Tangled Hearts (32 page)

“Och lass,” he said and ran a hand through his hair. “That was part of the lie. Ye are—”

“You like comfortable, simple lasses who will make you sweets,” she interrupted. “I don’t bake sweets.”

That foolish advice he’d given Searc seemed a lifetime ago. “Sweets slow a warrior down, and a simple lass would bore me into an early grave.”

She looked back to the stars, her face tight. “I’m also a traitor’s spawn.” Her voice broke a bit. “It’s in my blood.” Her voice quieted to the breath of a whisper. “I’m not good enough for you, Ewan Brody.”

Ewan let his shoulders return to the boards. They stiffened under him, making the polished planks almost painful. Lord, she didn’t know him, didn’t know the nightmares that used to plague him, used to remind him exactly how unworthy he was. All trace of his humor disappeared as he linked the stars with his gaze. Yet he didn’t see them at all.

“I had a
sghian dubh
when I was a lad, its handle was black and sleek. Caden’s father, The Macbain, chief of our clan, he gave it to me, taught me how to use it, to throw it.” He paused, breathing in and out for several moments.

“But you don’t like the
sghian dubh
,” she said softly, using his words.

“I did then. It does the most damage by throwing it, hitting just the right spot. And I was good with it, always found my mark.” He fought with the words. They were stuck within him. Probably because he’d never uttered them before. He cleared his throat. “The chief said that I should always keep it to defend myself and those I love.”

“He was wise,” she said.

Ewan wouldn’t argue that. Caden’s father had been very wise, wise enough to see what was going on within the Brody cottage at the edge of Druim’s village. “I had bruises.” He stopped, his nose wrinkling as if in disgust. Bloody hell, this wasn’t even the hard part. He rubbed his hand down his face. “That’s when Caden’s father taught me to use the
sghian dubh
, how to secret it away on my body so no one knew I had it to take it away.”

She didn’t say anything, but he felt her cool fingers press against the hand by his side.

“I spent many days and nights learning how to use it. I was too young and scrawny to do much with a sword or even a dagger.” He cleared his throat again. Blast! The words were nearly as difficult as the lies in the tower. “But I could kill with the
sghian dubh
. Knew where on a body to strike.”

He didn’t say anything more for a long while, just listened to the lapping water and breathed the damp night air.

“Why did you have bruises?” she whispered.

He inhaled fully. “My father… was very angry most of the time, worse when he drank whisky. My mother tried to protect me.”

Dory didn’t move. He lay there, letting his words escape as if he were alone.

“I hated him,” he said, his jaw aching. “I spent as much time as I could away from the cottage. I trained with the boys, with Caden.”

He felt her fingers creep over to his arm, touching, easing.

“One night…” He bit down on his lip, his breath hitching in his too-tight throat. He sucked in air through his nose. “I wasn’t there… When I went home…” The picture he saw in the stars of that night brought acid up from his stomach, and his eyes stung. “She was dead, I wasn’t there and he killed my mother.”

Dory buried her face in the crook of his neck.

“Her body was broken, bent, blood coming from her face. I should have been there.”

“You were a boy,” she whispered.

“But I could have…” He stopped. She needed to hear the rest, needed to hear his sins. His stomach tightened, and with his breath he forced the words out. “He turned on me when I walked in. He smelled of whisky and blood.” Ewan laid an arm over his face, remembering the curl of his father’s lip as he blamed him for not being there to hold him back. They’d been fighting about Ewan and his laziness.

“I had my
sghian dubh
, and… he was unarmed, but I… I threw it at him,” he said, letting the truth fly up into the night. “It hit his neck, sliced through it. I watched him crumple, bleed on the rushes.”

He felt Dory’s warmth drape over his chest, and he shook silently. “I abandoned my mother and I killed my father.”

“He was armed. His strength—he’d have killed you.” She paused. “And you didn’t abandon her,” she said against him. “Blast, Ewan, I shouldn’t have left you in the Tower. You didn’t deserve that. But you made me.”

Her words floated on the surface of his mind as he poured out the rest. “If I had been there, I could have saved her,” he said. “But I stayed away. He’d been angry because again I wasn’t home. She tried to stop him from punishing me when I returned.” He ran a hand down the softness of her hair. “An eye for an eye, Dory. I did deserve to be abandoned.”

She lifted her head up and pried his arm away from his eyes. She stared down into his, her face a shadow in the dark. “Ewan, you didn’t abandon her. You were a child trying to survive.” She searched his eyes. “You have to forgive yourself. If you don’t… how can you let me forgive you?”

Her words caught at the pain inside him, untwisting it a bit. “You forgive me?”

She exhaled long and slow. “Just like your mother has. In both instances, you did what had to be done. You stayed away to protect yourself and you lied to me,” she swallowed hard, “to keep me alive.”

He felt her thumb trace down his temple, her fingers raking in his hair as she lowered down. Her kiss was feather soft against him, and she pulled back slightly. “Ewan Brody, I claim you, for my own, forever.”

His breath caught. “Don’t pity me.”

She shook her head, her hair making a curtain around them. “You are strong and honorable. You haven’t let that hell taint you. Surviving made you stronger. I don’t pity you, I… I love you.”

The words slid into him, into the ache he always held in his heart, melting some of the old ice. He ran his fingers through the tangles of her hair, pulling her mouth back to his. He held her face in his palms while he loved her lips with gentleness, tasting, worshipping this uniquely exquisite woman.

He rolled to the side, turning her under him and broke the kiss. Light from the moon cast a glow on her face. Happiness lurked there, no pity, and he felt hope swell up in his chest. “
Tha gaol agam ort
,” he said, his voice rough. “I love ye, Dory Wyatt Brody, now and forever.”

She pulled the scrap of plaid out of her pocket to wind around his hand and hers, tying them together. “Now and forever,” she said.

He kissed her soundly, his mouth slanting against hers with all the joy and relief and love he felt. He pulled back gently and gazed down at her beautiful face, an angel with a devil’s tongue. The thought sent heat coursing through him. “There’s no privacy onboard a ship,” he said and she laughed.

“I do have a comfortable hammock below,” she teased.

He snorted and kissed her forehead. “I think it’s time for ye to meet yer new family in the Highlands.”

“Caden’s wife, the witch?”

“Aye, the two of ye and her aunt must be related somehow.” He kissed the birthmark on her wrist. “Ye still have blood family, Dory, up in Scotland.”

Thunder rumbled overhead. “What if they don’t like me?” she asked.

“No swiving on the deck,” boomed Will’s voice from the wheel above.

Ewan chuckled and leaned in to kiss her. “Pirates and Highlanders, not so different after all.”

“It’ll be a bloody interesting summer,” she said and laughed.

“And a perfectly complicated life,” he added, his laughter joining hers, their voices tangling together like their hearts.

Epilogue

2 Years Later

June 1540, Whitehall Palace, London England

Henry VIII held the little wooden box in his hands, opening and shutting the lid. The hinges were tiny and well made, though time had tarnished the silver. He glanced down at the short note that had accompanied it.

Your Majesty,

Our bargain is complete. You now know the truth and we have concluded our business with your realm. May God keep you safe from traitors.

Faithfully,

Ewan and Pandora Brody

A knock at the door brought him up straight, his indifferent mask covering the fury roiling inside.

“Your majesty?” Thomas Cromwell asked as two guards ushered him inside the king’s privy chamber where Henry sat at his large desk. Henry indicated the seat across from him and Cromwell sat with a nervous flourish. The man knew Henry was extremely unhappy with his new wife, Anne of Cleves, the German princess that Cromwell had arranged for him to marry after his sweet Jane died birthing his beloved heir.

“Again, your majesty, I am very sorry for your inability to find comfort with your bride.”

“I can barely stand the sight of her,” Henry said. “Nor the smell of her. I will never begat an heir on her.”

Cromwell’s face paled, making his eyes seem beady like those of a rat, a scared rat. “We will work to find a way out of the contract,” he promised.

“That you will,” Henry agreed. He held the box on his desk in front of him, playing again with the lid. Cromwell looked at it until Henry spoke again. “You can dwell upon this problem in the Tower.”

On cue, the guards stepped forward. Cromwell leapt up from his chair. “You can’t mean to execute me because you don’t like your bride!”

Henry raised his eyes to the frantic man and flipped open the lid of the small box that had been delivered several days before. From it he took the large gold ring and held it up so Cromwell could see the rose on the outside. It was gold, like the other rings from the time of civil war, the war Henry’s father had put to rest when he’d won at Bosworth Field. Henry tipped it a bit so he could see the inscription.

“It seems Katharine Wellington saved this from her time working with Rowland Boswell here at court.”

“They were traitors, your majesty,” Cromwell said, his words shallow, his shoulders slumped.

“Aye.” Henry nodded, his voice low, lethal. “And there was a third, one that Katharine may have been trying to stop. Is that why she stole the ring? Because she didn’t want its owner to kill the king and rule England?”

“I’ve seen several rings like that, my lord, with the rose. You wear one yourself.”

“Ah,” Henry said with a smile, though his eyes narrowed. “But mine doesn’t say,” and he glanced again inside, “vivant et rex Thomas Cromwell.” Long live King Thomas Cromwell.

Historical Note

Henry VIII did indeed free himself from his second wife, Anne Boleyn, by beheading her on false charges of incest and adultery. Less than twenty-four hours after her execution, Henry and Jane Seymour were formally betrothed. They married two weeks later. In less than a year, Jane died after fulfilling her grandest dream—giving England its prayed-for living heir, Prince Edward VI. Henry mourned her deeply and willed himself to be buried next to her when his time came.

Thomas Cromwell, Henry’s chief minister and lawyer, arranged for Henry to marry Anne of Cleves to gain an ally with northern Germany against the Holy Roman Emperor. The marriage was a disaster. Anne of Cleves cleverly made it out alive, but Cromwell was sent to the Tower and executed for his part. Or so the history books say…

Acknowledgments

Thank you so much to my amazing editor, Libby Murphy! Your LOL comments and spot-on advice kept me polishing this book until it glittered with brilliant candlelight stars.

Also to Julie, my beta-reader and fabulous cheerleader. Thank you for your keen eye and kind words. Your enthusiasm gives me courage.

And always – thank you to my wonderfully supportive husband, Braden. You are every hero in every book I write. Mo ghaol ort gu brath.

About the Author

Heather McCollum is a mom of three spirited kids, a dog-mom of one rescued golden retriever, a daughter, and a wife to her real life Highlander. She also donned the teal uniform and fuzzy hat of an ovarian cancer warrior when she was diagnosed in 2011.

“After fifteen months of chemo, I’ve beaten the sneaky, vicious stealer of women, but I will continue to SHOUT about the whispered symptoms until every sister, mother, daughter, and best girlfriend knows what to watch out for.”

Symptoms of Ovarian Cancer:

Bloating that is persistent

Eating less and feeling fuller

Abdominal pain

Trouble with your bladder

Ovarian Cancer cannot be detected by a PAP Smear. Additional symptoms may include fatigue, indigestion, back pain, pain with intercourse, constipation, menstrual irregularities. If you experience several symptoms almost every day for three weeks, please see your GYN for an exam.

Together, we will “SHOUT against the Whisper” until every woman knows these symptoms.

For more information on OC and Ms. McCollum, please visit her website at www.HeatherMcCollum.com. She can also be found on Facebook at
http://www.facebook.com/HeatherMcCollumAuthor
and on Twitter at https://twitter.com/HMcCollumAuthor.