Thirty-Four
Dawn cruelly arrived far too soon for Laurel or Brodie. Laurel sat up in bed as she watched Brodie cross the chamber naked and bend over to stoke the fire. She would have been content with that view for the rest of the day. But once the chamber warmed, she slipped out of bed and padded to a chest that held her meager belongings. She and Ina packed everything in her chamber, but Brodie hadn’t the horses to carry them. They were to be sent by wagon in a moon. The wrinkled kirtles and chemises she had stuffed in her satchel barely appeared presentable, but they were an improvement on the gown she’d worn for days or the breeks she arrived in. She hadn’t considered her appearance when Brodie introduced her to the clan, but she’d groaned when she donned a gown for the evening meal. She’d wondered if that contributed to her brusque welcome from Dominic and Colina. But she cared little for her looks or sense of style when the more pressing issue was helping to keep as many people alive as she could.
Brodie pulled the laces tight on Laurel’s gown. Wishing he could offer her the clothes she had to leave behind, especially the gown made from the fabric he gifted her. But he reminded himself that there would be time for that later. Laurel hadn’t indicated once since they left court that she cared a wit about her clothes or hair. He looked forward to spoiling his bride. He knew she would never ask, nor would she ever expect his generosity, which made lavishing her with it more appealing.
Once Laurel was dressed, she brushed her hair while Brodie pleated his plaid and donned a fresh leine. She giggled when she thought about the one she’d chopped down.
“I expect you to replace that,” Brodie said jovially as he shook a finger at her. He finished dressing and went to a chest Laurel hadn’t noticed. He opened it and lifted a gambeson from it. It surprised Laurel to see he had the padded doublet. Most Highlanders avoided them, arguing that it restricted their movement. Brodie brought it to the bed and laid it out, assessing it.
“Brodie?” Laurel came to stand beside him.
“I’m trying to decide whether I wear it.”
“Do you usually?” Laurel sounded doubtful.
“Nay. Never.”
“Then why would you today? Won’t it be awkward and uncomfortable?”
“Aye. But I didn’t use to have the same motivation that I do today.” Brodie looked at Laurel. “This battle, this war is for our people. But when I swing my sword today, it is so I can come home to you.”
Laurel swallowed. “I know this will help protect you against slashes, but it can’t stop a sword from going through you. There’s no mail in it. If it’s awkward, if it could keep you from fighting your best, then don’t wear it. I ken the danger of you not, but I fear the danger of you not being able to defend yourself is far greater.”
“That is what I’m considering.” Brodie stared at the protective doublet before he shook his head and returned it to his chest.
“Mayhap I could make you a sleeveless cotun instead,” Laurel suggested. A cotun and a gambeson were similar and served the same purpose. But Laurel could make it from leather rather than cloth. The leather would be harder to slice through, so Brodie wouldn’t require as much padding. If it weren’t so bulky, and his arms were free, he could fight more naturally.
“You ken how?”
“Nay.” Laurel grinned and shrugged. “But it’s sewing. I can figure it out. Tell me where the padding goes, and I’ll stitch it. The tanner is bound to have leather I can use.”
“You’re a good wife, Laurie. I didn’t think I needed taking of, but mayhap I do.” Brodie winked and squeezed her bottom.
“None of that, or you’ll be late to your war.” Laurel attempted to keep their conversation lighthearted, but they grew serious as they approached their chamber door. “I ken you can’t promise me, so I won’t ask. Just try. I love you, bear.”
“I will do everything in my power to return to you, thistle. I love you.”
What their kiss lacked in passion, they made up for in tenderness. Hope and devotion poured forth. They walked belowstairs hand-in-hand. They knew there would likely be hours before the first wave of attackers arrived, but they both had plenty of duties to tend. Laurel watched as the first groups of villagers arrived. She smiled and greeted them, offering them a chance to break their fast in the Great Hall. When she could hand that duty off, she found Berta and went on a brief tour of the storage buildings. She was impressed and relieved to see they were overflowing. If forced to, they could survive months.
Laurel had looked for Colina as she broke her fast, but the woman was nowhere in sight and didn’t appear throughout the early morning. She noticed Dominic joined Brodie as her husband left the Great Hall for the bailey. She supposed Brodie was informing Dominic of their strategy. Laurel wondered if Brodie would mention she’d devised it. She sensed Dominic would be less accepting than the MacFarlane had been. With Colina not volunteering, she bustled around the keep and bailey, rattling off a mental checklist, pleased that everyone helped. Everyone but one. There was one wrinkle in the otherwise smooth operation. Gara.
The woman stared at Laurel, even when Laurel offered a pleasant smile. She refused to make it sugary when she’d made her displeasure clear the day before. But she wished to move on. Gara wasn’t of the same opinion. More than once, Laurel discreetly asked Aggie to set Gara back to work. After the fifth time, Laurel finally asked the burning question that plagued her.
“Aggie, is Gara the laird’s leman?”
“What, ma lady? Good God, nay. She might wish it, but the laird’s never done more than smile a few times. He’s practically a monk. And when he does—pardon me, did—seek—ah—well anyway,” Aggie grew flustered, but Laurel wanted the answer. “He never sought it with the women in the keep. He never intended to take a mistress, so he never played favorites.”
A monk? I suppose two years wouldnae be such a sacrifice if he didna that often. But he does now. All the time. Nae that I’m complaining. Mayhap making up for lost time?
Laurel knew she would gain no answers from thinking about it, so she pushed it to the back of her mind. But she kept an eye on Gara. The woman made her uneasy.
* * *
Brodie ran along the battlements to meet the scouts, who galloped back to the keep. He met Graham and Dominic in the bailey. He spotted Laurel and called her over. It would save him searching for her and relaying the story. Breathless, the scouts warned that the MacDougalls and Lamonts united and were half a mile from the point where the combined forces would attack. Laurel and Brodie exchanged a look before Brodie called for his men to mount the horses that stomped and shifted restlessly. He watched as the men settled on their horses before he kissed Laurel one last time. Her stoicism would give their clan strength, but he knew it came at a cost. He looked back once before he led the men through the gates.
Conserving their horses’ stamina, the Campbells, Rosses, and MacFarlanes rode toward the planned meeting place. Brodie, Monty, and Andrew Mòr drew forward from the line of warriors at their backs. Brodie watched as Martin MacDougall rode forward. James Lamont reined in beside Martin and glowered at Brodie, who observed them. Neither man seemed any the wiser that there was an army at their backs, nor did they appear curious about the angle at which the Campbells and their allies sat.
“Did you find your father?” Brodie called out to James, now Laird Lamont. The rage that swept over the new laird’s face told Brodie they had. “My wife and her horse send their regards.” Brodie was certain James had already heard the tale, but he twisted the knife another notch as he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear that an unarmed woman and her mount felled the great David Lamont.
