lightning flashed overhead. His sleek, wet hair was blacker than the thick clouds above. The intensity within his dark eyes stole her breath. He was as raw and formidable as the tempest whirling around them. His fingers grazed her cheek and throat. She leaned her head back exposing her neck and chest to his touch. Her body trembled as he drew closer. His lips trailed down her throat, turning her blood into liquid fire. Then he cupped her face. A breath away, his lips hovered just above hers. She could barely draw breath as she stood unmoving, suspended beneath the heat of his mouth. Longing, waiting. The torment was too great.

  Then he straightened and pulled away. She was about to protest when he reached behind his back and withdrew his sword.

  “Get back inside,” he growled.

  Then she heard it too. A moan drifted on the breeze almost indistinguishable from the howl of the wind but for the hint of melody that shaped its sound.

  Duncan’s eyes widened in alarm as the mournful song intensified, drifting on the wind. Notes of sorrow wrapped around Brenna’s heart. The torment stole her breath as she choked on cold dread.

  “’Tis the creature,” Brenna said, as her hands flew to her ears, blocking the fey song. “Nellore,” she cried and raced inside.

  Chapter 18

  Duncan stood in the darkness as he felt his courage falter for the first time in his memory. Whoever crooned the haunting song penetrated the night with a sadness that was palpable and terrifying.

  Brenna’s door swung open as she stuck her head outside. “Duncan, are you mad? Hurry.”

  A shiver crept down his spine as he turned away from danger and rushed inside.

  “What is that?” he asked, his pounding heart competed to be heard over the din of the storm and the wail still carried on the wind.

  “’Tis still out there,” he said.

  “’Tis the creature that intrudes upon my land,” Brenna said. “She wants something from Nellore.”

  “I was told a man was spotted, a tinker or a MacLean.”

  Brenna shook her head. “’Twas a lie, a fabrication we invented to protect Nellore.”

  Duncan began to pace the room. “Who do you refer to when you say ‘we,’ and how does a lie protect Nellore?”

  “The answer to your first question is Anna and Bridget, and with regard to your second question, I should think it obvious.”

  He shook his head. “You will have to enlighten me, because, by my troth, I do not ken.”

  “If you recall, Duncan, Nellore is not my true daughter. Bridget found her abandoned on the moors. If word spreads that a fey wind blows this way, some might regard Nellore’s coming as a bad omen.”

  “You honestly believe the clan would turn against your daughter?” he said.

  “If they were frightened enough, then I believe they would do anything to appease whatever is out there, even if that meant handing over Nellore. No one must know, Duncan.”

  Duncan stopped pacing and listened. The storm had moved out to sea, and the night was quiet but for the rush of the swollen river. He wanted to deny her claim, but he remembered the fear that anchored his feet to the ground as the eerie refrain filled the night. Fear was a powerful force. It drove men to desperate acts.

  “Has this been happening every night?” he asked.

  “Nay,” she said. “Bridget ordered a continuous watch on my land until your return. I believe the warriors kept her at bay. It has been weeks.”

  “Is there anything else you’ve not told me?”

  “Aye,” she said. “’Tis she who gave Nellore the thistles.”

  “So I was right to be suspicious of the flower. What else? Tell me everything.”

  Brenna turned away. “I’m afraid there is nothing else. To be honest, over these last weeks without incident, I was beginning to hope it was over.”

  Duncan exhaled a slow breath. The only concern he had expected to face upon his return home was the approaching harvest not fey creatures in the night.

  “I cannot strike out in pursuit tonight and leave you unprotected. In the morning, I shall search for tracks.”

  “You’re not going back to the barn, are you?” Brenna asked.

  He looked down into her fearful eyes and felt his own calm and strength return. “Do not fret, Brenna. I will not let any harm befall you or Nellore. Join your daughter now and rest.”

  As though she was afraid he might disappear, leaving her alone, she kept her eyes trained on him as she backed away and slid under the covers beside Nellore. He lay down in front of the door and held her gaze. Unspeaking, unmoving, they continued to lock eyes as the night grew older. Finally, he watched her lids flutter as she drifted to sleep.

  A shiver raked his spine as once again an anguished cry rent the night. Tearing his eyes away from Brenna’s sleeping form, he stared up at the ceiling and prayed for the swift arrival of dawn.

  Chapter 19

  Duncan sat in a chair outside Brenna’s door, sharpening his dirk. He spent most of the day scouring the woods for tracks or any sign of the previous night’s trespasser, but the storm wiped the forest clean. In the morning, he intended to meet with the chieftain and his lady to ensure he was privy to every detail that might aid in his effort to reveal the identity of the intruder. In the light of day, he dismissed the idea of a creature lurking in the night. Doubtless, whoever tormented Brenna was as human as he or anyone else. The sadness in her song only reinforced his belief. It was a woman’s song, the song of the broken-hearted, something the fey knew nothing of.

  “Honestly, Duncan, you are i
nsufferable.”

  Duncan smiled as he watched Brenna turn on her heel with a huff and stomp back inside.

  She returned to stand before him. “I am in control of this situation. I only wish you to be present. You do not need to bare your fangs at Jamie like some unruly watch dog.”

  He glanced up then shrugged as his attention returned to his dirk. “You are capable of many great things, Brenna, but as much as you would like to take care of yourself, you are no match for unwieldy plows, intruders in the night, or love-struck warriors.”

  With a frustrated shriek, she turned back inside. Once again, Brenna succumbed to temper. The sound of slamming pots forced another smile to pass Duncan’s lips.

  She popped her head out the door again. “Remember, he must be gone before nightfall as a precaution, although I pray we do not have another disturbance.”

  “Do not fear, Brenna,” he said in a quiet voice.

  She held his gaze for a long moment. Then she nodded and turned back inside, grumbling, “Why must that peacock come to call? Does he not know my life is complicated enough as it is?”

  He chuckled as she once again slammed the door. Although he did not wish to be distracted from the serious problem at hand, the small matter of Jamie’s visit required his careful attention. A movement caught his eye, and he looked up to find Jamie descending the hill.

  “Your gallant suitor arrives,” Duncan called.

  “He is not my suitor,” she snapped from inside.

  Duncan’s muscles tightened as Jamie drew closer. He wanted nothing more than to refuse Jamie entry and pummel him to the ground if he dared pass. But instead…

  “You are welcome, Jamie,” Duncan called.

  His friend greeted Duncan with a smile. “Good evening, Duncan. I’ve come to pay Brenna a visit. She is expecting me.”

  “Aye, so she said. I believe she added some water to the soup in preparation for your coming.” A small parcel in Jamie’s hand caught Duncan’s eye. “What is that you carry?”

  Jamie shrugged as he slipped it into his sporran. “A token for Nellore.”

  Duncan’s knuckles whitened around the hilt of his dagger. With a deep breath, he forced his shoulders into a casual shrug. “The child was not feeling well earlier. She already sleeps.” Duncan extended his hand. “I shall give it to her in the morning.”

  “Nay,” Jamie said as his eyes narrowed. He took a step toward Duncan, at last sensing Duncan’s thinly veiled hostility. “Brenna shall receive it in her stead. Step aside, Duncan. You are blocking the door.”

  Duncan considered refusing but then remembered Brenna was no more interested in having Jamie call than he was. She made that clear on their walk back from the village. He remembered her mood was especially aggressive as though someone had upset her—someone other than him for once, although he had no doubt contributed to her mood.

  Stepping aside, Duncan said, “After you, my friend.” Jamie seemed to relax as he entered. Duncan followed right behind.

  As always, Brenna was a vision. Her features, not overly fine, carried a strength that Duncan knew came from deep within. Her wide mouth gave way to a welcoming but guarded smile. She indicated two chairs at the table, encouraging them both to sit.

  Jamie sat nearest to where Brenna worked. “Thank you for your hospitality.” A wide smile lit Jamie’s eyes, which Duncan could not help but observe. He wondered whether Brenna was truly as immune to Jamie’s appeal as she led him to believe. Every other woman in the village would have blushed crimson if Jamie flashed a smile like the one she just received. With unconcealed pleasure, Duncan watched her curt nod as she turned back to portioning the soup, and from his seat angled off to the side, he was certain he saw her roll her eyes. Shooting a glance at Jamie, Duncan noted with satisfaction the now grim set to his friend’s lips as he stared at Brenna’s back.

  She turned around. Duncan watched the hair peeking out from beneath her scarf sway against her hips. She leaned across the table, depositing three bowls of pottage.

  “How does Nellore fair?” Duncan asked.

  “She is sleeping soundly now. I gave her some of Bridget’s tea for settling a sour stomach.”

  “We are fortunate to have a lady as adept at healing as Bridget,” Duncan said.

  “Indeed,” Jamie agreed. “Were it not for her skill, ‘tis likely I would not be here to enjoy this fine meal with you, Brenna.”

  Duncan scooped a large mouthful of soup to keep from laughing. He knew Jamie referred to a hunting party where Jamie was thrown from his horse, landing on his own blade, which did nearly rob him of life, but he doubted he intended to enlighten Brenna to this fact.

  “I believe many in our clan are still alive today because of Bridget. Anna is becoming as adept as her mother,” Brenna said. “I wished to learn, but I’ve not the time to dedicate to study. I shall have to remain content as an assistant.”

  “Surely, you do yourself a disservice, Brenna,” Jamie said. “I’ve heard many women praise your cool head, even at the sight of blood. They say your composure is unshakable.”

  “Aye,” Brenna grumbled as she ripped off a portion of bread. “So I’ve heard.” Then she stuffed her mouth and turned away.

  Duncan shoveled another bite of the thick pottage between his lips. He only prayed the heaping portion would be enough to block the laughter once again rising in his throat. It was going better than he could have wished. Tension thickened the air. Jamie shifted in his chair as he tried to conceal his confusion and discomfort with a smile. He cleared his throat as he withdrew the small woolen wrapped bundle from his sporran.

  “I told you yesterday I had something to give you. I…I made this for Nellore.” He pushed the small parcel across the table.

  Now it was Brenna’s turn to shift in her seat. She looked at the package and then at Duncan. He inclined his head to encourage her to accept the gift. Duncan was no longer concerned about Jamie’s intentions. Despite the golden warrior’s wishes, Brenna would clearly yield nothing, allowing no room for Jamie to question her regard. The scene unfolding before Duncan was growing painful. He wanted Jamie to walk away with some dignity intact.

  Brenna snatched the gift from the table. “I will let her unwrap it in the morning.”

  “’Tis a rag baby,” Jamie said.

  Brenna’s features softened. “What a happy coincidence. I meant to visit Isobel yesterday as she makes the finest rag babies.” The frown returned to Brenna’s eyes as she continued. “But…I decided to shorten my visit.”

  Once again, Duncan wondered what or who set Brenna off yesterday in the village. Remembering his resolve to be a friend to her, Duncan decided to ask her after Jamie was gone.

  A confident smile returned to Jamie’s face. “I am happy to be of service to you.” Clearly, emboldened by her response to his first gift, Jamie withdrew another small package from his sporran.

  “I have another gift, Brenna. Only this one is for you.”

  Brenna’s eyes widened as she once again looked to Duncan. Although he did not relish the idea of Jamie giving Brenna a present, little harm was likely to come of it. He shrugged to convey his lack of concern.

  “I thank you, Jamie. ‘Tis kind of you to think of me, but permit me to say ‘tis unnecessary.” She started to peel the wool back but then her fingers faltered. “It seems only fair to warn you now if the contents are too costly, I will of course be forced to refuse your kindness.”

  “’Tis nothing. I assure you,” Jamie said as he reclined in his chair.

  Brenna removed the wrapping, revealing a piece of deep blue linen. Brenna gasped as she pulled on the folds. “’Tis lovely, Jamie.”

  Duncan gripped the table to keep his seat, refusing the impulse to slit Jamie’s throat. How dare he make her eyes light with joy?

  “’Tis my pleasure, Brenna,” Jamie said, his voice low and husky. He cocked a sly brow at Duncan, clearly fancying himself the great hero. Duncan’s jaw strained as he clenched his teeth.

&nbs
p; “The blue matches your eyes,” Jamie said. “You always wear the same coarse scarf, which covers all your lovely hair.”

  “What?” Brenna snapped.

  Jamie sat up straight. “’Tis a new scarf…for your hair…your beautiful hair.”

  Brenna’s fingers released the offending fabric. Duncan watched as her face turned from its usual lovely sun-kissed tone to red and then to purple.

  “Did Margaret choose this for you,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Margaret?” Jamie sputtered. “What? Nay. I…I wanted only to please you with a compliment. Your hair is so…”

  “So what?” Brenna snapped. “So beautiful.” She ripped the scarf from her head and threw it at Jamie who cringed in his chair. She shook her head so the strands fell like sheets of crimsoned rain to her hips. Even in the dull light of the hut, the color shone. Its famed strawberry darkness intensified the blue of her eyes, which were enflamed with passionate rage. Her nostrils flared as she turned to her cooking table where she grabbed hold of a pair of scissors.

  “If you think my hair so fine, you can have it.” She grasped a fistful of streaming red mane and without hesitation she sliced straight through. Then she flung the shorn locks at Jamie. “There, now ‘tis yours. Use it to stuff a pillow.” Grasping another portion of silken hair she cut it off with the same efficiency. “And give that mess to Margaret. Except you can tell her to stuff it into her gossipy mouth.”

  Tossing the scissors on the table, she whirled around and stormed outside. Duncan and Jamie sat in stunned silence for some minutes, both staring at the door.

  Then Jaime cleared his throat. “This did not go as planned.”

  Duncan slowly shifted his gaze from the closed door to Jamie’s bewildered face. “Nay. I imagine not.”

  “I admit the evening was not encouraging,” Jamie said.

  Duncan chuckled, “Nay, not encouraging in the least.” Unrestrained laughter soon had Duncan bent over in his seat. Brenna never ceased to surprise or amaze. He had to admit he did her an injustice earlier. He argued she was no match for a smitten warrior, but he could not have been more wrong.