A Hellion at the Highland Court (The Highland Ladies #9) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,43

you tell me more aboot your mother?”

“Och, naught would make me happier than to stay here and tell you stories,” Brodie grinned. “My mother had hair as dark as a raven’s wing and eyes the color of the most aged whisky. She was a wee thing. Barely came to my chest by the time I was three-and-ten.”

“I suspect you were not a wee lad at three-and-ten,” Laurel pointed out.

“Mayhap not, but she could still skelp me even at the size I am now,” Brodie chortled. “When I was a wee bairn, she used to take me riding with her. I would sit before her on her gelding. I would beg her to go faster and faster. She indulged me to a point, reminding me that what I want and what I can do isn’t always the right thing to do. She refused to gallop with me, insisting she wouldn’t risk me falling. She reminded me that we might want to, and her horse could, but it wouldn’t be right. It was one of the most valuable lessons either of my parents taught me. But I loved those rides. She would laugh and make up stories aboot the fae she swore lived in the forest and our loch. She laughed a great deal back then.”

“She sounds wonderful,” Laurel said wistfully.

“She was. I wish she were alive for you to meet her. I think you would have found a kindred spirit,” Brodie mused.

“Will you tell me more?”

Brodie and Laurel settled onto her bed, lying beside one another as Brodie told her one story after another about his childhood. He told her aboot his cousin Kennan who married Laird Grant’s younger daughter. And Laurel mentioned she knew the laird’s other daughter Cairstine well, and that her friend Madeline recently married Fingal Grant, the laird’s heir. Brodie regaled her with tales of the mischief he and his younger brother Dominic got into when they were children. Laurel learned about Dominic and his wife, who awaited them at Kilchurn.

As the afternoon progressed, they moved onto stories about Laurel’s childhood. Brodie was wary to ask, unsure of what he would learn. But he discovered Laurel had a happy childhood until her parents sent her to court. He understood why leaving her idyllic life had been so traumatic once he learned about how involved she’d been with her clan and even how close she and Monty had once been. The more Brodie learned about the life Laurel had, the more resolved he was to offer her what she missed. He knew she was no longer a child, and she couldn’t have all the whimsy and carefree days she’d once had, but he could offer her the respect that she’d earned among her people. And he could offer her the chance to be at peace with herself. It was late afternoon when they sighed in unison before smiling. They could no longer avoid returning to the Privy Council chamber if Brodie were to review and sign the betrothal contracts.

Thirteen

Laurel’s toes curled within her boots as she sat among the other ladies-in-waiting. She’d been refused entry into the Privy Council chamber when she arrived on Brodie’s arm. Brodie had insisted that the chamberlain permit her to enter, and the pugnacious man nearly wet himself when Brodie leaned so far forward that their noses nearly met. But it had done neither of them any good when the chamberlain let them pass. King Robert shook his head and dismissed Laurel, phrasing his order as a suggestion that she join the queen. Brodie only conceded after he insisted either Laurel remained or that he be allowed to accompany her to the queen’s solar.

Brodie walked her to the door. When a guard pushed it open to a group of staring facing, Brodie kissed Laurel on the temple and gave her hand a squeeze. She’d squared her shoulders and took a step forward, but Brodie didn’t release her arm. She looked up at him, and he mouthed, “I’m proud of you. Be brave.” It was the infusion of courage Laurel needed to face the queen and her entourage. She’d crossed the chamber and found a seat in the center where she opened the book she’d been reading the day before. As the group tittered around her, she steeled herself for what would inevitably come. Her toes ached as she waited.

“Lady Laurel,” Queen Elizabeth addressed her. Laurel rose and approached the older woman, dropping into a deep curtsy until she noticed the queen’s fingers flicked