Chapter 10

10

" Y e kissed her?" Calder exclaimed, as Braden touched his lips softly where they still burned from Roselyn's kiss.

Braden nodded. And then she ran away, he added to himself, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, as he made the appropriate sign for his friend to understand.

Calder laughed. "Aye, I'm sure she did – the innocent English lady, the rose beset by a thorn. What a thing to do, Braden. She's a pretty lass, I know, but… she's nae going to be interested in ye, is she? Or were ye just havin' yer fun with her?" he asked.

I wasnae just havin' fun. She's different… but I cannae make her understand, can I? Perhaps I shouldnae have kissed her, Braden told himself, even as the memory was a pleasant one.

He shrugged. He had not intended to kiss Roselyn. But finding himself alone with her and hearing the things she said had aroused unexpected feelings in him. He had thought her bonnie, but there was more to her than that – a great deal more. She had come to understand him, even as it was difficult for him to admit what she had realized for herself.

The memory of his father's murder, the words of his mother, the trauma of that childhood moment… they were all reasons why he did not speak, and the reason he would continue to remain silent. But Roselyn had realized that, and, in her kind and gentle way she had shown her understanding. That had meant something to Braden, and the only way he had of expressing that was to kiss her.

"She'll nae look at ye the same way now. Did she kiss ye back? Or did she just flee in horror?" Calder asked.

Braden was uncertain. Certainly, Roselyn had fled, but through fear or embarrassment, Braden was uncertain. She had kissed him back, if only for a moment, and had not immediately pulled away. He hoped he had not upset her, and knowing they were to start their lessons that morning, he feared there could be an awkwardness between them, one he had not intended.

Why does it have to be so difficult? he asked himself, shaking his head, as Calder laughed again.

"Well, on yer head be it, Braden. She's a pretty lass, but I'd be wary of her if were ye. Daenae fall in love with someone ye'll lose. She'll go back to England and never give ye a second thought," Calder said carefully.

Braden hated it when Calder was right, but this was one of the rare instances. An English lass like her wouldn't settle for a brute like him, even if there was growing something between them. Also, Braden couldn't condemn her to spend a life with such a dangerous and difficult man, she deserved some English aristocrat that would treat her gently. Could it be that he was infatuated with her just because his title didn't mean much when she was around? Maybe if he stole another kiss he could make some sense of it all…No! That would only embarrass her more.

Also, he knew enough of the English to know that even a simple kiss could be Roselyn's ruination, were anyone in the ton to find out about it.

Braden had no intention of marrying anyone, not even Roselyn – he was sure she would certainly not desire it anyway. The kiss had been a moment of madness, even as the memory was a pleasant one. He would brush it aside, and hope Roselyn would do the same, too. But try as he might, Braden could not rid himself of the growing feelings he had for Roselyn, and as he waited for her that morning – their first lesson to take place after breakfast – he could not help but wonder what the kiss meant to her.

"Are ye all right, my lady? Ye look like ye've nae slept a wink," Elena said, as she helped Roselyn to get dressed.

Roselyn sighed. She had not slept, tossing and turning as she mulled over the kiss and what it could mean. Having returned to her chambers, she had got into bed, pulling the blankets around her, as her lips tingled at the memory of what had occurred. She did not know why the laird had kissed her – it was hardly appropriate, and yet…

"I was thinking something over. I've had a lot on my mind," Roselyn admitted.

She could not help but feel a sense of desire for a repetition of what had just happened. She had fled in embarrassment, unsure of her feelings. But as night had turned to dawn, and still she could not sleep, Roselyn had found herself not so much perturbed by Braden's kiss, as strangely enchanted by it. There had been a sense of romance there – the moonlit garden, the scent of the roses, his tender touch…

"Ye look very tired, that's all. Will ye nae rest a little longer?" Elena asked, but Roselyn shook her head.

She had work to do. Her first lesson with the laird was to take place in a few minutes, and she wanted to visit the castle library to find some books to help with his learning. Roselyn was still uncertain how she would teach Braden to speak, but she was determined to do so, and she would not let her feelings get in the way of the job she had to do.

"No, it's all right. I'll go to the castle library now, and then I'll go to find the laird. We're to have our first lesson this morning," Roselyn replied, and Elena smiled and nodded.

"I hope ye can teach him to speak, my lady. Tis' a noble thing ye're doing. We all hope to hear him speak," Elena said, and Roselyn smiled.

"I hope so, too," she replied, for if the laird could speak, perhaps she would understand what the kiss had meant…

Having readied herself, Roselyn went to the castle library. It was in the most ancient part of the keep, a large, vaulted hall with dusty shelves of books lining the walls, and a large hearth, above which was displayed the arms of the clan, along with numerous swords and pikes arranged in rounds.

There was no one there, and Roselyn hurried to choose several books, hoping the laird could be taught to read from them out loud. It was just one of the ways she intended to teach him and having found several suitable volumes – a book of poems, an illuminated psalmody, and a history of the Scottish clans – Roselyn made her way past the great hall and towards the laird's chambers.

"Roselyn, there ye are. I was just lookin' for ye. Do ye have everythin' ye need?" Kenna asked, appearing from the great hall as Roselyn hurried by.

Roselyn turned to her and nodded.

"I think so, yes. I'm sure your brother will soon take to reading, and then to talking, too," she said.

"I hope so – otherwise ye've had a wasted journey," she said, but Roselyn shook her head.

There was nothing wasted about her journey north, and having seen Scotland for herself, she had already fallen in love with its towering mountains, deep lochs, and lushly forested glens. She was glad to be there, and glad to have made the acquaintance of the laird, too.

"Not at all. I want to help. I'm certain I can," Roselyn replied, for she was still convinced it was something in the laird's past preventing him from speaking.

What it was or what it meant, remained a mystery, even as Roselyn hoped to discover the truth for herself.

"I'm certain ye can, too –I'll let ye get to yer lesson. Daenae let Braden distract ye – or Apollo, he'll be there, I'm sure," Kenna said, shaking her head, as she went off laughing to herself.

Roselyn heard Apollo long before she reached Braden's chambers. The dog was barking excitedly, and when the laird opened the door, Apollo leaped up at Roselyn, trying to lick her face as Braden pulled him away.

"Goodness, he's certainly enthusiastic, isn't he?" Roselyn exclaimed, smiling at Braden, who looked somewhat embarrassed.

She decided then to make no mention of the kiss. There was no reason to. It had been an unexpected moment for them both and could now be put in the past. Roselyn had a job to do, and she was pleased to see the laird had set up a table and chairs by the window, ready for their lesson.

"I trust you slept well, and I hope you're ready for our lesson," Roselyn said, sitting down at the table, as Braden sat opposite her.

She was trying to be his tutor, but there was something about the way he looked at her – the lingering memory of the kiss they had shared. She tried to dismiss the thought, even as she could not help but find him attractive. He was handsome and rugged, his beard now trimmed, his eyes bright…

"We should begin," she said, knowing she was blushing at her own thoughts, and imagining his, too.

He gave her a knowing smile and nodded. She set down the three books in front of him, uncertain as to his ability to read or write. She had brought parchment and a feather quill with ink. His signing was still unfamiliar to her, though there were certain obvious signs she could understand. But if the laird could write – even at a basic level – a dialogue could be maintained.

"I've brought some books – poetry, the psalms, and a history of the clans. It might be easier for you to read out loud, rather than speak. Like this," Roselyn said, taking the book of poems and opening it at a random page.

To her surprise – for she had been in a hurry and had not looked properly at the volume – they were love poems, and she blushed as she read the words, wondering if Braden could read them, too.

"Ah, well, perhaps if I read it to you, and you could try to read it back," she said, glancing at him, as he looked at her with interest.

The laird nodded.

"The minstrel played his tune of love, a minstrel's tune he played. It was a story of a love, a love that was forbade. But love is true when love is found, amidst the mountains green, and by the loch, and in the glen, a lover's tune is played," Roselyn read, pausing, and glancing up at Braden, who was listening with a keen ear.

He smiled at her with a twinkle in his eye, urging her to continue.

"The minstrel was a wandering bard, his song heard far and wide, he wandered with a lover's ear, to play a lover's tune. And when at length a maiden fair didst tarry by the brook, the minstrel sat down at her side, and played his lover's tune. Oh maid, sang he, the lover comes, to take thee far away, where love grows fair, and love is joy…" she read, feeling suddenly embarrassed, as she looked up to find Braden hanging on her every word.

She had not meant to dedicate the lesson to reading the romantic accounts of a bard and his lover's trail through the mountains. Instead, she pushed the text towards Braden, wondering if he could understand the words on the page.

"Won't you try to read it?" she asked, but Braden shook his head.

He looked down at the page, his eyes skimming across the printed letters. Did he understand what he was reading? Roselyn pointed to the first line.

"The minstrel played his tune of love, a minstrel's tune he played," she read, looking pointedly at Braden, and willing him to repeat the words.

But he looked up at her blankly. Roselyn realized it was going to be far harder than she had anticipated, and now she took a piece of parchment, dipped the quill in the ink and wrote the words on the page. Braden watched her, his head cocked to one side. She formed the letters in a large, sweeping style, handing the quill to him, in turn, and wondering if he would be able to write it as she had.

"Can you write the letters? Just copy them as I've done. If you can write them, perhaps then you can read them," Roselyn said.

Braden took the quill, and to Roselyn's immense surprise, he now began to write quickly and neatly on the page. She stared at him in astonishment, and now he turned the page to her to read.

"‘Is this why Kenna enjoyed your lessons so much? Because of the love poems?'" she read his words out loud, blushing, as Braden smirked.

Roselyn raised her eyebrows at him. She had assumed he could not read or write, and that was what she intended to teach him. But if he could write like this, he could read, too, and now she wondered how she could possibly go about teaching him to speak, if reading and writing were not the barrier she had assumed them to be.

"You can write? Oh, but that's wonderful. We can communicate far more easily than with signs," Roselyn exclaimed, urging him to write in response.

He scribbled again on the piece of parchment.

"Kenna thinks you can get me to speak. But it is not as easy as that," he wrote, and Roselyn nodded.

She had thought as much – the trauma of the past preventing him from speaking. Roselyn felt sorry for Braden, and now she urged him to write again.

"But I'm curious. You could speak when you were a child, couldn't you? When did you stop speaking?" she asked.

There was no point in holding back her questions. Roselyn was curious to know whether she had guessed correctly as to the impediment of his speech. He nodded, scribbling again on the parchment.

"When my father died," he wrote.

Roselyn was uncertain whether to push the matter further. There was so much she was curious about, and she wanted to know the truth, even as she felt it was not her place to ask.

"I'm so sorry about what happened to your father. He was murdered, wasn't he?" Roselyn asked, for she remembered Kenna telling her as much, though Roselyn's sister had not wanted to talk further about the matter than the merest details.

Braden nodded.

"I saw it," he wrote, and Roselyn's eyes grew wide and fearful.

"Oh, how dreadful for you. For a child to see such a thing. You must've been terrified, and your sister, too. I can't imagine…" Roselyn said, her words trailing off.

She imagined what it would be like to witness something so awful for herself. Roselyn had been blessed to grow up in a place of safety. Her parents had always taken care of them, and she had never known the threat of danger or feared for her life. But this was something quite different, and the thought of it was too terrible to comprehend.

"I don't like to think about it," Braden wrote, and Roselyn nodded.

This was the first true conversation they had had, and it felt strange to think they could now communicate, even as they had managed previously with signs.

"I understand, I won't ask anything more, it's…" she began, but before she could apologize further, Apollo began to bark viciously, and Braden caught him by the collar as the dog raised his hackles as footsteps approached the door.

Soon it opened, and a short man with gray hair and a long beard entered the room. He looked at Roselyn in surprise, even as Apollo continued barking loudly.

"Can ye nae control the beast, Braden?" the man chuckled.

He showed no deference to the laird, and Braden shushed Apollo, trying to keep him quiet.

The man turned and looked Roselyn up and down.

"Ye must be the tutor – the English lass?" he asked, and Roselyn nodded.

"I am Lady Roselyn Burton," Roselyn said. "And you are?"

"Donald Craig – uncle to the laird," the man said, glancing at Braden, who had now managed to calm Apollo.

"We were just in the middle of our lesson. So if you excuse us," Roselyn said, and Donald's eyes narrowed.

"Ye're tryin' to get him to speak? Aye, Kenna said as much. I doubt ye'll succeed. Braden hasnae spoken since he was a child. Ye can try, of course," he said, shaking his head.

Roselyn glanced at Braden and gave him a reassuring smile. She was patient, and she would do whatever it took to help him. They had made progress that morning – their first true conversation, and now Roselyn knew they could easily communicate whenever they wished.

The thought filled her with delight, and she was eager to discuss all manner of things with him. But the matter of his past was a difficult one, and Roselyn knew it would require tact if she was to learn more about the reasons he had stopped speaking.

"I intend to try," Roselyn replied.

She looked over at Donald. He was a man who appeared certain of his own authority, even as it was his nephew who held the title. She wondered where he had been, and what life would be like at the castle now he had returned. She would ask Elena about him – servants always knew the truth about their masters.

"Aye, well, we'll see. But Braden cannae sit here all day. He has work to do. Daenae ye, Braden?" Donald asked, and Braden nodded.

He glanced at Roselyn and smiled, and she returned his smile, hopeful of repeating their lesson the following morning.

"We can keep writing back and forth, and practicing our reading," Roselyn said, as Braden rose to his feet.

"Come now, Braden. We have much to discuss," Donald said, and nodding to Roselyn that she should leave, he opened the door for her.

Roselyn took up the books they had been using and left the room, glancing back at Braden.

Roselyn returned to her chambers without meeting anyone. Elena was there, having just made the bed, and she greeted Roselyn as she entered the room.

"I'm sorry, my lady, I was nae expectin' ye back so soon," she said, as Roselyn put down the books and went to look out of the window.

"I wasn't expecting to be back so soon, either. But the laird's uncle appeared, and it seemed they had business to discuss," Roselyn replied.

She was interested to see Elena's reaction to the mention of Donald. She made a face.

"Donald is very demanding of our laird. He knows there's much work to do so it's common for them to discuss business for hours," Elena said.

"Where's he been? It seems he's just returned. I find it odd to think he and Braden's mother are married," Roselyn said.

She would not dare voice such an opinion elsewhere, but with Elena, she felt it safe to share her own. Elena nodded.

"They wasted little time – they were married soon after the death of Braden's father. I agree, my lady – tis' a strange thing. Donald treats the laird as his own son, and lauds it over him as such, too. I think maybe he did it to protect his brother's family. Any laird could have tried to marry our lady and claim our clan if they wanted. At least that's what our lady says too" she replied, and Roselyn nodded.

"I wonder… I hope Braden… the laird… doesn't defer too readily to his uncle," Roselyn said.

"He's strong, my lady. The laird has an inner strength, even if outwardly he's silent," Elena said, and Roselyn nodded.

It was that inner strength she had had recognized and been attracted to. Braden was a remarkable man, and Roselyn knew she was only just beginning to discover what he was truly like. With the possibility of conversation now existing between them, she could only hope to know him better in the coming days and discover just what it was that held him back from speech.

I want to understand him, she thought to herself, the memory of their kiss lingering, and the hope of it occurring again foremost in her mind.