Highlanders Collection. Ann Lethbridge

no longer did he feel the weakness of his early days. The weight of the weapon was balanced in his hands, the punishing pace welcome.

      There was still no word from the messengers Alex had sent. They were no closer to learning the whereabouts of Callum, and Bram’s impatience had reached the edge of reason. He wanted to be among the men searching.

      But after the disastrous fight at Cairnross, he knew that his time was better spent here, preparing for the next English garrison he might face. The unnerving silence from Cairnross made him all the more suspicious.

      He swung the claymore again and the metal struck hard against Ross’s shield.

      ‘You’re improving,’ the older man commented. ‘But you’re too stiff, lad. Relax your movements. Move with the claymore and let it become a part of you.’

      Bram tried to loosen his stance, but the tension was what kept his grip firm upon the iron weapon. As he trained, he kept his control tight, his movements focused upon precision.

      Perspiration slid over his forehead, but he never wavered in his attack. The minutes slipped by and he answered Ross’s own blows by lifting his claymore with both hands. His mind began to drift, and when he saw his wife walking past the training field his thoughts wandered just long enough for Ross’s blade to slice into his forearm.

      The pain was swift, the blood rising up upon his skin. Nairna rushed over to him, but Bram hardly heard her words of concern, or Ross’s curse about his lack of attention. He stared at the redness flowing over his arm, and he set the claymore aside.

      He removed his tunic and swabbed at the blood, forcing himself to walk to the edge of the loch.

      ‘Bram.’ Nairna caught up to him, her gaze focused upon his arm. ‘Are you all right?’

      He gave a nod, never ceasing his stride. The blood flow had already slowed, and though it might take a few days to heal, it was nothing serious. ‘It’s fine.’

      It irritated him that he’d let his concentration slip. Though his fighting had improved, he wasn’t satisfied yet. He needed to be ready for the fight against the English, as soon as Callum was found.

      ‘Do you need me to stitch the cut for you?’ Nairna asked.

      ‘No. It’s shallow.’ He knelt before the stream, bathing his arm in the wetness and washing away the blood. The morning sun warmed his skin; too late he realised he’d bared his back to Nairna.

      Her fingers moved across the scars and she spoke not a word. With infinite gentleness, she traced the years of his past, as if she could smooth away the mark of his imprisonment.

      He didn’t want her touching that part of him. Rising to his feet, he hid his scarred back and kept the tunic pressed to his wound.

      When he regarded her, he saw the blush rise upon her cheeks. Her deep brown hair was working its way free of the braid she’d woven, and the strands framed her face. He wanted to kiss her, to pull her body close and fill her with himself.

      ‘We’ll finish the house today,’ he told her. ‘I’m going back to the ridge.’

      ‘I’ll come and help,’ she offered. Her gaze centred upon his wounded arm. ‘Are you truly all right, or are you just saying that?’

      ‘I’ve experienced worse,’ was all he would tell her.

      She lowered her chin and took a step closer to him. ‘Some day, I hope you’ll trust me enough to tell me about it.’

      He didn’t intend to. What good would talking about his imprisonment do? Dwelling upon it wouldn’t change what had happened. It was over and finished. No need to reopen the past.

      Behind Nairna, he spied the dog he’d given her. The animal was seated, calmly waiting for his mistress. For a long moment, Nairna waited, as if to see whether or not Bram would change his mind.

      ‘There’s something else I want to ask you,’ she ventured. ‘I’ve some goods that I … want to sell to the parish of Inveriston, not five miles from here. I would like to journey there with an escort. I could be back by nightfall.’

      She bit her lip, as though she were hiding something. Whether or not she was telling the entire truth, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want her going anywhere, not with the English threat. ‘We’ve no need for the money right now, Nairna. I’d rather you stayed here.’

      ‘Dougal could escort me,’ she said. ‘He did well enough when we went to Locharr.’

      ‘I don’t want you leaving Glen Arrin,’ he said. ‘Not yet.’

      She reached for his hand. ‘I could find someone else to go in my stead. It would mean a great deal of money for us.’

      ‘Why is it so important to you?’

      She met his gaze squarely. ‘Because money gives us power. And if we’re to face the English again, we shouldn’t be struggling at every turn. I’ve had a look at the accounts and there are ways we could improve—’

      ‘Don’t.’ He cut off her arguments, soothing the harsh tone by kissing her. ‘Alex is the chief. The funds of Glen Arrin are nothing for you to worry about.’

      ‘But they are,’ she insisted. He was about to cut her off again, but there was anger flashing in her eyes. ‘You don’t understand. I’m not skilled at weaving or spinning. This is the only thing I can do.’

      He stared at her, unable to think of an appropriate answer. It didn’t matter, for she hadn’t finished speaking.

      ‘When we were parted, and even when I was married to Iver, I learned how to take coins and earn more. I learned where to save, how to bargain.’ Her face held an energy he hadn’t seen before. ‘I can do the same here.’

      He didn’t speak, but studied her, wondering why this meant so much to her. His gaze fell upon her ragged woollen gown and he asked quietly, ‘You take care of others, I know. But when was the last time you bought something for yourself? A new gown or a ribbon?’

      Confusion lined her face and she shook her head. ‘Why would I need that? It’s more important for our clan to have enough food to eat and supplies for the winter.’

      ‘And clothes to wear?’ he ventured, touching her gown. With a finger, he revealed one of the holes in the garment.

      She stepped away from him. ‘Don’t, Bram. I’m fine the way I am.’

      ‘Why would your needs be any less than anyone else’s?’ he demanded. ‘You’re my wife, not a beggar.’

      She said nothing, as if she didn’t quite believe she deserved more.

      ‘You don’t need to prove your worth, Nairna,’ he continued. ‘And you needn’t sell your belongings, just to earn coins for our clan.’

      She folded her hands, the guilty look returning. ‘That wasn’t what I wanted to sell. And it’s not for me. It’s for Laren.’

      He stopped walking with her, resting one hand against a birch tree. ‘Why would you want to sell something for Laren?’

      She glanced around and admitted, ‘Because she doesn’t want Alex to know. It’s something she’s made, not anything that belongs to the chief,’ she clarified. ‘And I’ve promised to keep her secret.’

      Bram didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. ‘Nairna, no. You won’t be involved in this.’

      ‘She needs help,’ his wife insisted. ‘And I believe in her talent, even if Alex doesn’t.’ She sat down upon a fallen log, drawing her knees up.

      The sadness in her voice tightened his chest. ‘She should trust him,’ Bram said. ‘Alex wouldn’t turn his back on her.’

      ‘Look at them, Bram. He doesn’t love her and he certainly doesn’t care what she does. Why do you think she avoids the keep every day?’