Sandy’s voice rose in pitch, sending waves of revulsion down Brodie’s throat. He felt like puking when Sandy acted so... English. Five years in London with David the Bruce, who was being held hostage there by King Edward III, and he had lost every bit of his Scottish pride. Brodie ached, understanding Struan’s pain and disgrace in facing this disappointment for a son and heir.
“I have every right, ye lousy bastard. I am yer laird and yer faither and ye will obey me.” Struan’s voice lowered, his expression more furious than before.
“I can raise my hand to her when she needs correction, Father. Even you used your hand on my mother.”
“Aye, Sandy, I did once. And I regretted it every day of my life.”
“Anice will learn to please me soon enough. She will learn my ways and obey me. The stupid girl thought to naysay me on my wedding night,” Sandy continued, completely unaware that he was driving his father to the brink of his self-control. Brodie thought for a moment about warning him off. Another very short moment.
“She knew she had to prove herself a virgin after her actions with that impostor. She resisted my efforts to see if her maidenhead was intact so I hit her. It is my right.”
Sandy never saw the first punch coming. His nose, broken before, spurted blood down his face and into the dirt where he landed. It was followed by several more blows and then a final kick. The very air in the stables sizzled as Struan’s fury poured out of him.
“She came here and served our clan faithfully. She waited for ye faithfully. She married ye, doing her duty to our clan and hers. And ye beat her on her wedding night like she was some wild animal. Well, Sandy, how does it feel to ye?”
Brodie let Struan land two more solid hits before he stepped in to stop him. He knew that Struan wanted to punish Sandy, not kill him. Struan was panting and blowing from the exertion and strain of beating his son.
“His damned English friends wait for him outside the gates. Tie him on the horse if ye must, but get him out of Dunnedin now.” Struan wiped his brow and turned away. No one said another word.
Brodie nodded and with the help of the other guards he did just that—tied the unconscious man over the saddle and led him to the gates. When the iron gate had been raised, Brodie slapped the horse sharply and it skidded through the gate and down the path. The English escort, aware of Struan’s intent to rid the clan MacKendimen of its heir once more, galloped after the spooked horse.
Good riddance to bad rubbish, Brodie thought as he watched his cousin leave the clan once more. And this time, in addition to his plea that Sandy was gone for good, Brodie begged one more boon from the Almighty. Surely, He could find a fitting heir to follow after Struan and lead the clan MacKendimen.
Surely.
1
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Do you think we need more flour, Calum?” Anice counted as she pointed to the barrels stacked along the wall. “We have but eight left.”
“Eight should get us through the worst of the winter, my lady. We can purchase more at the spring festival.”
Anice slid her hand down her back, aching now from bending and twisting in the cramped storage room, and straightened up to face the cook. Pulling the edges of her plaid shawl back up onto her shoulders, she wrapped it more tightly around her to keep out the coldness. Normally, she enjoyed the bite of the winter’s cold, but this winter was not normal for her in any way.
“Calum, I have told you to call me Anice.”
“Forgive me, my... Anice. I didna mean to offend ye.” The large man stuttered his words, shifted on his feet, and wouldn’t look her in the eye.
She knew that she would still see pity there and would rather him look away from her than gift her with that.
“No offense taken. Now, have we checked all the foodstuffs?”
“Aye... Anice, we have.”
“And you have the list I’ve drawn up?” Some supplies were short and would not last through the winter. She took full blame for the mistake. As chatelaine, she should have kept a better watch during the harvest and the salting times. She could have made arrangements to purchase what they didn’t have. But those times were a blur in her mind, a walk throughdarkness that...
Anice shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She would not think about those times. They were in the past and done and now she would pick up the pieces.
“Did ye forget something... Anice?”
She smiled at him, at his discomfort in using her given name. She had the right to be called “my lady.” She had it by her birth and by her marriage. But “my lady Anice” was someone else, someone she used to be, someone she would never be again. No, she was just “Anice.”
“Nay, Calum, the list is complete. I will speak to Struan to make the arrangements. Oh, good Lord! I forgot that the laird summoned me to the solar. Come, Calum, help me move these boxes back.”
“Anice!” Struan’s deep voice echoed down the hallway leading to the storage rooms.
“Here, Struan, I am in here.” She started pushing a pile of wooden crates out of her way when she saw the laird come through the door.
