The woman attempted a curtsy. “Aye, M’Laird. I’ll see to it right away, and I wasnae lyin’ about that stew. Eat as much as ye please. I’ll give ye me finest chambers, too, for ye and yer wife.”
“Thank ye.” Owen watched the woman hurry away, while his arms slipped around Heather. She had already set upon the stew, spooning great mouthfuls between her lips. A good sign that she would recover soon.
“Did you hear that?” She paused in her eating to smile at him.
Owen nodded. “Aye, I did. Me Lady. Me wife. Me future.”
“Aye, daenae get ahead of yerselves,” Sawyer interjected, between mouthfuls. “We need to meet with Brandon before ye can have yer happy marriage. Otherwise, we’ll have to have ourselves a battle first.”
Owen shot him a warning look, to say,“Daenae speak of such things, ye bampot! The lass disnae want to hear it.”
“Apologies.” Sawyer quickly returned to his eating, though his gaze flitted about the welcoming inn, as if he might find Brandon somewhere among the scant patrons.
He need not have bothered. Owen had already done that and had seen no sign of the Englishman. As Brandon had not said where he was riding from, there was no telling how long they would have to wait. If he had been apprehended somewhere between, they could well be waiting averylong time. Not just for the real killer but for the joyful future Owen and Heather had set their hearts on.
18
“Brandon!” Heather shrieked, gesturing wildly toward the ragged fellow who had just walked through the inn door.
Sawyer jolted upright: her cry having awoken him from a deep slumber. Meanwhile, Owen blinked, visibly startled. He had been fighting sleep for the past hour, refusing Heather’s suggestion that he retire for the night. As such, Brandon’s arrival could not have come at a better moment.
Brandon turned in their direction and a wave of relief washed over his worn and solemn face. “Thank goodness,” he said, approaching the table and sinking down into the vacant chair. “I did not know if you would have arrived before me, or if you would even heed my request to meet.”
“What reason would we have to nae meet with ye?” Sawyer grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Brandon smiled tightly. “I am aware of your mistrust. If I were in your position, I would not trust a person who was formerly my enemy, either.” He claimed a bowl of stew for himself. “As such, I am grateful you have put your faith in me, for I have no one else I can rely upon.”
“I assured them of your trustworthiness. We are here to help you and to help my brother.” Heather replied, feeling sorry for her dear friend. He looked as though he had ridden to hell and back: his hair lank and greasy, his eyes dull, his jaw covered with a stubbled beard.
Owen stretched out his arms. “Ye spoke of news?”
“I did.” Brandon swept his hands through his hair, visibly rallying himself for what was to come. “Since leaving Dunn Castle, I have been met with blockade after blockade. Those who I thought would have information have either disappeared or had no information to offer me. I should have expected that for, after a war, all any man wants to do is return home. Indeed, I was beginning to feel as though I would have to give up this endeavor, when I remembered something.”
Heather leaned forward. “What, dear Brandon?”
“The night before your brother and I departed to join with Cromwell’s forces, I noticed him sneak away from Gallagher Castle. He returned a few hours later, and when I asked him where he had been, he told me he had gone to visit the priest,” Brandon explained. “I thought little of it, for many men visit a priest before they are about to ride toward an uncertain fate.
“As it was the only trace of William I had remaining, I decided to pursue it.” Brandon paused: his eyes filling with tears. “I went to the priest closest to Gallagher Castle, though I was careful not to be seen. To my surprise, he was expecting me. Indeed, he had something for me.”
Heather’s heart lurched. “What?”
“A letter from William. I wanted to bring it, but your brother gave specific instruction, at the end of the letter, for it to be burned,” Brandon replied apologetically. “In it, he revealed that he was married. Not only married, but married to a Scottish woman by the name of Edith Morton.”
Heather stared at him in disbelief. It did not make a jot of sense to her, for William had always told her everything. If he had suddenly gotten married, she would have known of it.
“That cannot be,” she insisted, but Brandon just sighed.
“I thought the same, but the letter was written in your brother’s hand, and he said on several occasions that I was to believe every word, no matter how outlandish it might seem.” He paused. “There is more, however. Your father knew of this secret union, after the wedding had taken place. He was not best pleased, as you can imagine.”
Heather shook her head slowly, struggling to accept what Brandon was saying. “My father did not mention it. Are you certain that the letter was written in William’s hand? Do you believe this to be the truth?”
“It was his hand, Heather, and your brother’s last words were a plea. He asked that we find his wife and protect her, for no one else will. Indeed, he feared that some harm might befall her, which was why he left the letter with the priest, in case anything happened to him while he was away. IfIdid not come back either, the priest had been granted permission to open the letter and seek help on William’s behalf.”
A sharp pain gripped Heather’s heart. “He did not mention me?”
“He did not, but you know how much he loved you,” Brandon replied sadly. “It is my belief that he did not want to implicate you, accidentally, if anyone but me came for the letter.”
“Do ye ken if the priest read the letter?” Owen interjected, discreetly placing his hand upon the small of Heather’s back. A gesture of support, for he could show nothing more in front of Brandon. Two weddings to two Scots might be enough to finish him off, in his present condition.
