She took the chair beside him. “That was a long time ago. At least it was long enough for lives and feelings to change drastically.” She watched the fire and was silent.
“Aren’t you curious as to the real purpose of my journey here?” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “I have a message from a woman named Kirsty.”
Bronwyn’s head shot up sharply, but before she could speak, Morag came in with a tray of food. It seemed hours before she left. The old woman insisted on adding wood to the fire and asking Roger questions.
Bronwyn wanted to ask questions too. How did he know Kirsty? What message could he have? Did it have something to do with the message the MacGregor had sent Tam saying he wanted to meet Bronwyn?
“If that’s all, Morag!” Bronwyn said impatiently, then ignored the old woman’s look as she left the room. “Now! What have you heard from Kirsty?”
Roger leaned back in his chair. This Bronwyn wasn’t what he’d expected. Perhaps it was being in her own country or maybe it was Montgomery’s influence, but she wasn’t the easily manipulated young woman he’d first met. He’d heard part of the story of Bronwyn and Stephen in the MacGregor’s land by chance. A man, poor and hungry, had asked to join his garrison. One night Roger’d overheard the man telling of his adventures in Scotland with the ravishing MacArran laird. Roger’d taken the man upstairs with him and gotten the whole story. Of course, it was only a part of the story, and Roger had spent considerable money finding out the rest of it.
When all the pieces were together, he knew he could somehow use it. He laughed at Stephen for foolishly parading himself before these crude Scots in a manner and dress as crude as their own. He sipped his wine and thought again with hatred of the time Stephen had dishonored him on a battlefield. Too many people had heard of that fight, and often he heard whispers of “the back attacker.” He’d repay Stephen for that new nickname he now had.
His plan had been to seduce Stephen’s wife, take what he’d fought for. But Bronwyn had fouled his plans. She was obviously not a woman who followed a man easily. Perhaps if he had time…. But no, he had no idea how
long Stephen would be away.
Then a new plan began to come to him. Oh, yes, he thought, he’d repay Montgomery in full.
“Well!” Bronwyn said. “What was the message? Does she need me?”
“Yes, she does,” Roger smiled. And I need you even more, he thought.
Chapter Seventeen
BRONWYN LAY IN BED, STARING AT THE UNDERSIDE OF THE canopy. Her entire body was tense with excitement. For the first time in weeks she felt like she was alive. Her sleepiness was gone, her nausea had passed, and now she was pleased that something was about to happen.
When she’d come home and Tam had told her of the MacGregor’s message, she’d ignored it. She’d been too wrapped up in her own problems, her own misery, to even consider anyone but herself. Stephen said she was selfish, that she never listened to him or learned from him. Now she had a chance to do something that would please him. He’d always wanted her to settle her differences with the MacGregor, and now Kirsty had opened the way.
When Tam had first told her of the MacGregor’s message, she’d half-heartedly talked of meeting him. The protest from her men shook the walls. Bronwyn had easily dismissed the matter and settled back into her mood of feeling sorry for herself.
Now that was all over. She saw a way to win Stephen back. She must prove to him that she had learned something from him, that she wasn’t a selfish person.
Roger Chatworth had told her an incredible story about meeting Kirsty and Kirsty asking him to tell Bronwyn that a meeting had been arranged. The MacGregor and the MacArran were to meet alone, just the two of them, tomorrow night. Kirsty said the MacGregors were very much against the meeting, just as she was sure the MacArrans were. Therefore she’d made every effort to arrange a private meeting. She sent Bronwyn and Stephen her love and begged her to do this for the sake of peace for them all.
Bronwyn threw back the covers and went to the window. The moon hadn’t set yet so there was still plenty of time. She was to meet Roger Chatworth outside Larenston Hall, by the mews, and she would lead him off the peninsula. There were horses waiting for them, and together they’d ride to meet Kirsty and Donald.
It wasn’t easy to wait. She was dressed long before it was time. For a moment she stood over the bed, caressed the pillow where Stephen usually slept. “Soon, my love, soon,” she whispered. Once there was peace between the clans, she could hold her head up before Stephen again. Maybe then he’d think her love was worthy of having.
It was easy to slip out of her room. She and David had often, as children, sneaked out to the stables, sometimes to meet Tam or one of Tam’s sons. Rab followed her down the worn stone steps, sensing from his mistress the need for quiet.
Roger Chatworth stepped from the shadows as quietly as a Scotsman.
Bronwyn nodded to him curtly, then gestured Rab to be quiet. The dog had never liked Roger and made no secret of it. Roger followed her along the steep, dark path. She could feel the tension in his body, and more than once he grabbed her hand to steady himself. He clung to her and stood still until he got his breath.
Bronwyn tried to conceal her disgust. She was glad she now knew that not all Englishmen were like this one. Now she knew there were brave, courageous men like her husband and his brothers. They were men a woman could cling to and not the other way around.
Roger began to breathe easily once they reached the mainland and the horses. But they couldn’t speak until they were out of the valley of MacArrans. Bronwyn led them around the valley by the sea wall. She went slowly so Roger could steady his horse. The night was black, and she led by instinct and memory rather than sight.
It was close to morning when they halted on the ridge that overlooked her land. She stopped in order to allow Roger to rest a moment.
“Are you tired, Lady Bronwyn?” he asked, his voice shaky. He had just been through what, to him, was obviously an ordeal. He dismounted his horse.
“Shouldn’t we go on?” she urged. “We aren’t very far from Larenston. When my men—”
She stopped because she didn’t believe what she saw. Roger Chatworth, in one swift, fluid motion, took a heavy war axe from his saddle and struck Rab with it. The dog was looking at its mistress, concerned more with her than Roger, and so reacted too slowly to miss the lethal blow.
Instantly Bronwyn was out of her saddle. She fell to her knees at Rab’s side. Even in the dark she could see a great gaping hole open in Rab’s side. “Rab?” she managed to gasp through a thickened throat. The dog moved its head only slightly.