child from Grizel. She sat down, pulling him onto her lap.
After Nairna dressed him in a clean garment, the boy snuggled against her. At the feeling of his warm body nestled close, Nairna fought back the ache of longing.
Grizel hardly appeared to care. ‘We were attacked nearly every sennight,’ she said, ‘because our men refused to pay bribes to the English.’
Nairna rubbed the child’s back, shushing him as he fussed. She tucked his head beneath her chin, holding him close.
‘The men didn’t care what happened—all they wanted to do was fight.’ Grizel nodded towards the boy. ‘His parents were killed in the battle.’
An uneasy sense of understanding crossed over Nairna as she pressed a kiss against the child’s hair.
The lives of men are worth more than coins, her father had said. And now she was beginning to understand that.
Nairna took a breath and rocked the boy in her arms, watching as his eyelids grew heavy in sleep. ‘And what if the fighting were to stop? Would you return, then?’
‘They won’t stop. They’re stubborn and hotheaded, every one of them.’
‘Not all of them,’ Nairna said, thinking of Bram. He kept to himself, isolated from his brothers. ‘Bram and Alex are doing everything they can to get Callum back.’
A flash of pain slipped over Grizel’s face before she looked away. ‘Leave me now. I’ve no wish to speak of them again.’
‘And what about Dougal? He needs you, too.’
Grizel let out a sigh. ‘Ever since he returned from fostering and found Tavin gone, he does nothing but fight all the time.’
‘You’re his mother,’ Nairna insisted. ‘And he’s not a grown man yet.’
‘Dougal hasn’t spoken to me in months.’ Angry hurt bloomed within Grizel’s voice as she wiped her hands upon her gown. ‘He doesn’t need me.’
‘So you’ll turn your back on your sons, after all they’ve suffered?’
‘Every time I see Bram’s face, I remember that Tavin died because of him.’ Grizel’s eyes grew wild, her temper spilling over. ‘Bram was foolish and believed he was strong enough to fight the English. Callum followed him when we tried to keep the boys away.’
She rose to her feet. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to have your heart ripped away, losing your husband and two sons.’
‘I know what it’s like to lose a husband.’ The soul-wrenching grief had hurt so badly when she’d lost Bram, Nairna knew exactly how Grizel had felt. But a sixteen-year-old boy could not be blamed for it.
‘Bram suffered for seven years,’ Nairna continued. ‘He blames himself for the losses.’
‘And well he should.’
‘He was nothing but a boy.’ Nairna felt her own anger rising. ‘A boy who loved his father and wanted to fight at his side. To prove himself worthy.’
‘But he wasn’t,’ Grizel said softly. ‘He let his temper rule his head. I watched him run to face the enemy and Tavin stepped in to take the sword. He bled to death in my arms while the English took my sons.’
Grizel stared hard at her. ‘He might be your husband now. But I’ve no wish to speak to him or see his face again.’
Chapter Twelve
The chamber door opened and Bram saw his wife standing there, looking utterly defeated. It didn’t surprise him that Grizel had cut her down. His mother had no sympathy in her at all, nor kindness.
He wanted to draw Nairna into his arms, telling her it didn’t matter. But he didn’t move, uncertain of his wife’s mood right now.
‘You were right,’ Nairna said, her voice heavy. She sat down upon the edge of the bed, staring at the stone wall. ‘You needn’t say it.’
‘It’s my fault,’ Bram heard himself saying. ‘She’s angry with me and you bore the brunt of it.’
‘No.’ Nairna’s hands dug into her skirts, and he heard the anger in her voice. ‘It wasn’t your fault she chose to shut everyone else out.’
Bram came to sit beside her, not knowing what to say, but his wife looked angrier that he’d ever seen her.
‘You’re her son,’ Nairna said. ‘She has no right to blame you for an accident. It was the English who killed your father, not you.’
‘He wouldn’t have been caught in the fight, if I hadn’t run towards them.’
‘You don’t know that.’ Nairna drew her feet up, tucking them beneath the frayed skirt. ‘She should be grateful you’re alive, not angry.’
Bram rested his arm across her shoulders and Nairna came to him, burying her face in his chest. The warmth of her body permeated his, and against his better judgement, he pressed her back on the bed until she lay on her side facing him.
Only a hand’s distance separated them as they lay together. A lock of brown hair curled over her shoulder and he tucked it back, staring at her face. Nairna stilled, watching him with wariness. But he made no move to touch her; he simply absorbed her features.
‘I’m glad you’re alive,’ she whispered, reaching out to touch the scar upon his throat. At the softness of her fingers upon his skin, he closed his eyes.
She traced the mark of the shackle that had chained him. ‘Does this hurt you?’
He shook his head. It was only the sensation of her touch that was starting to have a different impact. Heat rushed through his veins and he rolled onto his stomach to hide the physical response to her.
‘Bram,’ Nairna whispered. ‘I’m sorry I forced you to come here.’
‘You didn’t know.’
Her hand moved against his hair, fingering the edges. ‘We’ll leave in the morning. If any of the other women want to come back with us, I’ll ask—’
He caught her hand, bringing her palm to his mouth. With his lips, he reverenced her skin, bringing it over his roughened cheeks. He heard her slight gasp of air; immediately he released her hand and sat up.
He didn’t want to push her too quickly or frighten her. To distract both of them, he pointed out a gown draped over one of the chairs.
‘Lord Locharr left that for you,’ he remarked. ‘He bought it for my mother, but she refused to wear it.’
Made of silk in the Norman style, the kirtle was deep purple, with narrow sleeves and a sleeveless surcoat to be worn over it.
‘I don’t need a gown—’ Nairna started to protest, but Bram cut her off.
‘I haven’t seen you wear any colours since we came from your father’s
