“What was that about?” Brodie wrapped his plaid over his shoulders.
“I asked Anice to keep the books for me.”
“Did ye now? I am certain that pleased her. Why did ye do that?”
“Struan haes asked me to oversee some tasks in the village and so I asked her to take care of the records for me.”
“And your real reason, since I ken that yer duties in Dunbarton included much more than books and buildings?” Brodie had discerned some of his reasons already.
Robert leaned up against the fence that surrounded the practice yard and adjusted his own plaid. His own investigation of Anice had led him to believe that she needed something to occupy her time. That she sank deeper and deeper into worry and unhappiness as the babe’s birth approached. And for a reason he could not yet name, he had wanted to help her, to give her something to do, to lift her spirits. He’d had no idea that the simple assigning of a task would have been the thing that made her smile.
“Anice needs to keep busy while she waits for the bairn.”
Brodie simply grunted in response.
“Why isn’t he here?”
“Who?”
“Ye ken—Alesander. Or should I call him ‘Sandy’ asStruan said he wishes to be called?” Robert couldn’t keep the sneer out of his voice.
“Believe me, we need him not now that he haes done his duty to the clan.” Disgust and disdain filled Brodie’s voice, too. Mayhap he would tell Robert more.
“His duty? Oh, ye mean marrying the MacNab’s daughter and getting an heir on her? Aye, he’s done that, but what about being here while she bears that heir? Or training with his own clan instead of traipsing around London with the king?” Robert cleared his throat once more but this time spit on the ground. Even just talking about his half-brother made his mouth bitter.
“If ye have no’ found out yet, Robert, the clan is just fine with him being in London with the king.” Brodie stood away from the fence and faced him squarely. “’Tis a fine thing ye did for Anice, asking for her help.”
Robert laughed. “’Tis selfish, plain and simple, my friend. I hate to keep the books and long to be outside.”
Brodie nodded in farewell. “I must see to Rachelle now. I have been away too long already. Come for dinner one night soon?”
“I look forward to it, Brodie. And to meeting yer lovely wife.”
Brodie trotted off towards the gate and village and Robert watched with a sense of envy. Brodie was going home, to a place and a person who waited for him. A pang of wanting, so deep and strong that he could not breathe, shot through him. He leaned back once more, relying on the fence’s strength to keep him on his feet. Just once, for just one moment, he wanted to feel the comfort of a home. Catching a glimpse of the very pregnant Anice entering the keep, Robert spit once more on the ground. So long as Sandy lived and was heir here, there was no place for him.
She concentratedon taking one step at a time. She concentrated on the amount of air that passed into her chest. She even concentrated on Firtha’s inane chatter as they walked towards the keep. But none of that could calm her now.
He was a warrior.
Although not as large as Brodie, he was as muscular and as strongly built as any of the MacKendimens she’d ever seen. Watching in horrified fascination as he and Brodie wrestled, she was stunned into near panic by his strength and his ability to overpower someone much bigger and stronger than himself with his deft moves. Once again she was reminded of Alex, the distant relative of the clan who had visited last summer and who had been mistaken for Sandy due to his close resemblance. Alex had fought with Brodie as well, but at the time she was pleased by his prowess and manly form. The anticipation of being held by him had been welcome... then.
One thing was clear—he was not a steward. Those muscles did not come from lifting barrels and chests of spices and foodstuffs. That strength came from working with other warriors, testing and being tested in contests of might and endurance. Years of such training to reach the level of skill he had obviously reached.
As she placed one foot in front of the other and nodded in spite of not hearing her maid’s words, she knew that he was much more than a steward, a caretaker of the clan’s goods and grounds. Did Struan know the extent of his abilities and skills? Struan was ever-vigilant about anything affecting the clan so she doubted that he did not already know of Robert’s other talents. Mayhap that was why he had asked him to take care of other tasks outside the keep.
Forcing a breath deeper inside of her, she tried to wipe from her mind the image of Robert, naked to the waist, deep in contemplation about his next move against Brodie. His face wore such a fierce and dangerous expression that she doubted she would ever forget it. And she must not.
She must not ever forget that within any man was a core of unpredictability, when anger or lust or even fear could redirect his strength against an opponent, an enemy, a wife. She must not ever forget the hardest lesson she’d learned in her life.
Never trust a man.
The next monthpassed by quickly for him and for the clan.
Taking advantage of some unseasonably clear weather, repairs were made and even some new buildings begun. The people of Dunnedin knew that more storms would reach their village before the spring finally claimed victory over the harsh winter.
Dougal sank closer and closer to death; even Moira was surprised that he clung to life as long as he did. Robert visited daily, most of the time sitting quietly or reading next to the man who raised him. Memories of the years before Dougal discovered the truth of his parentage filled his mind during these quiet times. Before the bitterness took control, Dougal had been a doting father to him, proud of his every accomplishment and milestone of growth. Now though, few words spoken and few truths revealed. Then one day, as the skies above grew darker and heavier with a coming storm, Dougal gave up his thin hold on this life and moved through death. Even after months of preparing for Dougal’s passing, Robert was not certain what he felt for the man who died and the man who he buried among the others in the MacKendimen graveyard.
Anice waddled and grew even bigger as her time approached. The dark circles under her eyes also grew and made her look even more haunted, more vulnerable. To what or whom, he could only guess, since no one in the clan ever spoke her husband’s name in her presence. He stopped as well, after those first few times, since he had drawn his own conclusions about the state of their marriage and the imminent birth.
