The Condemned Highlander by Donna Fletcher

9

“This is a gift, son. You will live long and see the clan prosper and grow.”

“While I watch everyone die around me, Da,” Brogan argued. “And what of me, Da? What happens when I grow old and feeble and there is barely anything left of me? Do I spend eternity rotting away yet never dying? Have you thought of that? Is that the gift you speak of?”

“You do not know if you will age like others and that is why you will sire many children. They will be there to care for you,” his father said as if his words would make it so. “And why haven’t you told your wife that you are her husband? It is time she learns to obey you.”

Brogan almost laughed, Annis and obedience was not synonymous. “My decision, Da.”

The screams penetrated his father’s solar, and Brogan shook his head. “Mother still beats the servants?”

“Only when necessary,” his father said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “When you get your wife with child, you will come here to live and begin to take more of a role in running the clan.

Brogan had no intentions of returning to live here and he had no intentions of arguing with his father about it. He let it pass, for now.

“How goes the trouble between Clan MacFarden and Odran’s clan?” Brogan asked.

“Not good. Clan Loudon has been charged with sending warriors and it grows more heated.”

The screams grew and Brogan shot to his feet and went to the door.

“The servants are for your mother to handle,” his father shouted and followed after him.

Brogan hated when his mother flew into one of her rages and took it out on any servant in her path. There was not one servant who did not fear her. He had stopped her a few times and he intended to stop her now.

He entered the Great Hall shocked at what he saw. A hot rage raced through him. It was not a servant his mother was striking repeatedly across the back—it was Annis. She laid over a servant protecting her.

“STOP!” Brogan raged, the veins in his neck pounding in fury. He went to his mother, grabbed the stick from her hand, broke it over his knee, and tossed to the flames in the hearth. He hurried to Annis.

“Is there blood?” she asked, keeping her eyes squeezed shut.

A quick glance had him saying, “Nay, no blood.”

She sighed with relief and moved to get up and cringed from the pain that shot through her back.

“Easy,” Brogan said as he eased her gently off the lass beneath her.

“Please, my lord, help me,” the lass begged as Brogan moved Annis off her.

Annis answered for him. “Of course, Lord Brogan will help you. Pack your belongings. You and your husband will come with us.”

Tears trailed down the lass’s face. “My husband took ill and died two weeks ago.”

“Get up, Damia, and return to work,” his mother ordered. “I will deal with you later. Brogan, explain yourself.”

“Please do not tell me that wretched woman is your mother,” Annis whispered when she was finally on her feet.

Brogan nodded as he helped Damia to her feet.

“Please, my lord,” Damia begged in a murmur. “The bairn is all I have left of my husband. I do not want to lose him.”

“You will suffer for speaking to Lord Brogan without permission,” his mother called out.

Brogan wanted to snatch Annis up in his arms and run out of there, though he would not leave Damia behind. He often thought his mother punished the servants who were with child worse than the others. He believed it made her angry to see women round with child when she had been able to only carry and deliver one bairn.

He turned to his mother. “Damia will not suffer, and she will not be remaining here. She will come with me.”

“She most certainly will not,” his mother said, her eyes raging with anger.

Annis could see that at one time Brogan’s mother was an attractive woman, no more. Her face was pinched tight and heavy with wrinkles from scowling so much and her gray hair was pulled back far too tightly, almost as if she was trying to force the wrinkles out of her brow.

“Speak to your wife, Father,” Brogan said, though it was more a command.

“Faline, be still,” Lord Balloch ordered firmly, then whispered something to her.

Brogan’s mother’s eyes went wide, and she cast a slow glance over Annis, shook her head, and walked out of the room.

“Take Damia with you and I expect word from you soon,” his father said, then turned and left the room.

* * *

Annis’sback stung with every step she took, and she did her best not to let her discomfort show as the small group gathered to make ready to leave.

Una hurried to her and seeing that she had been talking to Damia and the worry in her eyes, it was obvious Una had learned what happened.

“Are you all right?” Una asked when she stopped in front of Annis.

“I am good. How is Damia?” Annis asked, having made sure Damia spoke with Una to see if Damia was in need of a healer.

“She is well, thanks to you. She says she owes you her and her bairn’s life.”

“I would argue otherwise if I had not seen how crazed Lady Faline was or felt the fierce strikes of her stick.” She cringed, her back suddenly stinging her.

“I will tend your back as soon as we reach home,” Una said.

“Is there anything you can do for her now, Una?” Brogan asked, coming up behind Annis. “The journey home is bound to cause her more pain.”

“I’m afraid not, but perhaps the healer here could provide some relief for Annis,” Una suggested.

Brogan shook his head. “Nay, I would not trust Annis’s care to her.”

“Worry not. I am good, and eager to get home,” Annis said, not comfortable with causing anyone worry. Though, she could not help but think that she wished Bliss was with her. She would see Annis healed well. “Una says Damia does well.”

Una confirmed with a nod.

“Damia does not want to return home with us,” Brogan said.

“She cannot mean to remain here,” Annis said, alarmed at the thought.

“Nay, she asked me if she could go to her family, her sister and her grandfather. They reside at Clan MacClaren,” Brogan said.

“Rannick’s clan,” Annis said

Brogan nodded. “I agreed and I am sending a warrior to escort her there. I told him to find out whatever he could about Bliss.”

A smile burst across Annis’s face and instinct had her ready to reach out and hug him. She stopped when she saw Risley approach, and she was glad she did. It would be wrong to display such intimacy here where tongues would be sure to tell his parents. His father was ruthless enough to use such a display as a way to force them to wed. She did not want to be forced. She would wed a man of her own choice. Her sister had sacrificed for her to be able to do just that and she would not allow her sister’s sacrifice to be for naught.

Risley stepped forward apprehensively. “Excuse me, Lord Brogan, but I have not had the chance to thank you for allowing me to make my home with this group.”

“I asked Risley to join us. He is a craftsman with tools and would be invaluable to us,” Annis said, seeing how uneasy Risley was and no doubt worried that her word would not carry weight with Lord Brogan.

“Welcome, Risley. Your skills will be much appreciated.”

Risley stood speechless for a moment, then bobbed his head repeatedly. “Thank you, my lord. I will serve you well and faithfully.”

Una smiled. “I could ride on your cart with you and tell you all about our wee village if you’d like.” Her eyes darted to Brogan. “If that is all right with you, my lord.”

“I think it is an excellent suggestion, Una,” Brogan said with a nod.

Annis detected the twinkle in his soft blue eyes.

“I would like that,” Risley said, and before turning to walk away with Una, cast a quick look to Annis. “I will see that you get your chisel once we reach home.”

“Home,” Annis echoed softly as he and Una walked away. “He wanted a place to settle, and I did not think you would mind growing the village.”

“Chisel?” Brogan asked, his brow going up. “That is what you bought yourself? And no, I do not mind. A craftsman would serve us well. Again—chisel?”

“It is the perfect bauble,” she said with a grin and a sudden pain clutched at her back so badly she feared her legs would give way.

His hand shot out around her waist to steady her. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he feared he would cause her more pain. “You cannot travel like this.”

“I would rather bear the pain than remain here,” she said, trying to focus on anything but the scorching pain in her back.

“You will ride with me,” Brogan ordered.

“I would love to agree, but I fear it might prove more painful with me tucked against you.”

He muttered beneath his breath, cursing his mother’s temper. “I would ask you why you so foolishly protected Damia, but knowing you as I do, you did so out of pure fury at seeing her harmed.”

“It was not right. I could not stand there and see her suffer or lose the bairn.” She shook her head. “After meeting your parents, I completely understand why you prefer not to reside at the keep.”

Iver approached. “All is set, my lord. We can leave whenever you wish.”

Brogan nodded and walked Annis to her horse and as gently as possible lifted her onto the animal. He mounted his mare, and the small group began their departure from the village.

The pain began as soon as the horse took a few steps. It was not going to be a pleasant ride, but she intended to bear it as best she could. She focused on the people as they made their way through the village. What she saw on some of their faces did not surprise her. Many looked with envy on Damia. They were not happy here and they would rather brave life with the condemned lord than remain here.

“Was your mother and father always such harsh people?” Annis asked, needing to keep her mind off the pain she suffered.

“My parents have always embraced power, and I believe it disappoints them that I do not. My mother tells me—has quite often through the years—that I am much like her father, Lord Kenneth. He had a tongue that could charm, a smile that melted hearts, and a loving nature. She contends that if it were not for her marriage to my father that her clan would have ceased to exist.” He laughed. “Ironically, she was the cause of its demise. My father swallowed the clan whole, and the Clan Smythe lives no more.”

“Do they not worry about the curse and how you suffer from it?” she asked, to keep from letting a groan of pain escape her lips.

“My father believes it a gift and that the clan benefits from it, since he believes I will forever rule it. I reminded him that I have not stopped aging. What will become of me when my body finally fails me but there is no death to greet me?”

Annis had not thought of that. She assumed he would live and not grow old. What a horrible future to face, but then it was a curse. Her heart broke at the thought of such hideous suffering, and she silently swore she would see the curse ended no matter what it took. No one should be forced to live such a horror.

But had not Lady Aila faced the horror of having her two-day-old daughter ripped from her arms and murdered in front of her? Annis’s heart twisted at the thought, and she could not blame Lady Aila for what she had done. Now, though, it had to stop. The suffering could not go on any longer. A wrong had to be made right, and Annis was going to see that done.

She winced from a sharp pain that struck her and silently berated herself for letting it slip.

Brogan wanted to swear at the heavens, and he did in the confines of his mind. He hated to see her suffer and hated even more that his mother had caused his wife’s unnecessary suffering. “You are in far too much pain. We will stop and you will rest.”

“Nay. If we stop, I do not believe I will be able to ride again.”

Brogan could deal with his own suffering, but he could not bear seeing Annis suffer. It tortured his soul not to be able to ease her pain. This would be the most painful ride of his life and he had lived through some terribly painful ones. But nothing hurt as much as seeing Annis suffer with little complaint.

Annis was about to tell him to talk with her. Keep her mind off the pain that was never-ending when one of the warriors approached them.

“Someone tracks us, my lord,” the warrior said.

“Only one person?” Brogan asked.

“Aye, only one.” The warrior shook his head. “It makes no sense. He leaves an obvious trail and yet we cannot find him.

“Give me a moment, then you will show me these tracks,” Brogan ordered, and the warrior gave a nod and rode off.

“I am going to send Iver to ride alongside you in case you are in need of anything. I may not return before you reach the village. Have Una tend to you and rest. I will see you when I arrive there.”

Annis had a hunch, and she took a chance. “Which cursed lord do you go to meet? Is it the same one you met in the woods at Clan Loudon?”

“You witnessed that meeting?”

The sudden lift of his brow told of his surprise, and she was glad she had followed her hunch. “You did meet with one of the cursed lords.”

Annoyed that she had tricked him and concerned over what she had seen and heard, he asked, “You saw us?”

She wondered over the skepticism in his voice. “I saw you but not who you spoke with.”

“And you heard what?” he asked.

“Little since I could not linger.”

“Leave it that way, Annis,” he warned.

A stinging pain hit her, and she shut her eyes against it.

Brogan warred with himself over leaving her.

Annis forced her eyes open. “Go and do what you must, but first I will have your word on two things.” She did not continue until he nodded. “If it is Rannick, please find out what you can about Bliss. And whether it is Rannick or Odran you meet, say not a word about the witch—yet.” She was relieved when he responded with haste.

“You have my word on both.”

“Then go be done with it,” she said and got annoyed with herself when tears trickled from her eyes. Why did his departure cause her eyes to grow teary? It wasn’t that she had to have him there with her. Or that she would miss him. Or would she?

Brogan brought his mare close to her horse and leaned over to brush a faint kiss across her lips. “I will miss you, mo ghràdh.”

Annis pressed her cheek to his and whispered, “Of course, you will. I am irresistible.”

Brogan grinned and returned the whisper, “More than you know, mo ghràdh. Much more than you know.”

Annis watched as he went and spoke with Iver then waited for the man to reach her before he turned and rode off.

Iver circled his horse around to ride beside her. “Lord Brogan is a far better and more honorable man than I thought him to be. He has kept his word to us where others have not and he cares, unlike his father. I never expected him to defend me, let alone strike one of his father’s warriors to protect me. The village is indebted to him. And now he returns with more men to help us build and also food and cloth so we will not go hungry or suffer the cold winter.” He smiled. “It is more than my old heart can take, knowing my daughter has a chance at a good life now.”

“Lord Brogan does surprise,” Annis said, seeing what a good man he was through Iver’s eyes. “He has more of a good heart than he allows anyone to see.”

“Or people are too blinded by the curse to bother to see his true nature.”

Annis grinned. “That charming tongue of his might have something to do with it.”

Iver chuckled. “It’s possible.” His chuckle turned to a frown. “Or the terrible things his father did whenever he thought someone even meant his son harm.”

A pain stung her so hard and fast, she grew lightheaded.

“You grow pale, Annis,” Iver said and was quick to call out to the warriors.

Luckily one was close enough to catch her when she toppled to the side in a faint.