A DINNER AT CASTLE LOCHLANN
“Could you pass me the gravy, my lord?”
Broderick blinked. That sentence was the second one Amabel had said to him all evening.
“Of course.”
It was the night before he was to leave on campaign. He was sitting in the solar having dinner with the family. Amabel had been avoiding him ever since the day he told her of his vengeance.
The gathering was family only, and that meant seven of them: Lord Lochlann of course, himself and Amabel, his new lady wife. Also her sister and cousin were there. His brother Duncan who was still at the castle and boy named Heath who was introduced as a ward. Since it was to be the last night before the departure, Lord Lochlann had declared that he wanted an intimate dinner – one with family alone without all the men-at-arms and castle servants watching them. Accordingly, they had all sat down to dinner in the castle's solar.
“Is not this fitting?” Lord Lochlann said with a smile. “All of us here to see off our helpful allies.”
He made a broad gesture at Broderick. Duncan smiled, and Heath raised a glass. The meal continued. So far, most of the conversation was around Lord Lochlann. Broderick and his wife sat in resolute silence, eating their quail and roast parsnips from trenchers, sipping claret and not talking.
He passed her the clay pitcher of sauce and then sat back, waiting until she was finished before replacing it before him.
“Thank you.”
Broderick sighed. He had absolutely no idea what he had done to cause this brittle politeness, but he wished he could change it. She had been like this ever since their argument. She slipped into bed before he arrived and was asleep when he slipped in under the covers. She woke early, leaving him alone in the bed. He still desired her with an ache that burned at him, but so far, she had maintained a brisk distance that suggested she wanted their relationship to be a courteous exchange of words and nothing further.
He wrenched his eyes away from her and toward the rest of the diners, seeking distraction from his sorrows.
“...and we will finish them this time!” Lord Lochlann was saying enthusiastically.
Broderick nodded, remembering the thread of the conversation. “That is my fervent hope, my lord.”
Lord Lochlann was in a particularly open frame of mind that evening, it seemed.
“Aye! And mine, young sir,” Lord Lochlann said. “A toast! Drink to that!”
Broderick grimaced but lifted the glass and drank. To not do so would have been rude. His head already ached, and he had trouble focusing. He knew he was drinking too much and also knew he did not want to be sober. Sobriety meant awareness and awareness reminded him of how much his wife disliked him.
Lord Lochlann tossed back a glass and wiped his mouth on a napkin. He had spent most of the evening talking about the campaign, recounting past success and failures and funny stories from when he was Broderick and Duncan's ages. The Bradleys, it seemed, had long been trouble for their family as well. He seemed eager to finally repulse them.
“I believe you intend to use some new technique, my lord?” Heath, the young ward, said. Broderick looked at him. A lean-faced youth with dark hair and shining eyes, he seemed clever and perceptive. Broderick liked him. He hoped to get to know him a little better before his departure for the campaign.
“Yes. That is true, young man. I shall bring you back an account of how it unfolds. We will all learn something this campaign, I understand.”
Lord Lochlann laughed, amused, overhearing them. “If those Bradley learn something, that's good enough.”
Broderick raised a brow. “I hope it shall be them who learns, my lord. But in either case, so shall we.”
Lord Lochlann seemed to find that very funny. He chuckled. “How true, young Broderick.”
Broderick sighed. He glanced across at his brother, who grinned at him. The laird's patronization of them evidently annoyed him, too, but he seemed to counsel him to ignore it. That made sense. In a month, he hoped, Broderick would never have to see the man again. His vengeance over, he could return home to the MacConnaway fortress.
And he would take a bride with him.
Broderick bit his lip. He had never actually thought that far. Had not thought past the taking of his vengeance, to what would happen next. He had focused on his hate of Aisling's murderers, nursing it until it became a bigger and bigger void inside him, eating away his heart.
Now, with a bride beside him who did not want to face him, he realized that he had let that void overrun him entirely. He sighed: It was too late to change it. He had no idea how to soften her heart to him. Could not even guess what he had done wrong.
Shaking his head at himself, he decided to let the matter rest awhile. He listened to the conversational goings-on, glancing at his silent, straight-backed wife as he did so. She sat there like a carven statue, painted in red and white and green, a thing of exquisite beauty, made of stone and ice. She was looking at the hounds where they massed beside her uncle's seat, waiting for him to cast them scraps. She seemed uninterested in the human occupants of the room entirely.
Broderick switched his gaze to Duncan, where he sat beside Lady Alina. He was talking to her with grave earnestness, tawny-dark eyes bright.
“You will ride with the hunt in autumn?” he asked spiritedly. Broderick smiled. With her dark hair straight and loose about her shoulders, a dark-blue velvet gown bringing out her black eyes, Alina was lovely indeed. Almost as lovely as her sister.
“I will ride with the hunt,” Lady Alina said quietly. “But at the killing, I will return here. I have no joy in seeing needless death.”
Duncan nodded. “My lady, you are wise. Death is a thing that should not be made light of.”
Broderick swallowed. Indeed. That was one thing with which he completely agreed. He wished he had not had to learn how serious death was. And how it did not end. Aisling's presence lingered in his heart, running through everything like ink spilled on cloth, touching every facet of him.
“Thank you, Lord Duncan,” Alina said to his brother, shaking Broderick's reverie. “That is wise.”
He watched Duncan blush. “Oh, no, my lady. It is kind of you to say so.” He reached for the salt-cellar, clearly feeling awkward.
Broderick smiled. He had never seen his brother anything like this. Never seen him truly attracted to someone. I should speak to Lord Lochlann about it. As far as he recalled, Alina was nineteen years old – a little young, but not a bad match for Duncan, who was nine and twenty. He hoped that the Lochlann would at least consider the idea of a match between them favorably.
The quiet conversation was interrupted by a bright giggle from Lady Chrissie, who sat beside Amabel.
“Oh, Heath! You are silly!”
The whole table looked at them, and Heath blushed.
“It is not silly, my lady.” he said mildly, but Broderick could see he was upset.
“Sorry, Heath!” the girl said, instantly caring. “But it was just the way you said it. It sounded so... dreary, so driech!”
Heath smiled. “My lady, I apologize. I would not be thought dreary by you.”
Chrissie giggled, cheeks flushed prettily.
Broderick watched them wistfully. They were so young! They knew nothing of the hardship and pain of love, nothing of loss or misunderstanding. Their love was just blossoming, and he wished them a life of ease and innocence. May they know only joy together.
“My lord?”
Broderick turned to face his wife. “Yes?”
“I thought you said something. I must have been mistaken.” She turned away stiffly.
Broderick sighed. He had not realized he mouthed his prayer for Heath and Chrissie. He wanted to tell her what he meant, but she had already turned away.
I should just concentrate on this campaign. Forget about what happens next.
With that as his decision, Broderick listened to Lord Lochlann and his stories, but there was little to be gleaned from them. He made a mental note to seek out Fergall the next day and learn all he could from him.
“Lord Lochlann smiled as the servants arrived to clear away the plates from the main course. “It is nice to dine with my new allies. I eagerly anticipate many such dinners. Many more campaigns against our common enemy.”
Broderick sighed. He had hoped to use the resources of Lochlann for his own vengeance. In a sense, it was only fitting that Lord Lochlann sought to exploit him almost as much.
“Good, my lord. Agreed.” He raised the glass but this time only wet his lips with it. His head was already swimming, and he did not want to risk being drunk tonight.
The servants brought in a dish of nuts and apples, some sort of pie that smelled sweet and delicious, but Broderick had little appetite. He waited for the younger family to finish their meal and then stood to retire.
“Good night, my lord.” He inclined his head to Lord Lochlann, who was already walking to the door.
“Goodnight, nephew. I look forward to excellent news when you return from our venture.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Broderick looked for his wife, but she was in the corner by the fireplace, talking to little Chrissie, who was giggling and blushing. He left the room feeling wretched. Broderick MacConnaway, you are a bloody fool.
Not wanting to face Amabel's brittle politeness, her cool sadness, he walked back from dinner alone, heading for his bedchamber. He slit his eyes: he could not discern his way clearly down the corridor in the hazy, wavery light of the torches. But that was not what angered him about himself... it was his inability to understand.
All he knew was that he had done something foolish and now his wife hated him.
What did I do wrong?
He reached the bedchamber and disrobed. Feeling completely miserable and defeated, he tried hard to forget about the joy and pleasure that had been his in this bed such a wholly unbelievably short time ago. He slid in under the covers and was soon fast asleep.
When he woke, it was to feel Amabel lying beside him.
He rolled over. She was asleep. Blue eyes closed, long lashes resting on the soft rise of her cheek. He looked down at her.
She is so beautiful. So, so beautiful.
He wanted to reach out and stroke her hair. To kiss those red, plump lips. To run his tongue down the white snow of her skin and take those hard, firm nipples in his teeth as he had a little over a week before this. He could feel his body responding and he gritted his teeth, stifling a groan.
Don't touch her. You would be the worst sort of person if you forced your attentions on her.
She stirred and opened her eyes slowly. She smiled. When her gaze registered him, he saw her face change. Her eyes shuttered, and she wiped away the smile.
“Goodnight.”
She rolled away from him. Soon he heard her breath slip back to the slowness of rest.
Feeling desperate with desire, Broderick slid out of bed and walked to the fireplace, looking into the leaping flames. Red, gold and graceful, they reminded him, ridiculously, of Aisling.
“Aisling,” he whispered into the fire. My dearest beloved. Help me? I have built a wall of hate inside my heart and forgotten how to love.
He focused on his memories of Aisling, but all he could recall clearly was the Bradley tartan, rippling in fire. He felt a tear trace down his cheek, cold and damp. He cuffed it away but it was followed by another. I have forgotten everything, lost in this quest for vengeance.
Feeling more lost than he had ever done, he sat down by the fire and allowed the tears to flow, unchecked, for the first time since Aisling's death. Help me, he thought a little desperately. Tell me what to do.