With Mairghread on the mend, Brogan sent for Gertie and Tilda. Although she was feeling better, he still did not want her to be alone just yet.

Seeing she was in their good care, he went to the stables to saddle a horse.

“Good day to ye, m’laird!” Seamus shouted the moment Brogan walked in. He was less than five steps away but shouted as if he were calling to him from across a wide valley. It made his ears ring.

“I heard our lady is doin’ much better,” Seamus shouted. “All due to yer good care.”

If he were forced to stay here and shout — for it was far from speaking when you had to raise your voice for the old man — he would not just lose his hearing. There was a strong possibility he would lose his mind.

“She is, Seamus,” he replied in a loud voice. “I need me horse.”

“Yer horse?” he asked, turning his ‘good ear’ to him.

“Aye, me horse.”

Seamus gave a quick nod, then turned to shout over his shoulder. “Davey! Bring the laird’s mount!”

Brogan rubbed his ear with his index finger and prayed fervently that whoever Davey was, he would hurry.

Seamus turned back to him and smiled. ’Twas a big, warm, toothy smile. “’Tis glad I was to hear our lady was better,” he shouted.

Hear? Brogan choked back a laugh.

“It also made me glad to learn ye are rebuildin’ the wall. I heard about those murderers and horse thieves from the lowlands,” he shook his head and whistled. “I will fight any man who tries to steal them!”

Brogan had no earthly idea what the man was referring to. In addition to being deaf, was he also addlepated?

“Ye have me full support, laird,” he said. “It be about time someone took it up to defend this keep and its people.” He scratched his jaw and went on. “Though I do no’ ken how we can defend ourselves against seven thousand thieves.”

“Seven thousand thieves?” Brogan asked in stupefied amazement.

“Aye,” he replied. “Did ye ever imagine ye’d see the day the king would allow seven thousand horse thieves and murderers to roam this land?” He whistled in disbelief. “But Henry assures us that if we get this wall built, we should be able to hold our own fer a time. Says he to me, ‘Seamus, ’twill be a cold day in hell before I or Brogan Mackintosh allow this clan to fall to murderers and horse thieves.’”

Henry. It all began to make sense now. Henry and his penchant for story telling. While he was not necessarily pleased with his method of lying outright, he could not deny the results.

* * *

Retrieving his horse, he led the animal out of the stables and into the yard, eager to get to the forest to see what progress had been made on the felling of trees.

He needn’t look far.

There, less than twenty feet beyond the old stone wall, he could see the makings of a fine wood wall. Fifteen, thick, straight round logs had already been set into the ground. Each were at least twenty-five feet tall and four to five feet in diameter.

“Jesus,” he whispered with a shake of disbelief.

He vowed then and there never to doubt or even question Henry’s methods.

Pulling his horse along by the reins, he soon reached the wall. There were at least one hundred men on either side. Shouting orders in the midst of the chaos was Henry. “Okay lads! Let’s put our backs into it!” he shouted over the din. He spit into his hands, rubbed them together, and began to help the men roll the next log into position.

Brogan watched, nearly mesmerized by what he saw happening. Once the log was in position, a team of horses was brought around and hitched to heavy thick ropes tied to the middle of the beam. Ten men, some digging with ropes tied to steel picks embedded into the wood, others using smaller logs, all worked in unison to lift the end of the beam. The man leading the team of horses whistled and shouted commands at the animals. They heaved forward, their massive feet digging into the earth, muscles rippling, nostrils flared.

And in a matter of moments, the very end log was teetering over the edge of the hole. Another team of horses was brought in, placed ahead of the first. Longer, thicker ropes were attached to their harnesses. Another round of shouts, curses and whistles, and before Brogan knew it, the gigantic log was in the hole, swaying precariously from side to side. But ’twas in!

He gave out his own cheer of approval, waved his fist into the air and raced forward, pulling his mount behind him.

“Henry!” he shouted over the voices of the men as he rushed forward.

Henry looked up, smiled, and said something to the men beside him.

“Good day to ye, Brogan!” Henry said as he approached.

“Good day?” Brogan said. “I would call it a miraculous day!”

They embraced briefly, pounding each other’s backs, before turning to look at the progress. “How on earth did ye manage it?”

Henry shrugged his shoulders and feigned ignorance.

Brogan’s laughter could be heard over all the shouting and horses. “No worries, Henry. I have just come from Seamus and he has told me about the seven-thousand murderers and thieves who are on their way here.”

“Now, Brogan, I told them five hundred, no’ seven-thousand!” Henry began to explain.

Brogan slapped his back and continued to smile. “Fer once, Henry, I care no’ how ye managed it. I be only glad that ye did!”

Henry managed a broad smile then. “’Twas a bit amazin’, to tell the truth,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Some were no’ upset about the threat of thieves takin’ their wives. But when I said ’twas their horses they wanted?”

They laughed together for a moment.

“Any word from Reginald?” Brogan asked.

“Nay, I have no’ heard from him. I would reckon it should be soon, though.”

Brogan hoped and prayed he would return with as many good men as he could find. ‘Twould be entirely possible to have the wood wall erected before Aymer’s return.

* * *

After letting the Mactavish men, as well as his own, know how pleased he was with their progress, Brogan returned to Mairghread’s bedchamber. Her color was beginning to improve, but she still looked gaunt and tired.

Gertie and Tilda were with her, sitting near the fire as they worked on some needlework and chatted. Mairghread sat with a blanket across her lap and looked into the fire.

“Good day to ye, ladies,” he said when he came in.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say Mairghread was relieved to see him. Something akin to relief flashed behind her eyes.

“Good day to ye, laird!” Gertie and Tilda said as they jumped to their feet. “We did no’ expect ye back so soon,” Gertie said.

“Nay, ’tis fer certain we did no’,” Tilda added with a shake of her head.

“If ye have more things to attend to, m’laird, we surely do no’ mind sittin’ with our lady,” Gertie said with a most hopeful tone.

Mairghread bore the expression of a woman pleading to be saved from the gallows. Biting his cheek, he said, “That will no’ be necessary. Mayhap on the morrow?”

While the two auld women look positively forlorn, Mairghread looked like he had just saved her from the gallows.

He ushered the women out of the room and took up the seat across from Mairghread.

“I love them, I truly do,” she said.

“But only in small doses?” he asked.

She puffed out her cheeks and let the air out in a rush. “Aye, in small doses.”

He filled her in on the progress Henry was making on the wall. She was glad to hear it. But when he recounted the story of the thousands of murderous horse thieves, she was not as amused as he. “Why would he say such a thing?”

“There are some here who are still quite loyal to Aymer,” he said without thinking.

“And what is wrong with that?” she asked. “He stepped in to lead them when I could no’.”

Unwilling yet, to share his suspicions with her, for he had no sound proof or evidence, he said, “Ye must admit yer uncle has a strange way of doin’ things, aye?”

On that, she could not argue. “Aye, but I do no’ understand why ye worry over their fealty to him.”

Treading the waters very carefully, he said, “Lass, it is important that we build a wall as soon as possible. If the men did no’ have a good, sound reason presented to them, they might still be tryin’ to make up their minds. Their loyalty to ye is me primary concern. I want them to see that ye are quite capable of leadin’ them as their chief.”

Her expression said, ‘no’ this again’.

“Mairghread, ye are the rightful heir,” he told her.

“I ken that,” she replied drolly. “But I am in no condition to be the chief right now.”

Brogan nodded his agreement. “Ye are right. But soon, much sooner than ye realize, ye will be hale and hearty again. I be merely tryin’ to help ye while ye recuperate.”

He could see she was mulling something over in her mind.

“Lass, I be yer husband. I want ye to succeed as chief, but only if that is what ye want.”

She glanced at him before turning her attention back to the low burning embers. “And if that be no’ what I want?”

A very large part of him wanted to shout Why the bloody hell would ye no’ want to? Instead, he chose a more tactful approach. “’Tis a verra important decision ye have before ye lass. I would no’ wish ye to make it too soon. But whatever it is ye decide to do, I will support ye in it.”

With an exceedingly doubtful tone, she asked, “And if I made me uncle chief?”

He prayed silently that she was only baiting him. “Then that would be a decision we would all have to live with.”

* * *

She had no true intention of making her uncle the chief of this clan. Her father would roll over in his grave. Still, she needed to know, beyond any doubt, that Brogan would support whatever decision she made. Just why his approval was so important to her, she couldn’t say at the moment. Neither did she possess the energy to reason it out.

“And if I want ye to be chief?” she asked with a quirked brow.

“Me?” he asked, more than just a bit surprised. “Lass, I have no desire to be chief of any clan.”

In her heart, she somehow knew he was speaking the truth. She didn’t think the man could lie if he had a dirk against his neck.

“Besides, I have no’ right to it. The chiefdom belongs to ye.”

Oh, she bloody well knew that, but it didn’t mean she had to like it.

James. James was chief of this clan. She had made him chief on their wedding day. In truth, she never wanted the position. She would have been quite happy being a midwife, having a dozen children of her own, and being the rock that James could lean on. Had he lived, he would have been a great leader and chief.

“James gladly took the role,” she told him pointedly. ’Twas not meant as a challenge nor insult. She was simply stating a fact.

“I ken,” Brogan replied. “From what everyone tells me, James was a good man.”

Not even the tiniest hint of jealously did she find in his eyes. He was a peculiar man.

“But if I asked ye to take over, would ye?”

She watched as he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If and only if that is what ye truly wanted, then aye, I would. However, I truly believe that ye would make a fine chief.”

Just why she was growing frustrated, she didn’t know. Mayhap she was still suffering the after-effects of her many days in the attic or from Hargatha’s evil concoction. “Are ye always so amiable?” she all but spat the question at him.

He had the audacity to chuckle. “Nay, lass, I am no’ always so amiable.”

She couldn’t yet imagine him being anything but. And charming. And kind and generous. While those were all fine traits for a man to possess, they were beginning to get on her nerves. Embarrassed for thinking ill of him, she felt her face grow warm.

“Have ye eaten anythin’?” he asked, looking for the tray he’d brought to her earlier.

“A bit,” she told him. Though in truth, the moment the stew hit her tongue, she felt like vomiting. So she stuck to bread and that blasted cider he was so fond of.

“I admit to bein’ a bit hungry,” he told her as he got to his feet. “Would ye like to go below stairs to sup? Or would ye prefer stayin’ here?”

“Here, if ye would no’ mind,” she told him. She was as yet unready to face her clan.

* * *

Evelyn, along with Mairi and another young maid named Jenean, came bearing heavy trays not long after Brogan made the request. Cook apparently thought they were preparing for war, if the three trays were any indication.

Venison, roast duck, roast chicken, dark breads, bannocks, vegetables, cheeses and fruits were piled high on those trays. “Cook never wants to displease, aye?” Brogan chuckled as he sat the small table in front of the fire.

The three girls lingered at the door, each looking rather nervous.

Mairghread smiled at them warmly. “I thank ye, lasses,” she told them.

Brogan also offered up his thanks.

When they did not make any attempt to leave, Brogan asked, “Be there somethin’ else?”

The girls each cast curious glances at once another, before Mairi burned red, and whispered, “We did no’ ken what to bring to drink, m’laird.”

Mairghread burned crimson from head to toe. Aye, she had been cruel to these young women on more than one occasion.

“The bairn cider will be fine,” Brogan told them.

Mairi leaned in again. “But what of our lady?”

Mairghread’s humiliation intensified and she didn’t know if she wanted to break down into tears or flee.

“The same fer yer lady,” Brogan replied kindly.

Each bobbed a curtsy before leaving the room. Brogan went to the larger table where the food had been set. “What would ye like?” he asked her over his shoulder.

“I be no’ hungry,” she replied.

He knew better. Taking a little of each food offered, he placed the trencher in front of her. “Eat,” he said before going back to fix his own.

He sat and began to eat rather enthusiastically. “Eat.”

Lifting her head, she looked at him with murderous rage in her eyes that equaled her tone. “I said I be no’ hungry.”

“Ye will have to deal with people askin’ questions like the maids just did. ’Twill happen repeatedly over the next few weeks, until everyone becomes accustomed to ye no’ drinking the hard drink.”

She pushed the trencher away and leaned back in her chair.

“I ken it be humiliatin’,” he said as he took a bite of venison.

She cast another angry look his way, but he would not be deterred. “Eat.”

“How did ye do it?” she asked with a good deal of exasperation.

“Do what?”

She growled at him. “How did ye live after ye gave it up? How did ye learn to go about a simple, everyday existence without wantin’ a drop of fine whisky?”

He tore off a hunk of bread to dip into the juice of the venison. “Well, first, I apologized to those people I hurt when I drank.”

She quirked a pretty brow. “Ye hurt people?” she asked, unable to believe him capable of such a thing.

“Aye, I did,” he replied before popping the bread into his mouth.

Mairghread shook her head and drummed her fingers on the table. “Who?”

“More people than I could count,” he admitted. “Ye think ye were a mean drunk?” he asked with a raised brow. “Lass, ye were an angel by comparison.”

With her curiosity piqued, she leaned forward in her chair. “Impossible,” she said. “Ye do no’ have a mean bone in yer body.”

Chuckling softly, he took another bite of bread while he studied her closely. “Ye want the details?” he asked.

“I do,” she said.

“Eat, and I shall tell ye.”

“I am no’ a child,” she told him.

“Oh lass, that was one of the first things I noticed about ye,” he said, offering her what could only be described as a devious smile. “Think of it as a bargain. I will tell ye the awful things I did when I was a drunkard as long as ye eat.”

“How do I ken ye will tell me true?” she said with a challenging tone.

“Ye can ask Henry, Comnall, or any of the other men who came here with me.”

She mulled it over for a short moment. Apparently satisfied with his answer, she pulled the trencher back toward her.

Brogan ate in silence until she had taken a few bites of chicken.

Over the next hour, he told her several stories about his days of drunken debauchery. But the one that brought tears to her eyes, was the one involving his young nephew. “I seriously hurt an innocent seven-year-old boy. I could have killed him. ’Twas only through God’s divine intervention that I did no’.”

Retelling that story left him feeling heavy in heart, his appetite gone. “There be nothin’ I could ever do to make it up to him.”

Swiping away tears, she swallowed hard. “And that be when ye decided to give up the drink?” she asked.

“Aye,” he said. “Well, ’twas more me da’s decision than me own in the beginnin’.”

Confused, she asked him for further explanation.

“Well, me da, he be a good man. He loves his children without condition. However, when I hurt me nephew, Conner, well, even a patient man has his limits. He beat the bloody hell out of me on the bank of the river that day. I do no’ exaggerate when I say I was bloody and black and blue for over a week.”

She did not find the humor in it that he did.

“I knew then that no’ only had I let everyone down and hurt a little boy, I had angered my father to the point of him beatin’ me. So aye, I decided then and there to give up the drink.”

She was quiet for a long while, fidgeting with her eating knife. “Ye said that ye also apologized to everyone ye hurt.”

“Aye, I did. The hardest person to apologize to was Conner. The adults in me life, they understood well enough, that a drunkard makes poor decisions. Now, they did no’ let me off easily, mind ye. But ’twas a hell of a lot easier to explain me actions and apologize to them, than it was to explain to the boy.”

“Did ye ask their forgiveness?”

He nodded. “Aye, I did. Nearly everyone fergave me.”

“But no’ Conner?”

He chuckled softly. “Nay, Conner fergave me quite easily. ’Tis his mum who never has.”

“Even after all this time?”

“Aye lass, even after all this time. But I have learned that askin’ fer someone’s fergiveness is far easier than givin’ it. God will judge me some day, of that I have no doubt. I try to live my life now with honor and dignity. Though I was only a drunkard for a year, I did more damage to people in that time than most drunkards do. I have a lot to make up fer.”

* * *

It dawned on her then, why he had been so patient with her these past many days. He had been a drunkard of the worst kind. He had gone through much of what she had during the takeaway days. Guilt, she reckoned, still plagued him.

“Were ye honorable before ye took up the bottle?” she asked.

“I thought I was. But I did no’ quite understand what honor was until after.”

That made not a lick of sense to her and she told him so.

“Honor can mean different things to different people. For me, it means bein’ a good man. Someone ye can count on in time of want or need. ’Tis why it be so important to me, to be as honest as I can in all situations. I try to do what is right and just. I also try to see things from the other person’s point of view.”

The more she learned about this man, the more she grew to like him. “Be that why ye helped me? Yer sense of honor?”

“Partly. Lass, I could no’ have deserted ye in yer time of need. I made vows and promises to ye on our weddin’ day.”

“I made promises too,” she said. It made her chest tighten to think of those vows. “But I have yet to keep any of them.”

Brogan smiled warmly at her. “Ye have done the best ye could under the circumstances. Besides, we’ve been married a sennight now. We have many years ahead of us, aye?”

She knew he was right but it did very little to quash the guilt quietly building in her stomach. There was one vow she did not think she would ever be able to fulfill. How could she be a wife, a true wife, to this man, when she was still very much devoted to James?