Chapter Seventeen
Brodie rushed toward Skye’s old room. Knowing the truth now, understanding why she had left him without a word, his heart ached at all they’d lost because of his quest to uncover the truth about her uncle, his quest to redeem himself, because of fate.
From the cabinet in the corner of the room, he picked up a small, unassuming jar from the bottom shelf, removed the lid, and tipped the contents into his hand. He fingered the golden bands that still looked as shiny as they had the day he’d bought the ring. He had known then she would love it, but now he wondered if it was cursed.
He’d bought it on one of his first missions, a trip he’d made to England with Lachlan and his cousin’s father before the previous laird had passed, the very same journey on which Lachlan’s father and he had put together the plan for him to start spying for the Clan Cameron and the Royalist cause. He had held onto the jewelry all these years.
The shopkeeper had told him it was called a gimmel ring, and he’d been immediately drawn to it, using all the coin he’d brought with him, plus what his uncle had lent him, in order to purchase it for Skye.
Images flashed in his head as he remembered the day he’d taken it out of its special hiding place to show Nora. She had just agreed to marry his eldest brother and he already considered her a sister. Wanting to get her advice on the best way to ask Skye to be his wife, he had rushed outside to show her.
When he finally thought he had the right approach, and was about to go to ask Skye to marry him, Alexander Gordon had appeared at his house and requested his help on a mission in Inverness. He’d had no opportunity to tell anyone where they were going or even that he was leaving.
The last thing he’d expected when he returned was to find Darach dead and Skye gone. He could show her now that he had loved her, explain to her that she had been the only one for him. But he couldn’t go back in time to be with her at her father’s death or during the loss of their child, nor could he promise to be there for her in the future.
She’d lost faith in him. He could never explain his absences, couldn’t turn back time, but maybe if he showed her this ring, she would understand how much she had meant to him.
A need to know whom she was to wed assailed him. Would the man be a Royalist and be able to keep her safe? And what if she now carried his babe? Could he live with another man raising his child?
…
When he reappeared, Brodie’s dimpled smile lit his cheeks. “On one of those trips, I bought this for ye.”
His gaze drifted down as his nimble fingers showed Skye what he had apparently retrieved from her old room. Gold glinted as a ray of sun peeking in the window hit the small object. “I’ve held onto this for such a long time.” He pinched the base of a small ring and brought it up for her inspection. “When I found this, it made me think of us.”
Small, intricately carved hands clasped each other in a sweet embrace. It was lovely and looked delicate in his grasp. He deftly pulled part of the ring apart to reveal a separate ring. A beautiful red stone carved in the shape of a heart had been hidden beneath.
One hand covered her mouth while her other went to his palm. She gently fingered the stone and cool metal. She’d never seen anything like it.
“I still cannae give you all the answers ye want, but ye should ken, ye always had my heart, Skye.”
Fluttering started in her chest.
His hand took hers, and he held it. His gaze was locked on hers, and he peered so deep inside her that the last of her defenses crumbled as all the ill feelings she had harbored over the years evaporated. She licked her lips, then her teeth nipped down on the corner of her mouth.
“I saved it, hoping to be able to do this one day.” His thumb grazed back and forth over her knuckles, and tingles of awareness raced straight to her heart. He let go and put the pieces of the ring back together before taking her hand again.
In his gaze, she saw a need so stark and sad that it called to the most primitive part of her being.
“’Tis beautiful.” She breathed the words out almost like a whisper.
He held the bands to her finger. “I cannae offer ye a future or undo what has been done, but this belongs to ye. It always has.”
The cool metal slipped on smoothly, and his hand lingered on hers as he studied it on her finger.
“Please stay until yer uncle comes. I promise nae to leave ye alone.”
She nodded.
Clearing his throat as if something had become lodged in it, he suddenly shifted, turning his back to her and acting as if the moment hadn’t just happened. “I’ll put more peat on the fire. ’Tis time for the midday meal. I told Mother we could come back for the late one.”
Then he walked from the room, leaving her to wonder why, despite the feelings she knew he still held for her, he would not be willing to take her back. But she had an obligation as well, and it was best not to linger over what could have been.
…
The MacDonald had not shown, and Brodie found himself stabling his horse to make his way to the nearby tavern for a prearranged meeting with the leader of the Royalist Resistance. His thoughts kept drifting to Skye, alone at the cottage with only the many extra guards posted in strategic locations around the property reassuring him she was safe.
Unfortunately, there was no way he could miss this meeting—he had too much vital information to offer, and was hoping to get answers, too.
His informant lounged at a table looking more deadly than any other man he knew. Alexander Gordon was not a man to trifle with. Part of the Gordon clan had sided with Royalists, and the other side, Covenanters, but Alex had gone his own way and forged a band of warriors, militia men, and, of course, Isobel McLean.
Giving the nearest tavern wench a wink as he shuffled to the table next to Alex’s, he used his best unsteady voice to call out, “A drink lass,” as he plopped down in the chair with his back to the Rebel leaders.
“Yer late,” Alex clipped.
“And I cannae stay long,” he muttered over his shoulder as he used his hand to block the movement of his lips. Motion caught his attention, and his gaze was pulled to the approaching barmaid.
“Pleasure to see ye, Brodie,” the tavern wench purred as she came to stand in front of him. “If ye willnae pass out on me this time, we can head to a room in the back.” She plied him with a seductive smile as she set an ale down in front of him.
Returning a provocative glance, he answered, “Now, I dinnae believe I would ever let a drink keep me from yer arms, Becca.” Her father came out of the back and called for her, probably to keep the pretty maiden from succumbing to his charms.
“I dinnae ken how ye turn that on and off.” Was that a hint of amusement he heard from the man behind him?
“It takes practice. Now do ye have any news for me? We have to make this quick.”
“There is definitely an attack planned in Edinburgh, but the only names I’ve been able to get are Niall Campbell and Hamish Menzies. Ye will have to be certain someone is watching them.”
“I’ll look into them. I have news for ye, too. When I was in Stirling, I heard rumors that Isobel’s identity has been compromised.” Becca was watching him again, so he saluted her with his cup and made a show of spilling a portion of the contents on the table.
“She says someone has been attacking MacLeans,” Argyll’s most wanted drawled casually, but Brodie sensed a bite in the man’s tone.
“I heard that. The Camerons have had some incidents as well.”
“Who do ye think is behind it?”
“I dinnae have enough information to make a guess.” He held back his suspicion that the MacDonald was behind the attacks. He asked the question that was eating at him, despite the desire to keep her name out of it. But Alexander might be the only way to learn what he needed. “I’ve heard Argyll has men out looking for the MacDonald’s niece. Have ye heard anything?”
“I’ve heard, but no’ why. That does no’ bode well for the lass.”
Och, he needed to get back to her—although he trusted Lachlan’s men, no one could protect her the way he would.
“I have to go.”
“Same time, a week from today?”
“Aye.” He stood and stumbled toward the door.
Just as he was reaching the exit, he heard Becca call behind him, “Brodie, come back.” But he was already out the door.
He was staggering back to the stable so he could rush back to Skye when the very faint scent of smoke—wood, not peat—hit him through a chill breeze from the east.
Skye. Instinct hammered him that it had something to do with her.
As fast as possible without raising suspicion, Brodie mounted and guided his horse out of the stable, then he thundered off. The closer he got to his home, the thicker the scent, and the fiercer his head pounded. The short ride from the village seemed to stretch as his mind filled with horrors, and he wondered if Argyll’s men had found Skye and set the cottage on fire as a warning that none should cross the Covenanters.
He raced across the frozen farmland and was relieved when the structures came into view. All seemed unharmed, although a haze hung low over the buildings. A group of Lachlan’s men—those charged with guarding Skye—hailed him as he approached, and he relaxed, the tension in his muscles easing. Maybe one of the outlying sheds on a nearby farm had sparked, because if there were still a dangerous blaze, the men would be busy containing it, instead of gathered around his home.
Once Brodie dismounted, a few of the men told him about a fire they’d doused at the edge of his property. Probably a few Cameron lads had been careless, become chilled while foraging or looking for game, and set a small fire for warmth. It appeared the lads had tried to smother the flames with a wet old plaid, which was what had produced all the smoke. After the guards had extinguished the small blaze, they gathered back at the cottage to share a dram before spreading out again to keep watch.
Aye, some of the little ones were careless, but the men’s explanation didn’t set right with Brodie, and he glanced at the cottage. Suspicion gnawed at him. “And Skye?” he asked.
One of the men shrugged. “I told her to stay inside until we returned.”
“And she agreed?” Skye obeying the guards and not hell-bent on helping? As soon as the guards dashed toward the well to draw water, she would be yanking her boots on and following behind.
Panic ripped through Brodie as he dropped the reins and dashed toward the cottage bellowing her name.