Page 11 of A Heart Worth Loving

Ewan nodded at the rabbit. “I will take that. You take this.” He extended the basket toward his brother.

Liam took the basket and handed Ewan the rabbit. “Are the muffins good?” Liam asked as he took one. He bit into the muffin, then looked at Ewan in surprise. “She can cook. Is she comely?”

Ewan nodded once.

“Then one of us should marry her.”

***

By late afternoon, the skies darkened again, the rains returned, and all thoughts of tasty baked goods and pretty girls fled. A flash of lightning brought Ewan from his chair. He strode to the library window and stared out into the darkness of the garden in the center of the compound. Lightning flashed again, close. For an instant, spots raced across his eyes. He gripped the edge of the table to his right. His vision cleared, but his heart still beat too fast.

Thunder clapped. He released a shaky breath. Christ, the thunder sounded too much like a bloody cannon. He resisted the urge to retreat to the bowels of the abbey where the thunder would be muffled by the earth. Barricading himself down below was no better than standing in the rain, as Rhys was prone to do. The smell of moist dirt seeping through the cellar walls could send him into a spiral.

How long had he lain on the ground that last day, unable to move, while swords clashed around him, rifles roared, and cannonballs cut through the air? Even worse, the cries of his fellow soldiers. Until they went quiet.

His throat tightened. Why hadn’t he died when the French captain had executed his men? He should have died. He, the man who had ordered his men into battle, should have died. Ewan pounded the edge of his fisted hand against the wall, then bowed his head and allowed his hand to fall back to his side. What better punishment than to live on, knowing it was his fault those men died?

Another flash of lightning. He snapped his head up and caught sight of a large figure standing in the garden. He started before realizing the man was Rhys. Ewan’s chest tightened. Rhys’ demons were just as vicious as Ewan’s.

Rhys had returned to Scotland to find his superior had accused Rhys of the crimes he’d committed: knowingly sending men into a battle they’d known they would lose. Rhys’ reputation, dragged through the mud, resulted in the loss of his inheritance, and being branded a coward and a drunk.

Ewan sighed. Even Logan, their fourth companion, had the sense to stay inside on a night like this. Hell, he seldom left the rector’s quarters. Ewan should drag Rhys back inside. The man was likely to stand out in the rain all night in hopes of catching his death. Like Ewan, he was nigh indestructible. But Ewan wasn’t going to chance losing another man, even if that man wanted to die.

***

Ewan awoke to the cold gray light of early dawn and headed outside. The storms of the night before had faded, but the rush of water greeted his ears as he emerged from the dormitory. He scowled at the water running off the hill toward the lower pasture, which was surely flooded. Then, he saw the tree. The blasted thing had fallen on the fence, scattering the stones. No sheep grazed the field. He whistled. Liam and Rhys emerged from the small stables and strode to his side.

“They’re gone.” He nodded at the field.

Liam groaned. “Damn wee bastards. Why did we have to get sheep? I told you we weren’t farmers.”

“We will never round them all without a herd dog,” Rhys said.

The mental picture rose of rounded female buttocks sticking out from beneath the refectory table.

“I know where to find one,” he said.

Twenty minutes later, Ewan reached the Brodrick manor house door and lifted the brass lion’s head knocker. On the third rap, the door opened to reveal a mature woman with gray-streaked hair neatly tucked beneath a lace-edged cap and an apron covering a faded blue gown.

Her brows rose. “Can I help ye?”

Ewan bowed. “I am Ewan Fraser, madam, here to see Mrs. Brodrick.”

The suspicion deepened. “Is she expecting you?”

He shook his head. “Nae.”

She studied him for a moment, then said, “Wait here in the hallway. I will see if she is accepting visitors.”

Ewan angled his head in acknowledgement as he entered. The woman hurried down the short hall and disappeared around a corner. A gold framed painting of a wooded scene hung on the wall to his left. A low burning lamp sat on a mahogany table below the painting and a thick carpet ran the length of the hallway. The Brodricks clearly lived a comfortable life.

Two minutes later, the housekeeper returned. “Mrs. Brodrick will see ye. Follow me.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and started down the hall again.

Ewan took three quick steps to catch up, then followed her around the corner to an open door on the right. She stepped inside, then slid aside as he entered.

“Lord Kilbreck.” Mrs. Brodrick sat on a divan located on the left wall.

A pretty girl of about nineteen years of age sat on the divan beside her. Mrs. Brodrick extended her hand toward him.