“All women?”
“All!” Stephen said. “And they follow him around as if he had the key to all happiness. I never met a female who didn’t like Miles.”
“He sounds quite interesting,” she said, licking her fingers.
“If you ever!” he began, then stopped because Bronwyn was looking at him with such interest. He turned his attention to the oatcakes. “And then there’s Mary.”
“Mary?”
“Our sister.”
Something about the way he said the words made her stare at him. “I’ve never heard you mention a sister. What’s she like? Will she be there at Christmas?”
“Mary is like the Madonna,” he said reverently. “Even as children we knew she was different. She’s the oldest child, and she always knew how to keep her younger brothers out of trouble. Sometimes Gavin and Raine were at each other’s throats. Gavin was always aware that the land would be his someday, and he was always angry when Raine forgave a serf for causing any destruction to the land, even when it was clearly caused by an accident. Mary would come between them and in her soft voice soothe them.”
“How?” Bronwyn asked, thinking of her own responsibilities with her clan.
“I never understood how she did it. That time when Miles tried to kill the squire, it was Mary who was able to calm him.”
“And what of her now? Is her husband kind to her?”
“She has no husband. She asked to be allowed never to marry, and since we’d never met a man who we thought would ever be kind enough to her, we granted her wish. She lives in a convent not far from the Montgomery estates.”
“It was kind of you to grant her wish. I’ve heard that Englishwomen usually have little choice about their futures.”
Stephen didn’t take offense at her words. “I think you’re right. Perhaps they should learn from the Scots.”
“They?” she said smoothly.
He laughed at her meaning. “Do you know, I am almost beginning to feel that I am a Scot.” He stood up, stuck his bare leg out. “Do you think my own brothers will recognize me?”
“Probably,” she said. “But I doubt if anyone else would.” There was pride in her voice.
“I’d like to see if you were right.”
“Are you planning something?” she asked suspiciously, because at that moment he looked like a mischievous little boy. “Stephen, we already have the MacGregors searching for us, my brother and his men, and no doubt some Englishmen since you did kill three of them. I would like to get to your brother’s in one piece.”
“We will,” Stephen said, a faraway look in his eyes. “We might just pay a visit on the way though.”
Bronwyn sighed, then stood and dusted her skirt. As she walked back to her horse, her mind was full of thoughts about little boys who never grew up.
Chapter Twelve
AS THEY ENTERED ENGLAND, STEPHEN COULD FEEL A difference in the air. Even on the border of Scotland, the people were not used to seeing the Highlanders. Some people stared openly at their dress; some shouted angry words because their land and property had been attacked by the Scots. Bronwyn rode with her back rigid and her head held high. She refused to answer anything the Englishmen said. Only once did she show any emotion. Stephen stopped at a farmer’s well to replenish their water jugs, and the farmer ran after them with a haying fork. Stephen, the blood flushing his body, started after the little man who was cursing the Scots so vividly. Bronwyn grabbed her hus
band’s arm and pulled him back to the horses. For hours afterward Stephen muttered about the stupidity of the English. Bronwyn only smiled at his words; there wasn’t one she hadn’t already thought or said.
Now they were arguing about something else. Two nights ago Stephen had told Bronwyn of a plan he had to fool a boyhood friend.
“No, I do not understand!” Bronwyn said for, she was sure, the hundredth time.
“It’s a feud,” Stephen said patiently. “You, above anyone else, should understand what a feud is.”
“What is between the MacGregors and the MacArrans is real, based upon many years of anger and hostility. They’ve killed my men as well as stolen my cattle. Some of my women care for MacGregor bastards.” She gave him a pleading look. “Please, Stephen, this is a child’s game, and it will only cause trouble. What does it matter whether this man recognizes you or not?”
Stephen refused to answer her, especially since she’d already asked the question several times. He couldn’t explain to her about Hugh. He couldn’t even remember the time with Hugh without embarrassment and no little pain.
They’d been together, patrolling the Lowlands borders for King Henry, when word reached them that King Henry had chosen Stephen as a husband for the laird of Clan MacArran. Hugh had exploded with laughter. For days he did little else but conjure hideous pictures of Stephen’s new bride. Before long the entire camp was talking of the ugly creature Lord Stephen would have to marry.