Bram helped Nairna down from her horse, and held on to her waist a few moments longer. He looked as though he had a thousand things he wanted to say to her, and the fierce intensity in his eyes made her skin tingle.
He released her when Ross’s wife drew closer. Although Vanora had agreed to return, the older woman appeared wary, as if she didn’t believe the fighting had ceased.
“Well, now,” Vanora said with a sigh. “Shall we see how bad it is?”
Nairna bristled at the negative comment, though the keep did need a great deal of work. She pointed at the tower, offering, “It’s not so bad, really. We may need to scatter fresh rushes and sweep again, but—“
She broke off, studying Vanora and the others when she saw their gaze fixed upon the guards who stood at intervals around the outer curtain wall. “You’re afraid they’re going to fight again.”
Vanora’s expression twisted. “Not afraid. I know they will. The MacKinlochs will use any excuse to fight with the English. The foreigners haven’t conquered us yet, but it’s not for lack of trying.” Vanora leaned in, lowering her voice. “It’s not right, not with our wee ones about.”
“We’ll do what we can to keep the peace,” Nairna said. Even so, she knew it might not be possible. Not if Bram and the others had taken Lord Cairnross’s bride.
At the entrance to the keep, Nairna saw a young maiden awaiting them. She was dressed like a queen, in embroidered blue silk and jewels, and Nairna guessed she was eighteen or nineteen years of age. Her hair was veiled, but golden strands escaped from beneath it, lifting with the wind. A silver band rested around the crown of her head.
“Who is that?” Vanora demanded.
“Lady Marguerite de Montpierre,” came Bram’s answer from behind them.
Nairna’s hopes plummeted when she mentally added up the cost of the girl’s wardrobe. If they had taken a woman like this from Lord Cairnross, there was no hope of peace. An army of English would pursue a woman of such wealth and status.
Vanora made the sign of the cross. “The Virgin Mary protect us. If you stole a princess from the English, we’re all going to die.”
“Not a princess,” Bram admitted, “but her father is a French duke. She was betrothed to Lord Cairnross.”
“Oh, well, that’s all right, then.” Vanora rolled her eyes in disgust. “Have you lost your wits? Don’t you think he’ll want her back?”
“He might,” a male voice answered. Ross MacKinloch stood before his wife, his hand resting upon the hilt of a sheathed claymore. “But we’re not going to let them take her. Alex has sent word to the Lady Marguerite’s father, and I don’t doubt he will arrive soon.”
“Or murder us all for kidnapping her,” Vanora shot back. The acerbic words held a deep fear, and Nairna took a step away from the married couple. They began to argue with one another, their voices rising with anger.
“Don’t let them bother you,” Bram said, resting his hand upon one shoulder. “They’ve always been at each other’s throats for as long as I can remember.”
“Then why do they stay together?” she whispered.
Bram shook his head and shrugged. “They’ve been married so long, perhaps they’re used to it.”
He took her hand in his, and lifted it to his cheek. She felt the soft bristles of his stubble and suddenly remembered the feeling of his warm mouth over her flesh, the prickles abrading her skin.
Her breath formed misted clouds in the afternoon air, and Nairna raised her woolen hood to guard against the cold. “I’ll go and welcome Lady Marguerite,” she managed, when he released her hand.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Bram told her, before he departed to speak with a group of men.
Nairna couldn’t answer, for the very thought of the intimacy made her skin rise up with shivers of longing. She needed a diversion to pull her mind away. As she walked toward the keep, she hoped to hide away with the household accounts, letting the numbers pull her restless mind back to something tangible.
But first, she had to keep her word to Bram and speak to Lady Marguerite. Like an ethereal maiden, the young woman was tall and slender, her walk graceful and elegant.
Seeing the woman’s beauty, even as young as she was, made Nairna feel like a clump of mud amidst spring flowers. Still, there was nothing to be done for it. Squaring her shoulders, Nairna greeted the lady and introduced herself.
“Bram told me that they brought you back from Cairnross,” she ventured, hoping Marguerite would explain what had happened.
The young maiden nodded quietly. “I was thankful to leave.” Although she had a deep French accent, the woman spoke the Gaelic tongue well enough to be understood. A shudder passed over her, and she gripped the edges of her silk gown. “And I am grateful to your husband for rescuing me.”
Nairna brought the woman food to break her fast. “When you were at Cairnross, did you happen to see any of the prisoners?”
Marguerite inclined her head, closing her eyes in memory. “I learned of them on the second day.” Her eyes opened and her fingers stilled together for a moment. “I could hear them screaming.”
She closed her eyes again for a moment, her lips pressed together. “I know what you wish to ask me. Your husband asked about his brother Callum when he agreed to take me back.”
