Highland Grace (27 page)

“When?” she whispered hoarsely.

Bao shrugged. Shaking his head, he said,
“Since just after your birth and up until I came back here to wed
Jesslyn.”

“Oh, my God!” Branwenn turned and walked a
few paces away from him. Turning back around, she said, “Why? Why
did you do such a thing, Bao? You worked so hard as a soldier—I
know you made enough for us just from that!” She didn’t give him a
chance to answer before she said, “So that’s where you were all
those nights when you were home from one of the King’s campaigns.”
She turned and chewed her thumbnail. “I resented that you left me
by myself with that nurse until the wee hours of the morn. I
believed you were out carousing with your friends, or mayhap
romancing one of the beauteous ladies at court.” She whirled back
around. “But ‘twas not
romance
that you were up to. Not at
all.”

Bao strode up to her and opened his arms. She
huffed, but walked into them. “Nay, ‘twas not. ‘Twas a business
arrangement so that I might give you the future you deserved. Build
a dowry for you. Make sure neither one of us would be pressed under
the thumb of another again.” He stroked her silky black hair and
took in a deep breath. Then he proceeded to give her the whole of
it, even the most shameful part of it, baldly, honestly, and
without any glossing of words.

His sister listened intently. She squeezed
him more tightly as he spoke, rubbing her cheek against the rough,
woolen fabric of the tunic, and he knew her heart had not been
swayed from her love of him, for which he gave silent thanks.

“And did you tell Jesslyn all this before you
wed her?” she asked when he’d finished speaking.

Bao shook his head, “Nay, not all,” he
shrugged, “but, aye, the most recent part she was given before our
union. The rest she guessed later.”

“She must truly love you, Bao, to have wed
you knowing that you’d been involved in the venereal trade,”
Branwenn said quietly.

He frowned. “Nay, ‘twas not love that brought
us together, ‘twas honor and duty. But I had hoped that one day she
might feel such for me.” He stepped back a pace and threw his hands
into the air. “But now—now—she’s cloistered herself away in her
bedchamber and refuses to come out when I’m in the front room of
the cottage, refuses to even speak to me other than to say ‘Go
away!’”

* * *

Branwenn stood silent, gazing at her brother
with new eyes, her mind a jumbled mass of thoughts and memories.
She’d always thought of him as infallible, mayhap even a bit
immortal, able to fend off all comers. After all, she’d yet to see
him lose a joust, or any other test of strength or reason, and the
knowledge that there had been a time in his life when he’d been
forced to go against his own nature, to do things he surely
couldn’t have even fully understood at that age, sickened her
physically and broke her heart. And he’d done it all for her!
For her!
God!
When she thought of her own
selfishness, how often she’d begged him for new clothes or other
ornaments, complained of her situation, complained of his absence,
and finally, how she’d fought with him when he’d insisted upon
leaving her here to be trained as a lady so that she might wed
well, she wanted to crawl into a hole and die of shame. And, even
worse, was the fact that she’d been prepared to allow him to—even
had
expected
him to—defend the fortress and keep her safe
from this cousin-germane, this prince, who had decreed that she be
wed to a nobleman from a Norman house.

She determined at that moment, that should an
army be raised and brought to their doorstep, she’d not allow one
single drop of blood to be spilled. Nay, she’d meekly go to this
other land and wed whomever she must. ‘Twas only right to sacrifice
her life for Bao’s since ‘twas clear he’d done even more for
her.

Vaguely, she noticed her brother turning and
beginning to pace back and forth with his hands clasped behind his
back and his head lowered. He was telling her something about why
Jesslyn was vexed and not speaking to him, about Maryn and a feast,
but her mind refused to turn from her own thoughts about the feared
siege and wedding a foreigner.
Would he be old? Cruel?

“Branwenn? Branwenn?
Branwenn!
”

She blinked at her brother and gave herself a
mental shake.

“Aye?”

“Have you not been listening?”

“Oh. Aye. Ummm, worry not. Jesslyn will give
you her heart—although I still believe she already has—I doubt it
not, but it may take some time. Be patient, Bao.”

“‘Tis not in me to be patient! I cannot wait
and watch as she slowly slips further away from me!” he said in a
near shout. “Action is what is needed, I’m sure of it.”

“And, pray, what action would that be?”
Branwenn asked.

“I-don’t-know!” he yelled in frustration.

A giggle slipped out before she could stop it
and she slapped her hand over her mouth.

Her brother looked at her in disbelief. “You
laugh at me?”

Sobering, she said, “I’m sorry. ‘Tis just
that I’ve rarely seen you get so vexed. ‘Tis usually I who have the
bursts of ill temper, not you.”

“Well, get used to it, for I’ve a feeling
I’ll not be calm again for some time to come.”

* * *

The door to the cottage opened with a
snick
and Bao silently stepped over the portal into the
front chamber late that night. Tho’ the feast had put him
side-by-side with Jesslyn, he’d had little luck melting her cool
demeanor. Every warm word he gave her was rebuffed with short, cold
replies—or not at all—and the one time he’d attempted a small
touch, just his fingertips to the top of her hand, she jerked it
out of reach as if his hand were a pit viper.

He looked around the quiet room. The
hearthfire was still ablaze, but there was no sign of Jesslyn.
Quietly, he closed the door behind him and pulled the mantle from
his shoulders. He hung it on a peg next to the door and then moved
toward the hearth. A flagon of ale sat on the table along with a
cup. Bao poured a bit out and took a long swallow before sitting
down on one of the stools. Gazing around, he marveled once more at
Jesslyn’s ability to make even the most humble lodging warm and
pleasing.

She’d managed, in only this short time, to
fill the cottage with bits and pieces of her own personality. She’d
hung two large tapestries on the north and west walls, he noticed.
Tho’ they added decoration to the otherwise stark surroundings,
they also served a useful purpose by blocking the bitter cold from
seeping through the cracks into the cottage. A gentle smile of
affection formed on his countenance as he studied her handiwork.
She was no seamstress, as she’d vehemently attested so often since
they’d begun living together. There were places where the threads
were a bit too slack, causing gaps to be formed where the loosely
formed loops lay on their sides, and others where the cloth was
puckered by the threads having been drawn too tightly. But Bao
thought the work beautiful. Worth more, in his estimation, than ten
others of finer construction made by the hands of other, more
talented, ladies.

Bao’s spine straightened in shock, his mind
finally grasping the full of what he gazed upon. The two tapestries
were both depicting warriors, in full battle gear, sitting upon
their destriers facing slightly sideways. They were almost
identical, but mirror images. Each held his helmet under his arm
and looked straight ahead. There was one very glaring difference,
however: The color of the warriors’ hair. In the tapestry on the
left, the man had hair the color of midday sunshine; the man on the
right had hair as black as the midnight sky.

When had these tapestries been formed? And
why had she chosen to hang them where she would be reminded each
day of, what she believed were, her
two
faithless husbands?
Was this meant to rankle? Or was it an indication of some softening
in her hatred? Bao knew not.

It did rankle, he admitted to himself. Being
forced to look upon the visage of the man she’d loved enough to
remain with, even after the man’s admitted infidelity, was not
going to be an easy task. Especially while he, himself, stewed in
his own jealous juices and flailed about trying to win back the
heart of his one true love.

In fact, he wouldn’t do it. Bao bolted to his
feet and strode over to the offensive needlework and yanked it from
its perch before heading toward the door. He grabbed his mantle and
rushed out of the cottage once more. He’d find another tapestry at
the keep and bring it back with him to hang in the place of the
other. He’d keep his own likeness there, however. It seemed fitting
that she should gaze upon it each day; after all, he was her
husband now, and if he had anything to say about it, he’d also be
her lover again in not so many more days.

* * *

Jesslyn woke the next morn with a bit of a
sick head. She still felt groggy, but was determined to get more
done this day than she had the day past. Alleck would be here any
moment to break his fast, and she wanted to be fully dressed and
ready to spend some time with him when he arrived, so she quickly
rose and began her ablutions for the morn.

The feast had been more enjoyable than she’d
expected, even with Bao in attendance. Fortunately, she’d managed
to avoid him most of the evening and he hadn’t been able to speak
with her for any length of time, as she could see he had been
hoping to do. She wasn’t ready for another confrontation with him
just yet. She felt her resolve slipping and she needed the time to
bolster her reserve, for she wasn’t about to give in to her body’s
desire to lay with him once more. Even if she did have the most
erotic dream about him last night—and it had involved those damned
berry tarts!

God’s teeth! Why had she ever made them for
him in the first place? She remembered that day, right here in her
front chamber, when he’d avidly devoured—how many? Two? Three?
Lord, she didn’t know for sure. But watching him eat them had for
evermore emblazoned in her mind the thought of those berry juices
being licked just as fervidly from her own skin. By him.

Her pulse thrummed, but she quickly turned
her mind to more mundane pursuits: Getting water for their meal,
cleaning the hearth out, washing their clothes, going to the forest
to pick some wild winter berries. Damn! She
must
let go of
that fantasy—and in all haste. For Bao was sure to be sitting with
them this morn, breaking his fast as well. And she certainly had no
desire to reveal, in any small way, that she was having such carnal
thoughts about him.

The door slammed in the front chamber and she
heard the distinct sound of her son’s steps. “Mama, I’m here!” she
heard him shout.

Jesslyn quickly opened the door to her
bedchamber and stepped into the front room. “Good morn, my brave,
fine, laddie—what on earth are you wearing?” It looked as if he’d
clasped together a mishmash of various metal rings of quite varied
original use. She immediately recognized several worn and bent-up
brooches, what looked to be stud rings from a horse’s bridle,
and—were those the hooped handles of a clothing chest? There were
other metal loops attached as well, that were of an origin outside
of Jesslyn’s understanding.

Alleck looked down at his clothes and said,
“‘Tis my mail armor. Maryn helped me make it to wear in me an’
Niall’s fortr’ss.” He looked back up at his mother then and
patiently explained, “‘Tis what warriors wear in battle.” He
shrugged. “I’m sure to need it when the prince comes to get my Aunt
Branwenn.”

Bao came out of his chamber just as her son
said the last. “How know you of this?” he asked sharply.

Alleck looked sheepish. “Ummm. I think I
might’ve heard...ummm....” he stalled.

“Aye?” Jesslyn prompted.

“Uncle Daniel told me!” Alleck finally
said.

“
Daniel
told you?” Bao repeated in
disbelief.

“Weeelll,” Alleck shuffled his feet and
twisted his ear, “he didn’t tell
me
, but I...ummm...heard
him sayin’ it to Aunt Branwenn this morn.”

“And where were you when you heard this?”
Jesslyn asked with no little bit of suspicion.

Alleck dropped his chin to his chest. “In the
buttery,” he mumbled.

“Pardon?” she said, thinking she’d surely not
heard correctly.

“In the buttery,” Alleck repeated a bit
louder, still with his chin on his chest.

“And why, pray, were you in the buttery?”

“‘Cuz I wanted to bring you some of the wine
you liked from this day past.”

That softened Jesslyn’s ire immediately and
she went to her son and hugged him tight. “That was awfully kind of
you to think of me. But you mustn’t listen to others’ conversations
without their knowledge.”

“You’ll not be here if the prince does send
an army, Alleck,” Bao told him. You and your mother will travel to
Laird Donald’s holding with Grandmother Maclean and your Aunts
Maryn and Branwenn, should our fortress come under siege.”

Jesslyn, who’d been resting her cheek on the
top of her son’s head, lifted her own and began to look behind her
at Bao. Her eyes halted on the north wall.

“Why can’t I stay—” Alleck began.

“Where is my tapestry?” she said sharply. The
tapestry of Graeme had been replaced with one she recognized from
Alleck’s bedchamber at the keep, depicting a
Bealltainn
scene.

“I thought Alleck might like to have the
tapestry hang in his own chamber,” Bao answered, his tone
all-innocence. “It
is
of his father, is it not?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she shook her head
in disgust, but decided against arguing with him about his
presumptuous action in front of her son. “Aye, it is. And, for the
time being at least, I shall allow the tapestry to remain
there.”