After Martha gave Mairghread the antidote, she began to calm almost immediately. “She will likely sleep for a few days,” she told Brogan. “I will no’ say she is out of the woods yet, but I think we can move her to the room next door.”

Brogan was thankful for the news on many levels. He could not wait to get out of the filthy, malodorous room. But more than anything, he was thankful that Mairghread had finally stopped thrashing and moaning.

Before they moved her into the new room, Evelyn brought a basin and clothes in. Together, she and Martha cleaned Mairghread up as best they could. They bandaged her wrists and ankles, from which she had torn the flesh fighting against the restraints.

They also put her into a clean night rail and warm woolens. “What she needs is a bath, but we will have to wait fer that,” Martha told him.

Once she was clean and freshly dressed, Brogan scooped her up into his arms. God’s teeth! He exclaimed silently. She has lost so much weight. As light as a feather she felt in his arms.

With much care and gentleness, he took her across the hall to her new quarters. Liam and Evelyn had done a good job and making the space as inviting as possible. A new bed, larger than the old one, sat against one wall. Fresh linens, pillows, and sheets covered the mattress, along with blankets and a fur. A chair and table were placed next to the bed, and a brazier crackled softly in the corner.

As tenderly as a mum puts her babe in a cradle, Brogan placed Mairghread in the center of the bed. He pulled the covers up around her shoulders, making sure she would be warm and comfortable.

“Why do ye no’ get some rest,” Martha suggested. “I will stay with her. We will send word if there be any change.”

“Nay,” he replied. “I will stay with her.”

“But laird, ye look like ye have no’ slept in days,” she argued.

“’Tis true, I have no’,” he replied. “But I bade Mairghread a promise that I would no’ leave her side. Look what happened to her when I left to change me bloody tunic.”

Unable to argue any sense into him, Martha sighed. “Verra well. I will return soon to check on her. But I suggest ye at least try to rest, m’laird. Ye’ll be no use to her if ye succumb to exhaustion or lack of food.”

A grunt was his only reply.

After she left, he took the seat next to Mairghread’s bed. “Lass, I be so verra sorry,” he whispered. “Please fergive me.”

* * *

By his order, Henry took up the post as Brogan’s second in command. With Reginald’s absence, ’twas up to Henry to see to the felling of trees. There were many rumblings and much grumbling when he told the Mactavish men of the change in plans.

“Trees?” And older man named Stuart asked as he scratched the back of his neck. Though he was a short man, he was broad in the shoulders and had arms that looked like they could fell a tree without the need of axe.

“Aye, trees,” Henry said as he stood before the group of men. “We have just been made aware of the possibility of an attack in the verra near future.”

A gasp, as well as a few curses, broke out over the crowd. These men, of varying ages and sizes, stood dumbfounded in the afternoon sunlight.

“An attack?” came a loud voice from the crowd.

“Aye, an attack,” Henry answered solemnly.

“But we have no enemies,” someone else spoke up.

Henry thought it a most naive statement, but kept that thought to himself. Earlier that day, when he had visited Brogan in Mairghread’s new chamber, Brogan had given him a quick summary of what he knew. ’Twas decided that they would not mention Aymer or what he may or may not have done. If anyone was loyal to him, they might forge an alliance against Brogan and his men. So ’twas decided not to mention any names.

“Who wishes to attack and for what purpose?” someone else asked.

More murmurs fell over the crowd.

Where Brogan was honest to a fault, Henry was not thusly inclined. Where Brogan was usually blunt and to the point, Henry had a more creative streak. A way with words that made him a very good storyteller. Now, he knew he had few choices. He could not tell the entire truth of the matter, for there were likely many in this crowd who were loyal to the bastard Aymer. So he decided he would stretch the truth just a bit.

“Right now, in the lowlands, there be a band of murderin’, lyin’, cheatin’ thieves, who have banded together. Their numbers grow by fifty each day.”

The murmurs were silenced almost immediately.

Since he had their attention, he decided to continue. “These men do no’ band together under any clan name. Nay, they all be sons of whores if ever I saw or heard of one. Their forces stand at nearly five hundred.”

Wide, horrified eyes stared back at him. The words ‘five hundred’ were whispered repeatedly amongst them.

“What do they want from us?” someone asked in a low voice. “Our women?”

Someone chuckled, and replied, “They can have mine! She grouses like a fish-wife!”

Nervous laughter could be heard among them.

“Worse than wantin’ yer women and yer lands,” Henry said as he stood a bit taller. “The bloody bastards want yer horses!”

One communal appalled gasp was let out, quickly followed by loud curses. “’Twill be over me dead body they take me horses!” one man cried out. His friends cheered him.

“Well, if we do no’ get this wall built before they make their way here, ye will be dead and yer horses will be theirs!” Henry told them.

Never had he seen a group of men come together so quickly before. Axes and tools that had been set down earlier, were picked up with the same enthusiasm as a warrior picking up his broadsword.

“They can have me woman,” the man who had jested before said. “But they’ll no’ get me horses!”

So Henry had stretched the truth more than was probably necessary. But even Brogan would have to admit ’twas better to have these men motivated by common ground and working for him instead of against him.

* * *

For two solid days and nights, Mairghread slept. Betimes, ’twas a fitful, restless sleep. Brogan did not know if ’twas a good or bad thing. Martha had assured him ’twas all perfectly normal, considering all she had gone through the past days.

Brogan had lost all track of time as he kept his bedside vigil. One day had turned to another, and he had yet to leave her side. Meals were eaten in the same chair in which he slept, holding on to her hand.

For the most part, ’twas a silent vigil, save for when she would be jarred by some dream or memory, he was never certain. When those restless moments came, he would hold her hand tightly and whisper words of encouragement in her ear. Although he was quite certain she could not hear him, he spoke them anyway.

’Twas much like the last few days of Anna’s life. She’d fallen into a deep sleep from which she would never awake. He never left her side either. But instead of whispering words of encouragement, he spoke from his heart to Anna.

He did not know Mairghread well enough yet, to know what was in his heart. Theirs had been a strained and unusual relationship in the beginning.

The beginning, he mused. We were married three days before I realized she was a drunkard. As he sat next to her bed, in the predawn hours, he shook his head in bemusement. Three days of her biting, harsh insults. Three days of not knowing how she had changed so dramatically from their first meeting.

But now he knew the truth, or at least a goodly portion of it. She drank to remember, she drank to forget. Knowing what he knew now, he could not blame her for grabbing the nearest bottle and never looking back. She believed she killed her husband and son.

And ’twas her uncle who put that idea into her head. The bastard begat his lie with one tiny seed, then cultivated it, watching it grow and grow into what now lay on the bed before him. Disgust roiled in his gut.

An attack by outside forces? Nay, he did not believe it. An attack where naught was stolen? An attack where no one saw a thing, save for one man -- Aymer Mactavish. And the bloody bastard placed the blame on an innocent lass who was so distraught, she could not have seen the truth if it had been bludgeoning her with a club.

Looking upon her now, she slept peacefully, on her side, with the covers drawn tightly around her. Those dark auburn tresses had been one of the first things he had noticed about her. Long and thick. Now, they were dirty, stringy and matted against her head and face.

He believed she would not want anyone to see her in such disarray. Or so he imagined she would be like most women in that regard.

Though they had spent several days alone together, locked away in a tiny room, he still knew very little about her. Aye, he knew the dark ugly secrets. Knew about her losses, her heartaches and now the dark truth about her uncle. A truth she was not even aware of.

But he wanted to know more. More and different things. What was her favorite food? Her favorite color? Did she have a favorite flower? What were her thoughts on Scotland’s current king?

Time, he supposed, was what they needed. Time out of this blasted room. Time where she was not fighting an addiction or now, the tisane that had made her lose her mind, albeit temporarily.

Mayhap, when she was better, they might take a trip somewhere. Mayhap they could go back to his father’s keep. Certainly they would learn much about each other on such a long and arduous trip.

But nay, that was not possible, at least not right now. There were too many things that needed to be done before he would feel safe leaving the keep for more than an hour. Thankfully, he had his men working for him day and night now to erect a wooden wall. He imagined he’d not rest well until it was complete. Nay, he’d not rest well until Aymer Mactavish was brought to justice.

* * *

Daybreak had come with a fire-red sky against a bright blue backdrop. The sun warmed the earth and air. Filtering in on the gentle breeze were the sounds of sheep bleating, cattle lowing, along with the occasional whinny and snicker of horses.

Birds twittering and flapping at the small window woke Brogan from a not-too-deep sleep. Mairghread was still sleeping peacefully. He stood, stretched his arms out wide, and went to look outside.

The sea was calm this morn, the air crisp and clean smelling. As he had done for many days now, Brogan looked out to the ocean and sky and prayed. He prayed for Mairghread’s swift and full recovery. He prayed they would be able to build the wall before Aymer’s return. And he prayed for some semblance of peace to fall over his heart, as well as this place he now called home.

The sound of his name being spoken broke through his quiet reverie. He spun to see Mairghread, sitting up on one elbow. She looked confused, worn, and tired, but he cared not. He was overjoyed at seeing her awake and hearing her speak his name.

He rushed to her side, shoved the chair aside, and knelt beside her. “Och! Lass, ’tis good to see ye awake!”

“I be awfully thirsty,” she told him, her voice sounding tired and scratchy.

With trembling hands, he poured her a cup of water and helped her to drink. “No’ too much at once,” he warned with a thoughtful smile.

She tried to listen, tried taking small sips, but her thirst was too large to deny. Brogan had to pry the cup from her hands before she made herself sick. “I promise, this be no’ the last cup of water in the keep,” he told her playfully.

She let out a slight moan, and fell back against the bed. “Ye look as bad as I feel,” she said. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep, cleansing breath.

Brogan chuckled softly, glad for the moment she could not see her own self.

“What happened?” she asked. “Why do I feel like I have been trampled by a horse?”

Brogan set the cup down and took her hand in his. “Do ye remember naught of the past sennight?” He held his breath, worried that her memory had somehow been affected by Hargatha’s concoction.

She was quiet and still for a long while. “I remember comin’ to ye, askin’ fer yer help,” she said in a low voice. “I remember bein’ quite afraid for what seems like a long while.”

Mayhap ’twas a blessing she could not remember what Hargatha had done to her. “Do ye remember anythin’ else?” he asked.

Deep crimson flushed her neck and face. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I remember makin’ a fool out of myself,” she replied, with a slight tremor to her voice. “Snakes and worms that were no’ really there.”

“Do no’ fash yerself over it,” he told her. “All that be behind us now.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Why be I in a different room now?”

Lord above, he did not wish to recount to her what had happened three days ago. But he had made a promise to always be honest with her. “I broke me word, to ye,” he began. “Ye were doin’ well enough that I thought ’twas safe to leave ye with Tilda. I left long enough to wash up and change.” He had to clear the knot that was trying to lodge itself in his throat. He explained what had happened in his absence, of Hargatha’s wicked tisane. He could not bring himself to tell her all the ugly truth of it. “Ye became verra upset. ’Twas as if the tisane made ye—” he searched for words other than mad, delusional, or insane. “Verra upset and angry. Martha had to give ye a potion to counteract what was in Hargatha’s tisane. Ye have been asleep for almost three days.”

He eyes grew wide with horror. “Three days?” she exclaimed, as she struggled to sit up.

“I be so verra sorry, lass, for lettin’ ye down. Fer breakin’ me word to ye.”

* * *

Able to think clearly for the first time in a very long while, Mairghread looked into Brogan’s green eyes. The guilt she saw in their depths, nearly brought tears to her own. “Ye did no’ break yer word to me Brogan,” she told him. “Ye fought fer me when I could no’ fight fer meself.”

“But I promised I’d no leave ye,” he countered.

“Ye left to wash up and change yer clothes, Brogan. ’Tis no’ as if ye went hiein’ off to Edinburgh,” she said with a soft chuckle. “Nay, Brogan, ye kept yer word.”

As far as she was concerned, he had done everything he had said he would. “Ye can no’ take the blame fer somethin’ ye did no’ do. Did ye ask Hargatha to give me the foul tisane?”

“Nay!” he exclaimed with a furrowed brow.

“Then ye have naught to fash yerself over,” she told him. “Pray tell me though, where is Hargatha?”

As much as he did want to hang the auld woman, he did not feel ’twas his place to do so. “We have her locked away, in a room on the first floor of the keep,” he told her.

“With the other servants?” she asked.

“Nay, lass, she has her own chamber. But she is not allowed to leave, nor is anyone allowed to visit.”

Happy with his answer, she lay back against the pillows again. When she thought on her atrocious behavior the past fortnight, she felt ashamed. How could she have treated these people so poorly? ’Twas beyond poor, ’twas unforgivable. Suddenly, the need for a glass of wine began to grow strong. But ’twas not the same gut-aching, visceral need she’d been feeling for three years. Still, ’twas enough to make her feel ashamed.

“Mairghread?” Brogan spoke in a low, soft tone. “Be ye well?”

Unable to look at him for her shame was so great, she simply nodded her head.

The sound of the door opening made her open her eyes.

’Twas Martha. “Och! Ye be awake,” she said with a smile.

“She woke a few moments ago,” Brogan told her as he got to his feet. “I have told her what happened,” he said as he approached her. Mairghread saw him whisper something in Martha’s ear. Martha nodded, then came to sit beside her.

“How fare ye?” she asked with a warm, sincere smile.

“Like I have been trampled by horses,” she replied. “Verra angry horses.”

Martha giggled softly. “I imagine so. Now, let me take a look at ye.”

She took the time looking into each eye, then pressed her ear to Mairghread’s chest. Once she was done with that, she lifted her hands to look at her wrists. That was the first time Mairghread noticed the bandages.

With furrowed brows, she asked, “What happened to me wrists?” The sudden thought that she might have tried to harm herself was overwhelming.

“The tisane Hargatha gave ye made ye verra upset. We had to restrain ye, Mairghread,” Brogan answered.

Relief washed over her, thankful that she hadn’t tried to cut her own wrists, as she had often thought of doing in the past. Upset. She must have been mightily upset if they had to restrain her.

“Ye’re healin’ nicely,” Martha told her. “The salve I applied worked verra well.”

Mairghread whispered her thanks. Although she was relieved, she was still worried. Would this nightmare never end?

Martha next looked at the wounds on her ankles. Shame continued to build. She hated not being able to remember. Those blank moments in time, hours or days, were more than worrisome.

“I think ’twill be safe fer ye to bathe now, and even move into yer real chamber,” Martha said as she patted her hand.

That should have been good news. She should have rejoiced in it. Instead, more worry began to settle in. What if I can no’ stay sober outside this room?

“I must leave ye now,” Martha said. “Joan Mactavish’s pains started this morn. I can help ye to bathe, but heaven only knows how long this bairn will take.”

Brogan stepped forward. “I will help her.”

The thought of Brogan helping her bathe made her skin burn with humiliation. They were not yet husband and wife in the truest sense of the word. Bone tired and weary, however, she did not have the strength to argue. Besides, she could smell herself. A bath was much needed and wanted.

* * *

Before Martha left, Brogan asked her to send Evelyn up with soap, drying clothes and such. He’d also taken a moment to speak to Liam, but what about, she couldn’t hear.

They were each silent while they waited for Evelyn. ’Twas the kind of awkward silence where one would be tempted to speak, if only to break it. From his spot by the window, Brogan finally broke the silence. “’Tis a verra nice day.”

She wanted to remark that ’twas usually nice this time of year, but decided against it. There were other far more important things to discuss than the weather. Unfortunately, she did not yet feel brave enough.

Brogan finally turned away from the window. “I must tell you that we have made some recent changes to buildin’ the wall.”

The wall? Her mind was blank for a moment until she remembered. “’Tis good that we are finally rebuildin’ it,” she said. And she was sincerely grateful that he was seeing to the construction.

“Much happened in the past few days,” he said as he took the chair and sat next to her.

She could see he was fighting with something, but what that something was, she didn’t think she wanted to know.

“I have decided that a stone wall will take far too long to build,” he began. “So I have the men fellin’ trees. We shall build a wall from wood first.”

“Because it be much faster?” she asked sleepily.

“Aye, ’twill be much faster.”

Her bones were beginning to ache, leaving her feeling tired. The last thing she wanted however, was to sleep away another day. “’Tis good, then,” she replied with a yawn. “If ye’re lookin’ fer me approval, ye have it.”

“Do ye want to ken why?”

She shook her head and yawned once more. “Nay. Whatever yer reasons, I be certain they are sound.” She did, however, wonder why he looked and sounded so utterly serious at the moment. Or mayhap, ’twas only her cloudy mind and aching muscles that made her think such.

“I am feelin’ tired again,” she told him. “Will this ever pass?”

He chuckled and said, “Aye, it will.”

Her eyelids felt heavy, but she refused to keep them closed. What she needed was a good scrubbing in a hot tub, and maybe something to eat. Something more than broth and bread. She was just about to tell him so when the flutter of something caught her attention. Her eyes flew open, wide with sincere horror. Good lord, I be hallucinatin’ again! She screamed silently as her fingers began to tremble.

Two little birds, storm petrals they are called, had flown in through the open window. Reaching out, she clung tightly to Brogan’s hand. Seeing her distress, he followed her line of vision.

“Och!” Brogan said as he stood up. “Shoo!” he said as he began to wave his hands in the air. The little black and white birds fluttered around in the room, chittering angrily.

“Ye see them too?” she asked with a good measure of surprise.

He turned to look at her, with his arms still in the air. “What?”

“Ye see them too?” she repeated the question with wide eyes and a profound tremor in her voice.

It dawned on him then to what she referred. The worms and snakes she had hallucinated over days ago. She was terrified she was hallucinating once again.

He threw his head back and laughed. Och! The sound of his laughter booming through the room must have terrified the petrals, for they flew back out the same way they’d come in.

But to Mairghread? His laughter was infectious, and she soon found herself joining in.

* * *

’Twas the first good, hearty laugh she had had in years. She laughed until her stomach ached and tears streamed down her face. She felt light and happy as well as much relieved. Relieved that she was not hallucinating again. Relieved that Brogan laughed easily.

Evelyn walked into the room then with a bundle of blankets, towels, washing clothes and soap in her arms. She look perplexed when she saw them laughing so heartily. Her expression made them begin laughing all over again.

Carefully, she set the items on the foot of Mairghread’s bed, bobbed a curtsy and all but fled the room.

“I think ye scared her,” Mairghread declared once she got her laughter under control.

“Me?” he asked, feigning injury.

“Aye, ye,” she said. “Look at ye. A big, braw Highlander, with all that ginger hair, standin’ in the middle of a small room, laughin’ like a mad man.”

She was teasing, of course, and he knew it. “Ye think me braw?” he teased, waggling his brows.

She knew she was blushing like a young maid, so she turned away, so that he couldn’t see her. And she refused to answer his question.

Thankfully, he did not push for one.

“Come, let us get ye to the loch.”

“The loch?” she asked, aghast at the notion.

Brogan cleared his throat once before answering. “Aye, lass, the loch. I fear ‘twould take ten tubs of hot water to get ye clean. We shall start in the loch, to get most of the last ten days off of ye. Then, ye shall soak in a hot bath until yer skin wrinkles if ye’d like. But the loch, first, aye?”

The promise of a hot bath was too alluring, therefore she did not argue. “Verra well,” she said as she threw back the covers. Brogan was beside her in an instant, helping her to her feet. With one arm around her waist, the other holding her hand, he waited until she was steady enough to stand on her own.

“If I look half as bad as I feel, I fear I shall frighten the children, mayhap even small animals.”

He chuckled again as he grabbed one of the thick, heavy blankets and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I have ordered the courtyard cleared, and no one is allowed near the loch,” he told her.

She didn’t know if she should be insulted or grateful. Therefore she erred on the side of caution, assuming ’twas nothing but kindness that made him do such a thing. “I thank ye.”

He scooped up the linens, handed her the soap to hold, then carefully guided her out of the room. “I be glad we’ be walkin’ down all these flights of stairs. I fear me legs would no’ be strong enough to walk up them.”

“If ye get too tired, I shall carry ye,” he said as he gave her a gentle hug around her waist.

There was no doubt in her mind that he would do just that.

* * *

’Twas slow going, but they finally made their way out of the keep, across the yard, and down to the loch. By the time they reached it, she felt as though she’d just run all the way from Inverness. Her bones ached; her muscles were tired from too many days of nonuse.

The loch was located near a small copse of trees. Several large boulders, some as tall as two men, lined its western banks. On the other, tall grass grew and swayed in the breeze.

Brogan placed the drying and washing cloths on the bank. “Do ye need help?” he asked, his tone thoughtful and warm.

She felt the blush come to her cheeks and couldn’t find the wherewithal to answer.

For whatever reason, he blushed right along with her. “Mayhap, I will just help ye into the water,” he said as he took her hand in his.

All she could do was nod. ’Twas not as if they weren’t married. And she certainly was not some innocent, virginal maid. But somehow, the thought of him seeing her unclothed, did not feel right.

“And ye can leave yer night rail on, lass,” he suggested. “Take it off when ye get in.”

Why she felt such a sense of relief at the suggestion, she did not rightly know. But relieved and glad she was. Using her toes, she removed her slippers and left them on the bank.

He held her hand and led her into the loch. “It be no’ too bad,” he told her with a grin as he put one foot in, then another.

“God’s teeth!” she cried as soon as her feet touched the water. “This water be cold!”

She immediately began to shiver. “Ye lied,” she said, biting back a curse.

He kept leading her into the water. “Would ye have gotten in if I told ye it was cold?” he asked with a grin and a quirked brow.

She refused to answer.

Soon, she was up to her waist in frigid water. “Why be ye no’ shiverin’?” she asked curtly.

He chuckled. “I be a warrior. I be used to such conditions.”

* * *

The truth was, he had been enjoying their newly found camaraderie a little too much. Although she was filthy, with her hair matted to her scalp, and smelled as bad as anything he’d ever smelled before, he found himself strongly attracted to her. ’Twas her wit. He knew that immediately. The fact that he also knew what she looked like when she was clean and dressed, did not help matters much. The frigid water was exactly what he needed to cool his burgeoning desire.

“I shall turn away,” he said. “If ye’d like to toss yer night rail to the bank.” He winked once, before turning his back to her.

“Hold this,” she said. He turned halfway around to see she was handing him the jar of soap. He took it and waited.

He could hear her struggling to remove the night dress. Playfully, he said, “Do ye need help?”

She grunted once before replying. “Can ye do it with yer eyes closed?”

He had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out I can do many things with me eyes closed, but I prefer them open when a lass be near me and naked. Clearing his throat, he said, “Aye, I think so.”

“Fine,” she muttered.

He turned to see that one arm was stuck in a wet sleeve. “With yer eyes closed,” she reminded him.

He took a step closer, reached out, and handed the soap back to her. A moment later, he tugged the arm out of her sleeve.

“Yer eyes are open,” she told him through chattering teeth.

“I be just helpin’ ye get yer arms out,” he said. “I will close them, ye have me word.”

Once her arms were dislodged from the sleeves, he kept his word and closed his eyes. Ever so carefully, he tried to find the hem of her dress. His head accidentally brushed against her breasts when he leaned down. “Sorry,” he murmured. She was silent.

Fishing around in the water, with his eyes closed, he finally found the fabric. ’Twas swirling in the cold water. He grabbed a bit of it with both hands, then stood up. But upon doing so, he pulled her forward. She landed against his chest with an oomph.

“So sorry,” he said again, with eyes closed and a grin he was trying to keep from turning into a devious smile.

“Never mind,” she said as she batted his hands away. “I can do it meself.” Handing back the jar of soap, she twirled her fingers, a silent message for him to once again turn around.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned. He had to, elst she see his smile.

Long moments and several grunts later, he heard her move toward the bank. Then the plop of the wet night dressing landing in the grass.

He could envision her now, naked, with little goosebumps erupting over her creamy skin. Oh, how he longed to reach out and touch her, make her his very own. But ’twas too soon for that.

“The soap please?” she said as she tapped his shoulder.

He swallowed once and handed it to her over his shoulder.

’Twas then he realized he was still completely dressed. His trews were clinging tightly to his thighs. Deciding that since he was here, he might as well wash, he removed his tunic and tossed it onto the bank.

“May I borrow some of yer soap?” he asked, extending his arm behind him, so that he could keep his word.

* * *

Mairghread’s frustration was growing by leaps and bounds. “I need a washing cloth,” she whispered.

At hearing the distress in her voice, he spun around. She had ducked down, the water almost to her neck, still holding on to the jar of soap. Brogan took one look at her, nodded his ginger-haired head, and went to the bank. Moments later he was taking the jar from her hands and applying some of it to the cloth for her. “Are ye well?” he asked as he handed the wet cloth to her.

Swallowing back the tears that threatened, she nodded once. He studied her closely for a moment before turning back around.

Taking in deep breaths, she began to scrub her arms, then torso. When she felt something crusty and nasty on her legs, she did not even want to imagine what it might be. Once she was done, she took in a deep breath and dunked her head under the water. When she came up, she saw tiny pieces of what looked like vomit start to float on the water.

Good lord, what happened to me? She pondered the question for a long moment and didn’t like any of the answers.

“May I have more soap?” she whispered once again to Brogan’s back.

He handed the jar back to her, extending his arm behind his back. She was thankful he couldn’t see her on the edge of losing her composure.

Dipping her fingers into the jar, she scooped out a goodly amount. When she applied it to her hair, she could feel how dirty it was. More bits washed out and floated behind the others. She scrubbed and scrubbed until her scalp hurt. Never in her life had she been so filthy.

Dunking under the water again, she rinsed the soap out. Coming back up, she breathed in a good lungful of air. Wiping water from her eyes, she looked at the man, still standing with his back to her.

Not once had he mentioned how disheveled or dirty she was. Weeks ago, she had scoffed at his honor. Had teased him, called him a monk, and worse. Still, he remained by her side, refusing to let her continue on the path of drunkenness. Even then, when they were alone in the attic room, when she had cursed him to the devil countless times, he never once yelled or cursed back. And not once did he throw his hands in the air and leave.

Very close to breaking down again, she took in a deep breath. “I be done,” she told him with a shaky voice.

He gave a quick nod before turning around. If he saw her distress, he was kind enough not to mention it. “I will get the blanket fer ye,” he said as she climbed out of the loch.

Standing on the bank, he unfurled the blanket and held it up for her. “I will keep me eyes closed,” he told her.

Too cold to speak, let alone argue for a better plan — which she did not have— she gave a quick nod. Once his eyes were closed, she made her way out of the loch. Her arms and legs felt as heavy as lead. As quickly as she could, she rushed forward and landed against his chest with a very un-ladylike grunt. Spinning around at the same time, he wrapped her into the warm blanket.

Brogan helped her into her slippers, picked up the soap and other items, and put one arm around her waist. “We’ll have ye in a nice hot bath verra soon,” he promised her.

It caught her by surprise when she sighed contentedly against his chest. A prickling sensation began to build behind her eye. Ye just be tired, she told herself. And he be warm. There be naught else to it.

* * *

When they entered her bedchamber, each of them was a bit surprised by the number of people within. Tilda, Gertie, Martha and her daughter, as well as two housemaids took up most of the free space in her room.

“Och!” Gertie cried as she rushed to greet her. “’Tis God’s truth I am glad to see ye!”

Tilda was wrapping her own arms around Mairghread before she had a chance to respond. The room burst to life with women all chattering, smiling, and hugging their lady. Brogan did the only thing he could; he stepped off to the side and watched.

Mairghread’s teeth chattered together, but no one paid it any mind. They — Gertie and Tilda to be most specific — were simply too happy to see her. She offered them the warmest smile she could muster, and listened as they asked what seemed like a hundred questions as once.

After a short while, she looked at the bath sitting in front of her fire. Then she looked at Brogan.

He saw the pleading look in her eyes and came to help her at once. “Ladies,” he said, raising his voice so he could be heard over the din. They all turned to look at him. “Mairghread has just come from bathin’ in the loch and is quite cold. Leave us now, so that she can get into the bath ye brought her before the water chills.”

The room erupted once again, in a chorus of ochs and ayes and I be sorrys. Still, no one made any attempt to leave. Instead, Tilda and Gertie led her toward the bath whilst they tried to divest her of her blanket.

“Stop!” Mairghread cried out. Immediately, she felt ashamed for raising her voice. “Please,” she said, changing her tone to something warmer and more sincere. “Please, I do appreciate yer wantin’ to help me, but I would like a little bit of time to meself.”

They repeated their chorus from moments ago as Brogan began to usher them out of the room. Before they would allow him to shut the door, he had to promise Gertie and Tilda he would call them first if Mairghread needed anything.

When he turned around, Mairghread was already in the tub, leaning back with a sigh. He chuckled softly at the sight. Seeing that soaps and cloths had been set on the chair by the tub, he felt a little unnecessary at the moment.

“Be ye hungry?” he asked from the spot by the door.

“Aye,” she replied as she placed her arms on the edge of the tub. “Could I have somethin’ more than bread and broth?”

Another knot formed in his throat when she pulled herself up and grabbed a washing cloth and jar of soap. Scooping a bit out, she began to smear it over her arms and shoulders. ’Twas one of the most seductive things he had ever witnessed and she hadn’t any idea it was so.

When he was silent for too long, she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Brogan?”

He was torn from his wondering thoughts filled with desire. “Aye?” he replied over the growing knot.

“Are ye well?”

He nodded once, cleared his throat and mind. “I shall get ye somethin’ to eat.”

He thought he might have to jump in the loch again.

* * *

Alone for the first time in a long while, Mairghread thought she might covet the silence. After washing her body and hair again, she sank back into the tub. The water did wonders to soothe her aching muscles and tired bones. Twice, she fell asleep, only to be jolted awake when her chin touched the water.

Worried she was so tired she might drown in her own bath, she begrudgingly brought herself to stand. Grabbing one of the drying clothes, she pulled it around herself and stepped out of the tub.

A fresh, warm nigh rail had been laid out on the bed for her, along with thick woolens. Hurriedly, she dried off her body and toweled her hair before pulling on the night rail. Chilled again, she grabbed the woolens along with a brightly colored woven blanket and sat on the stool by the fire. Try as she might, she found she could not lift her feet to put the woolens on. Instead, she pulled the blanket around her tightly and let the fire in the hearth warm her face.

One question piled on top of another, which brought forth a pounding sensation behind her eyes. Everyone was being gracious and kind to her, even after her horrible mistreatment of them. And she knew it had been horrible mistreatment.

Why? She repeated that same question over and over again in her mind. Why be they all so kind when ye were nothin’ but cruel and mean to them? For the life of her, she could not find the answer.

And what of Brogan? Nearly complete strangers, they were. Still, he treated her with nothing but kindness and a gentleness she had not felt since James.

James. When her thoughts turned to him, they also turned to Connell.

A sickening sensation began to build deep in her stomach. Lord above, how she missed them.

Nay! She chastised herself. Ye can no’ let yer heart take ye back. When ye do, ye drink. And when ye drink, ye are as cruel and mean-spirited as Hargatha!

But what was she to do? Not a day went by that she did not think of them at least a few dozen times. They were the most important people in her life.

Then she had gone mad and killed them.

Oh, no one had ever said it outright. Only hints here and there. Yer uncle found ye bloody, stabbin’ yerself with the knife. She shuddered and choked back the bile forming in her throat. But did that truly mean they died at her hand? Was that the only explanation that made sense?

And what of the two guards who had died that night? Certainly, she could not have killed them. She hadn’t left the main keep since giving birth to Connell. Was it merely coincidence that the two young guards had died the same night James and Connell had?

Whenever she tried to remember, or tried to make sense of it, her head would throb mercilessly, and inevitably, her stomach would churn. Why hadn’t sobriety brought clarity to that night? Was it too soon to expect it?

Tears pooled in her eyes, slid from her lids and down her cheeks. If Brogan knew, if he knew what I had done, would he continue to show me such kindness? ’Twas highly unlikely.

Eventually, she would have to confess her sins to him. Nay, no’ eventually. It must be done sooner rather than later. They had not yet consummated their marriage. There was still time for him to ask for an annulment. Could they part ways as friends if he knew the truth? What then? What if he became so enraged he left her?

Fear traced along her spine. She should have thought of all these things before she had agreed to marry him. And most definitely before she decided to climb out of the darkness the bottles gave her.

Confusion begat fear which begat dread. In her heart, she knew she had to tell him the truth. Now, today, as soon as he returned from the kitchen.

* * *

When Brogan returned, she was out of the tub and sitting by the fire. She had donned the fresh night rail someone had laid out for her. Her damp hair clung to the clean blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders.

Lost in her own thoughts, she did not move when he set the tray on the edge of the bed. He noticed her fingertips were white, for she was clinging tightly to the blanket. ’Twas also then he noticed the tears dripping off her chin.

“Mairghread?” he said, kneeling down beside her. “Mairghread.”

When she finally turned to look at him, she gulped back more tears. “Why?”

“Why what, lass?”

“Why are ye so kind to me when I have been so cruel to ye?”

She broke down completely then, as he pulled her into his arms. Sitting on the floor, with his back against the bed, he held her while she wept. With his palms, he smoothed her hair, and whispered, “Lass, please do no’ cry.”

“But why? I was so verra mean to ye, Brogan. I would no’ have blamed ye if ye had packed yer bags and left after the third day of bein’ married to me! But ye stayed and ye helped me and I do no’ ken why.”

He let out a short sigh as he tried to find the right words of comfort. “In truth, lass, I do no’ rightly ken meself. I supposed it had to do with when we met at Ian’s. Ye intrigued me. And I could no’ verra well let ye be married off to Courtemanche.”

“I ken why ye married me,” she said against his tunic. “What I do no’ ken is why ye stayed.”

“I stayed because ye needed me. If I did no’ help ye, who would?”

She sniffled, wiped her tears on his shirt, and looked up at him. “So ye stayed out of a sense of honor and duty?”

“Partly,” he answered. “But during those first few days, when ye started to sober up and open up to me, I found I rather liked ye.”

She groaned once, dropped her face against his chest and began to cry again. He could not imagine why. “Wheest, now, lass,” he whispered against the top of her head.

“Nay,” she said as she pulled away. “I must tell ye somethin’, Brogan. Something ugly and horrible. All I ask is that ye listen to me, let me say it all first. Then ye can rail and cry foul and leave.”

He had a suspicion about what she was going to tell him. “Verra well,” he said as he brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “But I be certain that nothin’ ye tell me could make me rail at ye, or cry foul and leave.”

His reassurance did not help. Fighting the tears, the bile rising in her throat, she stammered and fought for the words. But they would no’ come. “I be naught but a coward, Brogan. I want to tell ye, but me cowardice be gettin’ in the way. I want to be honest with ye, as ye have been with me.”

Offering her a warm smile, he said, “I believe I already ken what it is ye want to tell me.”

Her brow furrowed as she shook her head. “Nay, there be no way ye could ken. Fer if ye did, ye would have left me the moment ye learned of it.”

Taking in a deep breath through his nostrils, he let it out slowly. “Be ye wantin’ to tell me ye believe ye killed yer husband and son?”

* * *

Eyes wide in horrification, she could not speak for the longest while. “Ye ken?” she stammered.

“Aye, lass, I ken the truth of it.”

Closing her eyes, she took in deep, steadying breaths as her stomach roiled with self-loathing. “Yet ye stayed,” she said, unable to understand how he was able to do just that. Why had he not hied off the moment he learned the truth?

“Aye, I stayed.”

She tried to crawl away, but he would not allow her to. “Lass, I do no’ believe fer a minute ye did what yer uncle has suggested.”

Shame and fear would not allow her to look at him. “Then ye must no’ ken all of it.”

“Do ye?” he asked.

“I ken enough.”

With gentle fingertips on her chin, he coaxed her into looking at him. Why did he not look upon her with shame?

“Ye have told me that ye do no’ remember anything of that day, aye?” he asked.

“’Tis true, I do no’, no matter how hard I try.”

With the pads of his thumbs, he wiped her tears away. “Did ye love him? James? And yer son?”

Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide. “Of course I did!”

“Yet ye are convinced ye killed them,” he said. “Why would ye think such a thing?”

“Because Uncle told me—”

Brogan cut her off. “Aye, yer uncle told ye he found ye covered in blood, stabbin’ yerself, claimin’ ye had killed them.”

Nodding her head, the words were lodged in her throat.

“There is a verra good possibility yer uncle,” he paused, wanting to find something other than, yer uncle was a lyin’, thievin’ bastard. “I believe yer uncle might have been mistaken in what he says he saw.”

His declaration made not a bit of sense to her. How could anyone mistake such a thing?

“I also ken no one has ever tried to find out what truly happened that night. Two other men were also murdered. Everyone says the keep was under attack, but I have found no evidence to support those statements.”

The murdered guards had never made any sense to her either.

“If the keep were truly under attack, more lives would have been lost, aye? Something would have been taken, the coffers raided, the horses stolen. But none of those things happened.”

She had been too grief-stricken in the beginning to ask any of those questions. When Brogan laid it all out before her, she began to see things a bit more clearly. A horrifying thought sprung up in her mind. ’Twas enough to make her ill. “Be ye thinkin’ the attack came from within?”

Brogan chose his next words with great care. “I be thinkin’ I have suspicions. I be thinkin’ I know no’ enough to say what truly happened that night, Mairghread. But, with yer permission, I would like to try.”

“Of course!” she exclaimed. “I need to ken the truth, Brogan, no matter how vile and ugly it might be.”