every step she took, he saw her setting things aright. Picking up a fallen pot, finding a broom to sweep the entrance.
Over the next hour, she worked within the Hall, removing the refuse. She even located fresh rushes from God only knew where, spreading them over the floor to mask the odours.
Her head was covered, but he could see her dark braid hanging over one shoulder. She moved with a silent grace, her face tense with worry about something.
Once she’d finished straightening the Hall, she strode forwards, as though she’d come to a sudden decision. When she reached Alex and the others, she didn’t hesitate to interrupt their conversation.
‘Where are all of the women and children?’ she blurted out.
Bram’s gaze sharpened, and he realised she was right. He’d been so preoccupied with worry over Callum, he’d hardly noticed the other MacKinlochs. But there were no women to be seen anywhere. He’d presumed they were in their homes or with Alex’s wife somewhere.
He sent a questioning look to his brother, but Ross interrupted. ‘Lady Laren’s gone with her girls out walking. She does that each morn.’
‘And the others?’ Bram asked. From his brother’s defensive expression, Alex appeared embarrassed, rather than worried.
‘They are with our mother. She coerced them into seeking refuge with Kameron MacKinnon, the Baron of Locharr.’ From the annoyance in Alex’s tone, it was clear that their mother hadn’t changed at all.
Brisk and steel-minded, Grizel MacKinloch had been like an unmerciful war lord when he and his brothers were growing up. With four sons, she’d had to be. While other women might have consoled their young boys with a kiss, when their sons scraped their knees, Grizel had told them that they should have minded where they were going. There was no sympathy from the matriarch, no weaknesses accepted.
And once she got an idea into her head, no one could convince her otherwise. Bram didn’t doubt that she’d decided to punish the men by leading the exodus of women.
‘Have you gone to visit them?’ Bram ventured.
Alex’s face showed his discontent. ‘Once. They’re safe enough, and it’s only been a fortnight. They’ll come back.’
Bram wasn’t so certain. Their mother had never been the sort to admit when she was wrong.
Nairna’s expression narrowed as she regarded his brother. She looked as though she had a thousand questions to ask, but in the end, she kept her voice cool. ‘Have you told your mother that Bram has returned?’
‘I sent word this morning, aye.’ Alex stood up, using his height to remind Nairna of his authority.
His wife didn’t back down, but instead lifted her chin, turning back to Bram. ‘And are you planning to go and see her?’
‘No. I’m not.’ He hadn’t seen Grizel since before their wedding, and he knew she’d have no wish to see him again. Because of his reckless behaviour, her husband had died. He doubted if Grizel would ever forgive him for it.
‘Why?’ Nairna asked. ‘She’s your mother. You have to go and see her.’
‘Were it me, I’d enjoy the peace while I could,’ Ross advised, elbowing him. To Nairna, he said, ‘Grizel isn’t the sort to weep and celebrate the return of a prodigal son.’
‘More like to string him up and curse him for coming back,’ Alex added.
Nairna gaped at them and Bram cut off any further questions, saying, ‘I have to go and train with my brothers. I’ll see you later.’
Alex nodded his own dismissal to Nairna. ‘You might try the chapel if you cannot find Laren out walking. Sometimes she spends her time there.’
Bram overheard his wife mumble something about understanding Laren’s need for prayer if she was the only woman remaining at Glen Arrin.
Before she could leave, Bram stopped her, taking her hand. ‘It won’t always be like this, Nairna. The other women will return.’
She gave a shrug as if it didn’t matter. But he knew it did.
‘I’ll send for your maid, if you want.’ Perhaps the female companionship would make Glen Arrin a more bearable place for her. At least, until the others returned. ‘It may take a sennight until she arrives, though.’
The startled look in Nairna’s eyes held gratefulness. And surprise, as if she’d never expected it from him. ‘Thank you.’
In answer, Bram stroked her palm, rubbing a slight circle there. Her hands laced with his, and just the barest squeeze filled up the emptiness inside him. He held it for a moment before letting her go and rejoining his brothers.
She stood a short distance away, watching them spar. When Alex signalled for him to join them, Bram unsheathed his claymore, balancing the blade with both hands. The weapon was heavy, but he welcomed the weight. He wanted to lose himself in the sparring match, releasing his frustration.
He would regain the strength he’d lost, rebuilding himself into the fighter he wanted to be. He’d give Nairna a house of her own and all the freedom she wanted.
He wasn’t good with words or courtship the way other men were. He could only hope that, in time, she would see that he would protect her and provide for her.
It was all he had left to give.
Nairna’s palm was still warm. Though Bram had done nothing more than hold her hand, the gesture had made her skin grow warmer with restless needs. He’d stared at her with the intensity of a man who wanted to do far more to her. In that slight moment, she’d wanted to touch his face, to run her hand down his neck and touch his chest.
She busied herself with sweeping the entrance, although she’d already done so earlier. It was a good excuse to watch the men.
Bram and Ross faced off with swords, and it was soon clear that this match was about testing Bram’s strength, not an actual fight.
‘Are you certain you’re wanting to do this?’ Ross asked, circling Bram.
He gave a short nod, testing the weight of the claymore with a few practice swings.
Ross slashed out with his weapon, striking a blow that Bram barely defended. The ring of metal resounded in the afternoon and Nairna gripped the broomstick harder.
Despite the endless opportunities, not once did Bram counter the attack or gain the advantage against Ross. He blocked the blows, but did little else. It was defence, nothing more.
Though he continued to meet Ross’s attacks, deflecting the blade, Bram’s expression was grey. His eyes were glazed, his footing unstable.
He’s not ready for this, Nairna thought to herself. She kept sweeping, until the threshold was so clean she’d probably eradicated every last speck of dust. Yet she couldn’t tear herself away from the fight.
Sweat gleamed upon Bram’s forehead, his stare unfocused. Despite his attempts to stave off Ross’s blade, the weariness burdened him until, at last, Ross stopped
