Page 67 of Never Kiss a Scot
His mouth fell open at the sight before him. Men and women were everywhere, removing rubble from the castle. Most of the stone structure was still standing, but anything that had been built of wood had vanished into ash. Joanna was calling out instructions, which Mr. Tate then repeated to the men in the midst of the stones of the castle, and Duncan passed along instructions to the women who were in charge of removing furniture. Brock recognized their faces. People from the village, his tenants, and even the children were there. Joanna noticed him and smiled. She gave a few more instructions before walking over.
“Dr. McKenzie has just arrived. I didn’t want to wake you until he was here. You looked so tired, husband.”
He tried to ignore the sting of shame he felt that he had slept through all of this. He had been unable to protect his wife last night, and now he was late to helping this morning.
“Tell Dr. McKenzie I’ll see him later. I should help move the stones.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Joanna growled at him, her face suddenly fierce as a Highland wolf. “Any heavy lifting could damage your back, and I will not allow it until the doctor has had a look at you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a heavy scowl. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or growl back at her.
“Ach, fine, woman. Bring me to the doctor,” he grumbled. But secretly he rather liked that she was bossing him about and caring for him. It was new, this feeling of being looked after, and while he didn’t like to feel weak, he definitely liked feelingloved.
Joanna grinned at his acquiescence and escorted him to Dr. McKenzie.
Half an hour later, he stood, stitched and bandaged, one arm in a sling to prevent the shoulder from moving while the cuts on his back healed. He wasn’t allowed to help at all. Which meant he was left to watch the others clear out the rubble from his home. But at least he was able to see Joanna take charge. She was as fierce as any Kincade chief to ever protect his clan in the long history of his family. His mother would have loved her.
He stilled as a flash of memory came back from the night before. He had heard his mother’s voice, telling him to jump. And Joanna had been waiting below with the wagon. He’d thought he’d been going mad, but perhaps he had just heard her calling to him from the window to jump?
Or perhaps…
Perhaps he had been so close to death, he had somehow stroked the invisible curtain that lay between the living and the dead, and his mother had come to his aid. She had saved him from beyond the grave, just as Joanna had saved him from certain death.
A faint prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck made him shudder. Perhaps the ghosts of his parents had finally been freed from this place. He wanted to think so. The ruins of his home felt different already. There wasn’t a darkness that seemed to edge out of the shadows any longer. Everything now was exposed to the sunlight, and that darkness was gone.
We can start over. All of us.
“Brock! Come look!” Joanna was standing with a group of women. They were all looking at several portraits that had been retrieved from the castle.
“These were stowed in a heavy oak cabinet that was drenched with rain. The wood didn’t catch fire, but it also didn’t let any water inside.” Joanna gestured for him to come closer. There were three portraits. His mother’s and two others. One he hadn’t seen in many years. His ancestors on his mother’s side, Ramsey and Torin, twin brothers who’d fought at Culloden; they were both posing beside their wives. The elder, Ramsey, had been Lord Kincade. Then when his family believed him killed in Culloden, the younger brother, Torin, took over as Lord Kincade.
“Who are they?” Joanna asked. “The paintings are very old.”
“Aye, nearly ninety years old. They were my mother’s family, the last true Kincades to rule over these lands. My mother was the last of her blood. Because she wasn’t born a son, they sought a husband for her, someone with some Kincade blood, however faint. It was how she met my father. He was a distant cousin.”
Brock stared at the two men and their wives. Proud, noble, pure of heart. They had both been captured after Culloden and sentenced to death. But a kind English soldier had spared one brother’s life, allowing him to work as a servant on his estate until it was safe to return to the Highlands. It was a story that someday he would tell Joanna, while they sat by the fire. It was a romantic tale, after all, one she would enjoy hearing. He turned his focus back to his wife, and she was watching him, a worried look in his eyes.
“Brock, we never had a chance last night to speak about your father and Ewan. I want to know the truth. What happened?”
He motioned for her to walk a little way away from his people so they could speak privately. She tucked her arm in his, and they moved fifty yards apart from the workers so that they might be alone. Only then did he speak.
“My father was always motivated by greed. When I was younger, I learned that he’d sold out his friends who were forming a rebellion against the Crown. He worked with an English spy and betrayed them to that man. They were all killed. Great men, the leaders of their clans—what remains of us, anyway, after Culloden.”
“And Ewan’s father was one of those men killed?”
Brock nodded, a bitter taste in his mouth as he thought of how Ewan must feel, knowing the Kincades had betrayed his family.
“When we came to rescue Rosalind from your brother, that same English spy who’d worked with my father convinced me that Lennox was harming my sister. He played me for a fool.”
“Who is he? This English spy?”
“A man named Hugo Waverly. I wanted to kill him, but your brother assured me that he would take care of him. I trust him. Your brother and his friends have a deeper reason for needing to handle that man, and I am glad to give them that responsibility. I want no more blood on my hands.”
He looked down at Joanna, his brows drawing together as he gazed at her. How could he tell her that all he wanted now was a life of love and joy with her? The last of the darkness that had followed him had burned up in the castle, and a new Kincade family was rising from the ashes. He and Joanna would be the start of it all.
“Are you well?” she asked, not wishing to embarrass him in front of his people.
“Aye. Very well indeed.” He crooked his finger, indicating that she should lean in. When she did, he cupped her face with one hand and kissed her. It was a kiss he would never forget, because it was a kiss that wasn’t just about physical passion. There was far more to it than that.
“I love you, lass,” he said, and he was rewarded with her bright-blue eyes widening.
