Twenty
“He’s not coming.”
Laurel heard the stage whisper and the ensuing laughter. She’d been standing on the kirk steps for twenty minutes. She’d expected Brodie fifteen minutes ago, but she reminded herself that there were plenty of reasons why he hadn’t arrived yet. Michael, the Campbell guard, could only estimate how long it would take, but he couldn’t guarantee it. Laurel kept her chin high as she ignored the mocking stares.
But when another thirty minutes passed, Laurel couldn’t keep the unease from taking hold. Brodie was nearly an hour late, and she feared he wasn’t coming. She glanced around for Michael, but he wasn’t among the crowd. She wondered why her husband’s warrior wouldn’t be at the kirk to attend his laird’s wedding. The guard’s absence sent Laurel’s mind into a tailspin of why Brodie wasn’t there and how he wouldn’t arrive for the wedding.
“This is pointless. It grows cold and dark. The mon grew some sense and is likely tucked away with a willing and welcoming woman at Kilchurn.”
Laurel struggled not to cry, hearing her exact fear voiced aloud. A handfast wasn’t binding like a marriage performed in a church. Either party could repudiate it, and it would end after a year and a day if the couple didn’t marry before a priest by then. Brodie could leave her at court and find another woman to marry, and there was nothing Laurel could do.
“Leave her here just like he has,” a woman’s voice floated to Laurel.
“Nay. I wish to see how long she waits before she realizes he isn’t coming,” another woman responded.
Monty and Donnan, along with the Ross guards, stood behind her, but neither had spoken to her when they arrived. She didn’t know if she was further humiliated by having her clansmen with her or if they gave her courage. She couldn’t make heads nor tails of her wildly fluctuating emotions as the minutes dragged on. She didn’t want to accept that Brodie wasn’t coming. She was more inclined to send men out to search for him, but she wouldn’t make a fool of herself by suggesting such a thing, at least not where others could hear. She would ask Monty if she had to.
The last rays of sunlight disappeared as dusk drew to an end. Laurel noticed people drifting away from the kirk, and she didn’t blame them. They’d been congregating outside the kirk for nearly two hours, and all she could do was stand looking toward the portcullis. The crowd abandoned any discretion and spoke as though she could neither see nor hear them. Her resilience faded as it grew dark. She no longer had the strength to stand proudly, ignoring the constant insults. The king and queen had already abandoned the crowd. The king promised Laurel that they would return “if” Brodie appeared. When she flinched, King Robert realized how he misspoke and apologized. But now Laurel believed the man was wiser than she.
“Monty, will you walk me back to my chamber?” Laurel admitted defeat to her brother. She didn’t want to spend time with him, but she didn’t trust herself not to fall apart somewhere and dissolve into a puddle of tears before she made it to her chamber.
“Aye, Laurel,” Monty whispered as he stepped forward. Laurel gathered her skirts and walked down the steps just as the clatter of pounding hooves entered the bailey. Laurel knew it was Brodie before she saw his face. She sensed it as much as she recognized his horse, Lann. She watched as Brodie swung down from his horse, tossing the reins toward the stable boys running to greet the arriving warriors. A buzz swept through the crowd as Brodie pushed his way through.
When Laurel finally saw Brodie clearly, she gasped. His leine was filthy and torn, his plaid had fabric ripped and trailing behind him. His boots were encrusted in mud, and Laurel realized blood was splattered across Brodie's face. His hair and beard were matted. He looked like he’d rolled around in a pigsty before arriving. But Laurel didn’t care. He was alive, and he was barreling through the crowd to reach her. When he was within reach, she moved toward him, but he caught her arms and kept her away.
“Thistle,” Brodie whispered, his voice noticeably hoarse. “I want naught more than to hold ye, devour ye, but ye are too beautiful in yer new gown. I dinna want to ruin it. I would remember ye and this eve as both being perfect.” Brodie smiled, and Laurel’s world lit up as though it were the middle of the sunniest day in Scotland.
“It’s only a gown,” Laurel responded.
“One I ken ye made, and one I wish to see ye in many more times,” Brodie said before dropping a kiss on her cheek.
“Do ye have a clean plaid?”
“I dinna,” Brodie admitted. “But mayhap one of ma men does.” He looked at her in confusion but called out to his men just as King Robert and Queen Elizabeth returned.
“Dear God, mon!” King Robert exclaimed, as he wafted his hand before his face. “Ye smell worse than ye did after Bannockburn, and I thought ye were a wild beast then.” In his surprise, King Robert didn’t notice that his own burr slid into his voice. It was a rare occasion for the man to be caught so off-guard that he dropped his refined speech.
“I’m late.”
“We ken. You may as well get cleaned up since you’re already late,” King Robert said as his surprise wore off and his courtly speech returned.
“Is a wedding aboot what a mon wears or aboot the words he speaks?” Brodie asked.
“Would you accept a bride who appeared as you do now? King Robert asked.
“A bride? Nay. Ma wife, Lady Campbell? Aye. I would welcome Laurel if she came to me in rags because I would still be richer for having her as ma wife.”
“He couldn’t bother wiping the muck from his face. He’s in such a rush to have it done with,” a man called out. “Show him some mercy, Your Majesty.”
“Show us all some mercy,” another voice demanded.
“I think he looks fitting for a marriage to a harping fishwife,” Sarah Anne announced.
Brodie gazed down at Laurel, horrified by what he heard. He wondered what they’d said when he wasn’t there; if they were brazen enough to say such damning things within his earshot. He worried that he’d erred by not stopping at an inn to bathe like he considered. But he’d been too impatient to reach Laurel to delay any longer. But now he feared Laurel would be hurt not only by what she heard but by his lack of consideration.
“It was more important to me to reach ma wife’s side than to worry aboot ma appearance. I’ve kept Laurie waiting long enough,” Brodie explained, not realizing he’d used the diminutive. His gaze locked with hers, his expression questioning.
“I dinna care what ye wear,” Laurel whispered. She looked around and spotted a Campbell guard with the extra plaid she asked about. She reached out her hand “May I have that?”
