Chapter Thirty-Three
Proster told Gillian and Bridgid what had happened. In his enthusiasm, he went into excruciating and sickening detail as he described the fight, blow by bloody blow, and told them far more than either one of them wanted or needed to hear. By the time he was finished, Bridgid's face was gray and Gillian was sick to her stomach.
'You're certain Brodick and Ramsey were unharmed?' Gillian asked.
'Neither suffered so much as a nick,' Proster replied. 'They were both covered with blood, but it wasn't theirs, and they went to the lake to wash it off. Ramsey's going to let the bodies of the dead rot.'
'I don't wish to hear another word,' Bridgid said. She dismissed the soldier then and opened the door for him. 'Gillian, I'll fetch some salve to put on your leg to help with the healing.'
'You might want to wait,' Proster advised. 'Or take the back way. The grass in the courtyard is black from blood spilled, and I'm not certain all the dead have been dragged away yet.'
'I'll go to my mother's, then, and get some salve from her. Proster, men died today and you should not be smiling.'
'But they weren't good men,' he countered. 'They deserved to die.'
They continued their argument as Proster closed the door.
Gillian sat down to wait for Brodick. She expected him to walk through the door at any moment. An hour later she was still waiting. By midafternoon she went searching for him and was told by one of the MacPhersons that her husband had left with Ramsey. It was speculated that the two lairds had gone to Iain Maitland to tell him the news.
She tried to wait up for her husband, but because she'd had so little rest the night before, she couldn't keep her eyes open. She finally fell into a fitful sleep.
Brodick woke her up in the middle of the night when he pulled her into his arms and made love to her. His hands were rough and demanding, and she felt a desperation in him, a violence barely controlled, but she didn't fight or reject him. Nay, she stroked and caressed him and tried to soothe the beast within. Their lovemaking was wild and frantic, and when he climaxed deep inside her, she came apart in his arms.
She told him she loved him, and he cherished her words because he knew that her love was going to be sorely tested in the days ahead. By tomorrow night, she could very well hate him.
Brisbane and Otis knocked on her door early the following morning. Gillian was dressed for the day and had just finished her morning meal.
'We have been instructed to take you to your sister,' Brisbane announced.
'Did she finally agree to see me, then?' she asked as she stepped outside.
Otis shook his head. 'She has been ordered to see you.'
Gillian tried not to let them see how disappointed she was that her sister had once again refused her. They walked together to the stables, where their horses were saddled and waiting. Brisbane took the lead, and neither he nor Otis said another word until they reached a cluster of cottages near the border that once separated the MacPhersons from the Sinclairs.
Gillian was suddenly nervous and scared. Christen had already rejected her, and as painful and humiliating as that was, she had accepted it, but if her sister didn't know where the king's treasure was or had forgotten all that had happened, then everything was lost and Uncle Morgan was doomed.
'Please, God, let her remember,' she whispered as she dismounted and walked toward the cottage Brisbane had pointed out.
'We'll wait here for you,' Brisbane said.
'You needn't wait. I know the way back.'
The door opened then, and a woman Gillian never would have recognized as her sister stepped into the sunlight. Her husband, tall and gaunt, followed her. His hostility was evident as he hovered protectively over his wife.
Christen was a good head taller than Gillian. Her hair was much darker too, and Liese had told Gillian that Christen had golden curls, but she didn't remember them. There wasn't a glimmer of recognition, and though Gillian knew this woman was her sister, she was a stranger to her.
She was heavy with child. No one had bothered to mention that fact to Gillian.
Had Christen not looked so sullen, Gillian would have embraced her and told her how happy she was to see her again. They stared at one another for a long minute before Gillian finally broke the uncomfortable silence.
'Are you Christen?'
'I am,' she answered. 'I used to be anyway. My parents changed my name. I'm called Kate now.'
A burst of anger took Gillian by surprise, and she spoke before she could stop herself. 'Your parents are dead and buried in England.'
'I don't remember them.'
Gillian cocked her head to the side and stared at her sister. 'I think you do remember our father.'
'What is it you want from me?' she asked, a note of defiance creeping into her voice.
Gillian suddenly felt like weeping. 'You're my sister. I wanted to see you again.'
'But you want more than that, don't you?'
Her husband asked the question. Christen remembered her manners and quickly introduced him. His name was Manus.
Gillian lied when she told him she was pleased to meet him. Then she answered his question. 'Yes, I do want something more.'
Christen stiffened. 'I cannot and will not go back to England. My life is here, Gillian.'
'Is that what you're so afraid of? That I'll force you to go home with me? Oh, Christen, I would never ask that of you.'
The sincerity in her voice must have gotten through to Christen. She nodded to her husband and whispered something in his ear. Manus reluctantly agreed, and after bowing, he went inside and then carried out two chairs. Christen sat down and motioned for Gillian to do the same. Manus went back inside, and they were suddenly alone, two sisters who were strangers.
'Are you happy?' she asked, hoping to put Christen at ease by urging her to talk about her life with the MacPhersons.
'Yes, I'm very happy,' she answered. 'Manus and I have been married five years now, and soon we will welcome our first child.'
Gillian decided to get to the heart of the matter before her sister decided to end the reunion. Twice she'd glanced at the door.
'I only want to talk to you,' Gillian said.
'How did you find me?'
'One of the Sinclairs found out who you were and told Baron Alford. Do you remember him?'
She nodded. 'He's sent others in the past to try to find me and drag me back to England. So did the king. How did this soldier find out?'
'I don't know,' she replied.
'It seems strange to talk of this. My parents urged me to forget.'
'I need you to remember.'
'Why?'
'Our Uncle Morgan's life is at stake. Do you remember him?'
'No.'
'Christen, I swear to you that when I return to England, I will convince the baron and the king that you are dead. I give you my word. They won't hound you any longer.'
Christen's eyes widened. 'How will you make them believe you?'
'I'll find a way,' she assured her. 'But now I need you to try to remember that night our father died.'
'What makes you think I would remember what happened? I was very young.'
'You're three years older than I am,' Gillian pointed out. 'Even I remember being terrified.'
'I don't want to talk about that night. I've spent years trying to forget.'
Gillian tried everything she could think of to convince her sister to help her. She pleaded and begged, but it
