The Highlander's Touch

Page 80

Robert drew a deep breath and pondered Niall’s words. Had he been too cautious? Had he been willing to fight only small battles because it wouldn’t be such a terrible loss if they failed? Had he unwisely restrained his men from a major war because he feared the possibility of defeat? Circenn had been impatient to war. His Berserkers were impatient to war, aye—and his own impatient brother had wagered their future. Perhaps they were all impatient because it was time.
“Let us summon Brodie. This is what you’ve been waiting for,” Niall said firmly.
“Aye, milord,” said Lulach, Niall’s brother. “If we prevent Edward’s army from reaching Stirling, we will have turned the tides. We will be unstoppable, and if ever the time was now, the time is now. Plantagenet grows weaker in his own country; many of his own lords will not follow him into our land. I say we face this wager boldly, as a gift of fate.”
Robert nodded finally. To the messenger, he said, “Get you to Castle Brodie with all haste. Command Circenn to bring his men to join us at St. Ninian’s Church by the Roman road. Tell him time is of the essence and to bring every weapon he possesses.”
The messenger expelled a relieved breath and fled the tent for Inverness.
* * *
Lisa and Circenn explored each other with uninhibited joy, withdrawing completely into a world of their own making. Circenn laughed more than he had in centuries. Lisa talked more, voicing thoughts and feelings she hadn’t even suspected lay dormant within her. In this way they rediscovered themselves, opening up closed compartments that needed the light of day.
The two of them roamed the estate, picnicking in the fresh spring air, dashing off to the bothy for a private moment. It was there that Lisa confided to Circenn what she’d seen Duncan doing with Alesone.
“Did you look?” He scowled possessively. “Did you see him entirely in the blush?”
“Yes.” Lisa’s cheeks heated.
“I doona care for that thought. You will not look upon another man unclothed for the rest of your life.”
Lisa laughed. He sounded so thoroughly medieval. “He didn’t look as good as you.”
“I still doona care. It makes me angry with Duncan merely for being a man.”
Then he erased her memory of the young, virile Douglas, against the wall in the bothy.
Twice.
They spent long nights in his bed, in her bed, on the stairs late one night when the Greathall was deserted. She told him about her life, and slowly, haltingly, he began to tell her of his. But there she sensed he was holding something back. Because of their odd connection, she could feel a darkness in him that waxed and waned without explanation. Sometimes, when he watched the children playing outside in the courtyard, he grew silent, and she could feel that peculiar mixture of anguish and anger that she simply didn’t understand.
The castle staff was delighted with the laird’s newfound laughter, and Duncan and Galan beamed when they dined together. Gone were the private seduction dinners—Circenn saved that for later in the privacy of their chambers. Meals were now taken not in the formal dining hall but in the Greathall, with an assortment of knights and the occasional Templar.
Lisa was slowly and irresistibly becoming fourteenth-century. She learned to love the flowing gowns and tartans, even sitting with some of the women, watching them dye the fibers and fashion the Brodie weave.
She loved the fact that people sat about the hearth and talked in the evening, rather than retreating to their individual electronic worlds of television, phones, and computer games. They possessed richly detailed oral histories and were eager to share them. Duncan and Galan knew their clan history centuries back and wove grand tales of the many Douglas heroes. Lisa listened and sorted through her own genealogy, looking for a Stone to speak of, but who cared if one’s uncle was a lawyer? Could he chop wood and carry water?
Blissfully the days and nights unfurled, and Lisa realized that she now understood why her mother had lost the will to live when Jack died. If her mom had felt a tenth of what Lisa felt for Circenn, it would have been devastating for Catherine to lose her husband. And her mother had lost so much in one day—her love, her ability to walk, her entire way of life. Lisa attained a new respect for her mother’s strength, only now understanding the extent of her mother’s loss and the pain it must have caused her to continue living without Jack.
Circenn’s strength and love were always curled around her like a protective cloak. She couldn’t imagine how she’d lived before without it. The link between them kept her constantly aware of him, no matter where he was. It was never invasive, but she’d discovered—feeling a need for complete privacy while using the chamber pot—that it could be dimmed if she wished. She would never be lonely again. Sometimes, when he was far away, riding with his men, something would amuse him and she would sense his rich laughter rolling inside her, although she would have no idea what had made him laugh.