Mairghread and Brogan went to their respective rooms to change out of their muddy clothes. For a moment, Brogan thought he might have to call Henry or Liam in to help get his trews off. They were stuck to his skin.

Too hot and too bloody tired, he decided against more trews. He chose a dark tunic, draped his plaid around his waist and over his shoulder, and put his feet into clean boots. As soon as he was dressed, he went to Mairghread, who seemed rather nervous for some reason. He led her below stairs and into the courtyard.

’Twas more than a relief to see Reginald. ’Twas a downright joyous occasion. Especially when he saw he number of men filing in behind him.

Brogan and Mairghread were waiting with eager anticipation in the courtyard. They watched as he stopped in the tall, wide opening where a gate would someday sit. He nodded approvingly before bringing in the rest of the men.

Mairghread, Gertie, and Tilda raced together to meet him. “Reginald!” they called out.

Brogan watched closely for his response. There was a flicker of devotion in his eyes when he looked at Mairghread. The man was naught but a gruff exterior that hid a soft heart.

He dismounted and handed his reins off to a stable boy. “M’lady,” he said with a nod to Mairghread.

“Ye look road weary.” She smiled up at him. “Come, I have refreshments inside fer ye.”

“We need to settle these men in first, m’lady,” he said. “They be just as tired and hungry as I.”

Mairghread took a step back and looked at the mud-covered men. All but a handful were on foot.

“Put as many as we can in the armory,” she said. “Do we still have a few empty cottages?”

“Aye, we do,” he replied.

“Fit as many as ye can in those. The rest, we will make room fer in the keep.”

Fergus stepped forward to offer his support, as did a few of the other men. “We’ll see them settled, m’lady,” Fergus said with a proud smile.

“Thank ye, Fergus,” she replied before turning to Reginald. “We have much to discuss, aye?”

“Aye, m’lady, that we do.”

* * *

The discussion lasted throughout the afternoon. They sat together, Reginald, Mairghread, and Brogan, in the gathering room. Refreshments had been brought and eaten while Reginald explained where he had been and the men he brought with. Forty-seven in all, from all parts of the western Highlands. Some were from the fishing village, some were from nearby clans, clans who had been loyal to Mairghread’s father before his death. The rest were people without homes or clans. Where they came from did not matter. ’Twas a blessing to have them here.

“At first, I was havin’ poor luck gettin’ the men we need,” he told them as he drank the cool ale. “’Twas odd, fer no’ many of the clans were willin’ to spare any men. Were ye aware there be a horde of some ten thousand horse thieves headin’ up from the south?”

Brogan had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Ten thousand?” Mairghread exclaimed breathlessly. “I had heard ’twas only a few thousand.”

“Last I heard, ’twas seven thousand,” Gertie added. “And no’ just horse thieves, but murderers as well.”

Brogan cleared his throat. “Ye ken how rumors go. The more it be told, the larger it gets.” Wanting to put them at ease, he added, “More likely than no’ ’tis only a handful.”

“Either way,” Mairghread said. “I want that wall built as soon as possible. We’ll bring in the women folk to help if we must.”

Brogan wished Henry was here, so he could hear with his own ears the panic his ‘story’ had caused. Still, he could not complain too much. Fear was a good motivator.

“But I did find a few men willin’ to leave hearth and home to come help us. ’Twas no’ inexpensive.”

Mairghread was afraid to ask how much these men were going to cost them. The answer nearly made her shriek.

“Brogan said to do whatever I must to get the men, m’lady,” Reginald told her.

She knew ’twas necessary, but it still didn’t mean she had to like it. “It matters no’,” she said. “We needed them. I might be able to rest at night now.”

Brogan choked on his cider. Mairghread pounded her hand against his back until he got it under control.

Rest at night? She hadn’t been the one lying awake at night, filled with desire and unmet need. Nay, she slept like the dead, right next to him. The dreams that had been haunting her had disappeared.

“Sorry,” he said as he cleared his throat. “Swallowed wrong.”

Reginald and Mairghread cast curious glances his way before returning to the topic at hand.

“Ye’ve made more progress than I thought ye would,” Reginald said. “Mayhap we will have it done by Christmastide.”

Mairghread snorted and rolled her eyes. “If I have to get out there and help, this wall will be done long before that.”

Confused, Reginald asked her to explain.

Leaning in closer to him, she said, “Recently, Brogan was able to prove to me that I did no’ kill James or Connell.”

Reginald raised a questioning brow toward Brogan while Mairghread explained about the mock stabbing. “I believe me uncle took advantage of a very ugly situation,” she told him. “He saw what the raiders had done and blamed me.”

The two men exchanged knowing glances while Mairghread talked. “I believe he did it knowin’ full well what me reaction would be. He knew ’twould be somethin’ I would never get over.” For a moment, she had a faraway look in her eyes. Brogan reached under the table and patted her hand.

“He wants to be chief. He wants me lands, me holdings, and everything else he can get his greedy hands on. I want that wall built before he returns.”

Brogan shook his head, ever so slightly, silently warning him not to share his own opinions of Aymer with Mairghread. Later, when they had a moment alone, they would be able to discuss it further.

“We will do everythin’ within our power, m’lady, to get the wall built fer ye,” Reginald said.

Placing her hands on top of the table, she leaned forward slightly. “I thank ye, Reginald, fer all ye have done.”

Reginald looked fondly upon Mairghread for a moment before returning to his usual gruff self. “What else has taken place in me absence?”

“Brogan locked Hargatha away in one of the servants rooms. We have her under constant guard.”

Surprised, he asked, “And what do ye plan on doin’ with her?”

Mairghread cast a glance at Brogan. He shrugged his shoulders. “’Tis up to ye, Mairghread.”

Pursing her lips, she thought on it for a long moment. These were the kinds of decisions she did not wish to make. Too soft at heart, or so she had been told on numerous occasions.

“We can no’ keep her locked away ferever,” she said, looking to the men for advice.

“I think she needs to be hanged,” Reginald said. “And fer more reasons than what she did to ye.”

While she could appreciate his loyalty, she did not think she could order someone’s death. “Banish her,” she said.

“That seems reasonable,” Brogan said.

Mairghread was relieved to hear him agree. Turning to Reginald, she said, “Be there still that auld cottage to the east of here? Near the border?”

“Aye,” he replied curiously.

“She may live there. But she is no’ allowed to heal anyone. Not in any manner or way.”

Brogan grunted. “That does no’ sound like much of a banishment to me.”

“I ken it does no’,” she told him. “But she be an auld woman, with no family or kin to take care of her.”

“She should have thought of that long ago,” he said.

Mairghread knew he was right, but she could not help herself. “Ye would really set an auld woman out without it keepin’ ye up at night?”

There were many things that kept him up at night, but worrying about a mean, black-hearted auld woman wouldn’t be one of them. “Aye, I would.”

She looked appalled with him.

“I understand ye mean well,” he told her. “But again, this be no’ me decision to make.”

“Verra well,” she said. “I will inform her of me decision after we meet with the new men.”

* * *

Mairghread insisted on meeting the new men immediately. She wanted to personally thank them for coming to their aid. First, they visited the armory, which was able to house only thirty of the men. Because of the tight quarters, they had come out of doors. Cooking fires had been built, where they were roasting rabbit and birds for their supper.

Each man stood and bowed at the waist when Mairghread approached.

“I be Mairghread Mactavish,” she told them. “The lady of this keep and heir to these lands.”

She was unable yet, to declare herself chief. Brogan hoped she would be able to do that before long.

“We, me husband Brogan and I, as well as the rest of the clan, be glad ye have come to work with us. I be certain Reginald has told ye ’twill no’ be easy work. But each of ye look as though ye be no’ afraid of anythin’, let alone the buildin’ of a wall.”

Brogan smiled at the way she was complimenting these men. Knowing her as he was beginning to, she believed it to be true.

They were of varying ages and sizes. A few of them were of an age where Brogan wondered if they would even be able to pick up an axe, for they were so old looking. Mairghread apparently did not notice.

“If ever ye need anythin’, please do no’ be afraid to ask. Come to Brogan first…” her words trailed off as one of the men caught her attention. Brogan followed her gaze to see she was looking at a younger lad, of mayhap seven and ten. He had a bloody bandage wrapped around his head. “Ye there,” she said as she pushed through the crowd. “What happened to ye?”

The lad’s face burned crimson. “’Tis naught but a scratch m’lady,” he said, unable to look her in the eye.

“That be no’ what I asked,” she said.

He cleared his throat before answering. “We got caught up in that storm yesterday,” he said. “I tripped in the mud and hit me head on a rock. But I be right as rain, m’lady. I can work.”

“I am certain ye can,” she told him with a warm smile. “But we must have that looked at, aye?” Taking him by the arm, she began to lead him away. “I will be takin’ ye to Seamus. He be right good with stitches.”

“Stitches, m’lady?” the lad exclaimed. “I do no’ think it be as bad as that.”

“Och! Do no’ fash yerself over it. What is yer name?”

“Daniel, m’lady. Daniel MacCreary.”

“Well, be glad ye be seein’ Seamus, fer if our auld healer were to get her hands on ye, she’d be wantin’ to amputate yer head.”

Brogan laughed as his wife walked away toward the stables, forgetting for the moment about her welcome to their new men.

Aye, he was learning just how remarkable a woman she was.

“Yer lady, m’laird,” one of the older men said as he stepped forward. He was a short, skinny man who looked as though he had lived a hard life. His thinning gray hair lined a wrinkled face, brown with age and much exposure to the sun. Side by side, they stood staring in awe at Mairghread walking away with the lad named Daniel. “She be a right kind lady, aye?”

“Aye, that she is.”

“Daniel, he be a good lad, m’laird. He lost his family a year ago, to the ague.”

“His entire family?” Brogan asked.

“Aye, m’laird. Every one of them. They lived in Edinburgh. His da was a shoemaker. Anyway, he’s been makin’ his way across Scotia for months now, doin’ whatever work people will give him. He’s a good lad, m’laird.”

It pulled at his heart, to hear the young man’s story. He knew that if his wife learned of his plight, she would undoubtedly offer him a home here. “What be yer name?” Brogan asked.

“Wallace, m’laird,” he answered.

“We be glad to have ye all here,” Brogan told him.

“’Tis glad we are to be here, laird.”

Brogan gave him a warm slap to his back before going off after his wife.

* * *

’Twas long after the evening meal when Brogan and Mairghread entered her bedchamber. It had been a very long, tiring, hard day, but a good one as well. Reginald had returned with good men and his wife was quite happy.

But all Brogan wanted to do was strip out of his clothes, wash up, and slip into a warm bed. He could have slept on the floor for that matter.

“Ye look done in,” Mairghread remarked as she stepped out of her slippers.

Brogan raked a hand through his hair. “’Tis the truth, I am.”

He took note of the odd way in which she was staring at him. Mayhap she was trying to muster up the courage to ask him to sleep with her again this night. It warmed his heart that she needed him close. But a man could only take so much torture before he went mad. In Brogan’s case, ‘twould be madness brought on by lack of loving and lack of sleep.

“Brogan,” she said as she heard a knock at the door.

He heard her mumble something that sounded like bloody hell as she went to answer it.

’Twas Evelyn and she looked on the verge of tears.

“M’lady, I hate to bother ye at this hour, but mum needs ye.”

“What be the matter?”

“Briggitt Mactavish, Red John’s wife, be havin’ her bairn. But something be wrong and mum had me come fer ye. She needs yer help, m’lady. She worries they both might die.”

Without hesitation, Mairghread put her boots on and grabbed her cloak.

“Wait!” Brogan called out after them. “I will come with ye.”

“What on earth for?” Mairghread asked as she was on her way out the door.

“’Twill be dark soon,” he said as he fell in beside her. “I ken I can no’ help with the birthin’, but I can help with the father.”

“He be beside himself, m’lady,” Evelyn said. “Poor Red John, he keeps pacin’ back and forth outside their cottage.”

Mairghread wasn’t about to argue. “’Twill be good to have yer help,” she told Brogan as they all but flew down the stairs.

* * *

An hour after midnight, Briggitt and Red John’s son was born.

’Twas no wonder Martha had to call for help. The little babe was stuck. And stuck for good reason. ’Twas not only that the boy was breach. He was big. The biggest babe any of them had ever seen. They had to pull the babe from his mother, using twine tied around his ankles.

’Twas odd, because mother and father were not big people. Red John was only a few inches taller than Mairghread or his wife. Brogan towered over all of them.

He had stayed out of doors with Red John. ’Twas easy to surmise this was his first bairn, the way he paced and fretted over his wife and unborn babe. Mumbling to himself, pacing, running his hands through his hair. It reminded him of his brother Ian when Rose was having their first. Brogan was tired just watching the man pace.

The moment Red John heard the sound of his babe crying loud and fierce, he nearly fell to his knees.

Once mother and babe were clean and presentable, Red John was led into the little cottage.

Exhausted from the past weeks, cold now that the sun had gone down, Brogan nearly fell asleep standing up as he leaned against the side of the cottage. ’Twas Mairghread’s gentle hand on his arm that brought him fully alert.

“We can go home now,” she told him.

There was a sadness to her tone. When he took the lit torch from her hand, he could see that sadness running deep behind her green eyes. “Mairghread? Is all well?”

Her smile did not quite reach her eyes. “Mother and babe are well,” she told him. “I am just tired.”

* * *

’Twas not a complete lie that she told him. She was tired. Bone tired.

But she was also feeling quite sad. For the first time since losing Connell, she’d held another babe. ’Twas only for a brief moment, but ’twas enough to set a deep ache in her heart.

For the tiniest moment, when she held Briggitt’s babe in her arms, she felt an overwhelming sense of joy. Sheer, unadulterated joy.

’Twas almost as keen as when she held her own for the first time. He’d been such a sweet babe. Connell had rarely cried, took to the breast right away, and slept for a few hours at a time.

Though he’d only been in her arms for such a short time, he’d brought her more happiness than anything else in her life ever had. Aye, she had lost James that night. But the acute pain of losing her son? That was a loss from which she knew she would never fully recover.

Holding Brigitt’s babe made her long for one of her own. That was what bothered her most of all. She felt guilty for wanting another child. She did not want to replace Connell. ’Twas a struggle in her heart and one she did not know if she could ever settle.

By the time they entered her bedchamber, her chest felt tight and her stomach was in knots.

“I want a dram of whisky,” she told Brogan. “More than a dram. I want a whole bloody bottle.”

“Why?” he asked as he set the torch in an empty brace on the wall near the door.

’Twas easy to tell him she was tempted to drink. ’Twas impossible to tell him why. With a heavy sigh, she sat on a chair and began to tug off her boots.

“I can no’ help ye if I do no’ ken what the problem is,” he told her as he shut the door.

“Mayhap I do no’ want yer help,” she said through gritted teeth. “Can I no’ be angry or upset or sad without a reason?”

Now, an intelligent man would have left his wife alone for a little while. Or he would have offered to get her a sweet cake, or a back rub. Brogan, having been married before, albeit for only a short while, knew he should just nod and walk away.

“How can ye be angry or upset or sad without a reason? That makes no sense.” He thought it a most reasonable question. Mairghread, however, did not.

Shooting to her feet with her hands on her hips, she looked him directly in the eye. “No’ everything in life has to make sense, Brogan! Sometimes I feel sad, or angry, or upset and I can no’ explain the why of it. And even if I could, I would no’ want to spend the next two hours tryin’ to get ye to understand.”

He was simply too tired to argue. With his head hanging low, he went to his chamber and closed the door behind him.

He sat on a chair and pulled off his boots. Women are so bloody confusin’, he mused. Sleep with me, but do no’ touch. Treat me with respect, but again, do no’ touch. He rested his head in his hands. All he wanted now was a good, deep sleep. Ye may think me beautiful, ye may compliment me. Ye may help me in all things, as a husband should, still, ye may no’ touch.

Mayhap on the morrow Mairghread would be in better spirits. Mayhap, on the morrow, she would tell him why she was upset, why she was tempted to drink this night. But at the moment, he didn’t rightly care. He knew ’twas best to just go to his bed, go to sleep, and start anew on the morrow.

Long moments later, the door to his chamber opened.

Mairghread stood in the doorway. She wore her sleeping gown, a heavy woolen thing. She could have worn a sack and still been just as beautiful. His manhood began to twitch.

“Are ye comin’ to bed?”

A wiser man would have told her he was too tired, she was too upset, and mayhap a night apart would do them good. Besides, ’twas no’ as if they were lovers. They were man and wife in name only right now. ’Twas one more thing that added to his growing frustration.

“I will be right there.”

* * *

Mairghread knew she had behaved foolishly toward Brogan. ’Twas not his fault her heart was breaking with sadness and longing and guilt. Nay, she could not blame him.

She went to him, fully intending to apologize. But when she saw him sitting in the chair, with his head in his hands, words escaped her.

Instead of apologizing, she asked if he was ready for bed. Her fingers trembled with wanting to go to him, to wrap her hands around his head and tell him she was sorry. Sorry for being rude, sorry for being such a bother all these past weeks. But most, she wanted to tell him how sorry she was for asking too much of him.

Brogan was a man, after all. He was not made of stone. He had feelings, needs, and desires, just like most people.

She heard the exhaustion in his voice, saw the weariness in his eyes when he said, I will be right there.

How many sacrifices could she ask him to make? Aye, he’d been making them since the day he arrived. Now, she was asking him to be a husband to her, to sleep with her so she would not be alone, wouldn’t be plagued with bad dreams all the night long.

She knew she owed her restful sleep to him. From the first night he stayed with her, the dreams had all but stopped. She found comfort in knowing he was there. Nay, ’twas more than just comfort. ’Twas a sense of peace and safety.

And look at him now. Dark circles under his eyes, dragging his feet as though they were made of led. He’d been working non-stop on one thing or another since he had arrived. He had helped her get through the awful takeaways and on the path to sobriety. He was bringing her clan together, building a much-needed wall, and heaven knew what else he’d been doing of late.

She had been so wrapped up with her guilt, her broken heart, and the past, that she hadn’t taken the time to think about him. Brogan, as a man.

Until the noonin’ meal earlier that day when she was suddenly beset with thoughts of desire and warm sensations she’d thought long dead.

That was when the guilt began again. Guilt for desiring him, guilt for wanting another child, and guilt for not being the kind of wife a man like him deserved.

She had painted a happy smile on her face all day long, when inside, she felt confused and even a bit frightened.

The past.

She had been stuck in it for years.

Brogan was, unbeknownst to him, helping her to gradually climb out of it and into the present. What frightened her most, was the future. A future as his wife in all senses of the word. A future where they worked together, building up this clan, mayhap having children of their own. Someday.

As he walked into her chamber and slid into the bed, she sent a silent prayer up to God.

Please, help me to be the wife he deserves. And please, keep him here long enough for me to be just that.