Читать книгу: «The MacKinloch Clan», страница 2

Chapter Two

Seven years earlier

‘For God’s sakes, Bram, keep your eyes upon your opponent!’ his father roared.

Bram blinked, staring at Malcolm MacPherson who was attempting to stab him in the training match. He balanced his footing, trying to determine where the dirk would slash next. Though both of them were sixteen, Malcolm had a stronger instinct for fighting.

Bram lunged left, only to be slashed from the right. The blade didn’t cut his skin, but skidded off the chainmail armour his father had made him wear.

He adjusted his position, trying again to find Malcolm’s weakness. For a time, he successfully defended himself, predicting where the next strike would come. He’d sparred often enough in the past, but not in front of so many people. He could feel the MacPherson chief watching him, as if determining his worth. His cheeks warmed, for he’d much rather fight a single opponent with no one staring.

As the fight wore on, his attention began drifting again. He moved out of habit, and from his peripheral vision, he spied a maiden walking towards them. It was Malcolm’s sister Nairna, who was only a year younger than himself. He’d seen her before, but he’d never really noticed her.

She wore a gown the colour of new spring grass, with an embroidered cap covering her long brown hair. The strands fell to her waist, and as she moved, he found himself entranced. He could sense her watching the fight.

He barely missed the blade that came slashing towards his throat. Bram threw himself to the ground, grunting when Malcolm rolled him over and pinned him.

‘You let yourself be distracted by a girl?’ his opponent taunted. ‘Or were you wanting to wear her skirts?’

The insult sent a haze of red surging through him. Bram released his rage, using the momentum to force Malcolm off him. In a ruthless motion, he twisted the young man’s wrist until he disarmed him, then lifted his dirk to Malcolm’s throat.

‘She’s your sister,’ he gritted out. ‘Show some respect.’ He held his position long enough to demonstrate that he’d held his own in this match, before rising and sheathing the blade.

He strode away, not bothering to speak with his father or the chief of Ballaloch. His father had brought him here to visit over a fortnight ago, and Bram didn’t know why. He wasn’t included in the conversations between the two chiefs, but he knew they were watching him.

He kept walking, not even looking where he was going, until a hand pressed a dripping cup of water into his palm. Bram stopped short and saw Nairna standing before him. For a brief moment, her eyes met his, before she released the cup and walked away.

The water was cold, quenching his thirst. He hadn’t even known how thirsty he was. Casting a glance backwards, he saw that Nairna had not brought a drink to her brother, or anyone else. Why?

He drained the cup, feeling his face warm. Shy and thickheaded when it came to girls, he preferred to remain unnoticed, fading into the background. He didn’t know how to talk to them, and, more often than not, he avoided them.

But it wasn’t only girls who made him uncomfortable. He rarely spoke and hated being around larger groups. Though his father had chastised him for his reticence, ordering him to talk with guests and behave as a future chief, Bram never knew quite what to say.

Fighting was easier. As long as he could wield a claymore or a dirk, no one cared about his inability to converse. And in the middle of a cattle raid, it was rare for anyone to be watching him. They were too busy saving their own necks.

He made his way back to his discarded tunic, where he’d left it by the wall. He set down the cup and saw something round inside the folds. Wrapped in cloth, it was still warm. Bram glanced around him, but saw no one nearby. Inside lay a small loaf of bread.

His stomach rumbled as he tore off a piece, devouring the food. Nothing had ever tasted so good, after he’d been training all morning.

Nairna had left it for him; he was sure of it. As he finished eating the bread, he wondered if she’d had another purpose. If, perhaps, she cared for him in that mysterious way that women did.

He couldn’t stop the incredulous lift of a smile, though he felt like a complete fool.

Over the next sennight, their secret courtship continued. One day, he would find that a torn tunic had been mended, while another time, he would reach into the fold of his cloak and find a small handful of fresh blackberries.

Since it wasn’t right to receive gifts without giving any in return, he began leaving Nairna pretty stones or dried flowers, outside her chamber door. Once, he’d traded for a crimson ribbon and she’d smiled the entire day she’d worn it twined in her brown hair.

He couldn’t understand why she’d chosen him as the subject of her affections. But the longer he stayed with her clan, the more she fascinated him. She never bothered him, never tried to speak with him directly. But the quiet kindnesses she showed had somehow made it impossible to stop thinking about her.

One afternoon, he found her huddled beneath a tree during a rainstorm. No one else was about, and from the basket she carried, it was clear she’d been collecting wild mushrooms.

Bram dismounted from his horse and untied his cloak, holding it out to her. ‘Here. You look cold.’

She shook her head. ‘No, it’s all right. The rain will stop soon.’

He ignored her and walked closer, holding it out. Nairna took one end over her shoulder and held out the other. ‘Share it with me.’

He didn’t want to. The idea of sitting beside a beautiful young woman made him uneasy. He’d likely embarrass himself by saying something foolish.

But then Nairna raised her green eyes to his. ‘Please.’

The softness in her voice reminded him of everything she’d done for him. Against his common sense, he sat beside her, leaning his back against the tree.

Nairna held out the cloak, drawing the end over his shoulders. ‘Do you mind?’ she whispered, huddling close to his side for warmth. He put his arm around her, keeping her wrapped in the woollen cloak. The rain was cool upon his face, and the cloak kept the worst of the weather away from them.

Had it been pouring down rain, he’d not have noticed. Every fibre of his attention was centred upon Nairna. Her head rested against his shoulder and she didn’t try to fill up the space with meaningless words. His heart hammered with nerves, but he reached for her hand.

‘My father came to speak to me this morning,’ Nairna murmured, her palm cool against his. Her voice sounded nervous, as though she were afraid to speak.

Bram waited for her to continue, as he traced the contours of her palm.

Nairna coloured, squeezing his hand as if to gather strength. ‘He said that … I am to be married.’

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

A hollow darkness invaded his mood and he couldn’t stop the feelings of anger and unfairness. Though he’d only known her a few weeks, he felt protective of Nairna. You’re mine, he wanted to growl. He’d skewer any man who tried to touch her.

‘You’re not getting married,’ he said tightly. ‘You’re too young.’

‘I’m fifteen,’ she admitted. ‘But you don’t understand. They want an alliance between—’

‘No.’ He cut her off, not wanting to hear it. A possessive jealousy ate him up inside, firing up his temper. He removed the cloak, letting her hold on to it while he paced. He needed to think, to make decisions.

But Nairna rose, walking close to him. She took his hands in hers, and her face reddened. ‘Bram, no. They want me to marry you.’

Shock struck him speechless and, slowly, the blood drained away from his anger. He took a breath, then another, trying to wrap his mind around her words.

‘It’s why they brought you here. So that we could … get to know one another.’

Married. To this girl, who would belong to him. The very thought made him dizzy, afraid that he wouldn’t please her. She didn’t truly know him. He wasn’t the sort of natural leader his younger brother Alex was, nor did he fight as well as his father wanted him to. He had too much to learn and, though he was sixteen, he’d felt the sting of mediocrity. If they married, he had no doubt at all that he’d disappoint her.

Nairna looked down at their linked hands. ‘Say something. If you don’t want to wed me, then I’ll talk to my father.’

He couldn’t find the right words. If he tried to speak right now, not a word would make sense. He reached out to her nape, sliding his hands into her hair.

Refusing to wed her would be the right thing to do, but he couldn’t relinquish the rigid need to be with her.

When dismay filled up her eyes, he leaned down and kissed her for the first time. He tasted the rain and her innocence, and when her mouth moved against his, a reckless desire raged through him.

He wanted her to be his, though she deserved better. And when her arms folded around his waist, her face pressed against his chest, he vowed he would do everything he could to be the husband she wanted.

Chapter Three

Present day

Bram spent the remainder of the night within the stable. He didn’t sleep, though he’d tried. His eyes burned with the aching need for rest, but slumber eluded him still. His conscience taunted him that he could never rest, not with Callum still a captive. And despite the fierce need, he couldn’t command himself to sleep.

He still heard the screams in his memory, the unthinkable images branded into his mind. Darkness held nothing but horror for him, and he supposed it was little wonder that he couldn’t trust himself to close his eyes.

Instead, he’d spent the hours thinking about his wife. The years had transformed her from a bright-eyed girl into a woman who took his breath away. Her kiss had melted away any ability to think clearly and it was a wonder he’d managed to leave her at all.

Even now, his hands were shaking at the thought of touching her. He’d wanted nothing more than to lay her down upon the bed and claim her body with his.

And though he had that right as her husband, she wasn’t ready to lie with him. Not when they were strangers to one another.

His father’s advice on their wedding night drifted into his mind. You’ll know what to do, Tavin had said. Trust your instincts.

If he’d surrendered to his instincts last night, he’d have pulled back the coverlet and used his mouth to taste every last inch of Nairna’s body. And wouldn’t that have shocked his innocent wife?

He wished to God that he’d had even a single night with her, but there’d been no time after he’d left the wedding. His eagerness to fight alongside his father had meant abandoning his new wife in their wedding bed. They’d never consummated the marriage, though their families hadn’t known it.

So many foolish mistakes.

Now, he understood why his father hadn’t wanted him to join in the battle. A hotheaded, untrained lad of sixteen wasn’t ready to face English soldiers. Tavin MacKinloch had shielded him, taking the sword that would have ended Bram’s life.

He’d fallen to his knees before his father’s body, not even caring when he’d been captured. The blood of his father had stained his hands and there was naught that would bring Tavin back again.

The only atonement was to keep the promise he’d made, to look after Callum. The back of his neck began to itch, as if the heavy iron band still encircled it. Bram swallowed hard, forcing away the dark memories.

His gaze settled upon his scarred wrists. No doubt Nairna would be horrified when she saw the rest of him. The more he thought of it, the more he wondered if he had any right to be here.

Did she still want him as her husband? She’d pushed him back last night and he didn’t know if it was shyness or an aversion to him. What if she’d gone on with her life, remembering him as nothing more than a mistake she’d made, years ago?

Bram closed his eyes, lowering his gaze to the ground. The desire for a life with Nairna went bone-deep, as if she could somehow bring him redemption.

Though he hadn’t slept at all, an anxious energy filled his veins with the need to be with her again, to convince himself that he hadn’t been dreaming.

Footsteps entered the stable, and Bram jerked to his feet, his hand reaching for a dagger that wasn’t there.

Hamish MacPherson, the chief of Ballaloch, stood at the doorway, his eldest son Malcolm behind him. Nairna was nowhere to be seen.

‘You didn’t have to sleep in the stables, lad,’ the chief chided. With a shrewd gaze, he inspected Bram from head to toe before gripping him in an embrace of welcome. ‘It’s good to see you again. By God, we all thought you were dead. Where were you all of these years?’

‘Cairnross,’ he answered. Raising his wrists, he revealed the scars of his years of captivity.

From the grim look on Hamish’s face, the man understood. ‘I won’t ask how you escaped. But you’re fortunate Harkirk’s men didn’t strike you down.’

Bram said nothing, for he remembered little of what had happened after he’d been hooded. One moment, he’d felt the cold metal of a blade against his throat, and the next, he’d opened his eyes to find Nairna standing over him.

The chief kept talking, and the words blended together. Something about them being glad he had returned and more words about Nairna. Bram tried to piece the conversation together, but hunger and lack of sleep made it difficult to concentrate.

A sober expression came over the chief’s face and he made the sign of the cross. ‘It’s a good thing that Iver MacDonnell is gone, God rest him. That would have made a mess of everything.’

Bram had no idea what Hamish was talking about, and at his blank look the chief cursed. ‘She didn’t tell you, did she?’

‘Tell me what?’

‘Nairna married the MacDonnell chief four years ago. He died last summer.’ Hamish shook his head, adding, ‘Though I suppose their marriage was never legal, since you were still alive.’ He rubbed the beard on his face, thinking to himself. ‘I’ll speak to Father Garrick about it and ask what’s to be done.’

Bram didn’t hear anything else Hamish said. A low buzzing filled his ears and he felt as if someone had knocked him to the ground.

She’d married someone else. And worse, she’d said nothing about it.

It grated upon Bram’s temper, the knowledge shredding apart his control. He’d wanted to believe Nairna had waited for him. That there had never been anyone else.

He’d been wrong.

Rage tore down any rational feelings. It made him wish the MacDonnell chief were still alive, just so Bram could kill him for touching what belonged to him. The bastard had claimed her virginity, and the longer he thought about it, the more Bram’s anger grew.

It took everything he had to keep his face impassive, burying the fury deep inside. When he saw Nairna, he fully intended to confront her about it.

‘I’m taking Nairna back with me,’ he told the chief.

‘You’ll want her dowry as well,’ Hamish commented, his mouth twisted into a dark smile. ‘Seeing as you left before you could collect it.’

God’s bones, he hadn’t even thought that far ahead. Right now, he was itching to talk to her, to learn what had happened during the past seven years. And why she’d married another man.

The coins weren’t important, but until he knew what the circumstances were at Glen Arrin, it was best to be prepared. ‘I’ll take the dowry with me when we go back.’

Hamish raised an eyebrow. ‘She won’t have as much as before. And she’ll lose her widow’s portion when her stepson learns that the marriage wasn’t a true one.’

Another disconcerting thought occurred to Bram. ‘Did she … have any bairns?’

‘There were no children from the union.’

Hamish looked uncomfortable and Bram let out the breath he’d been holding. He half-hoped it was because her husband was impotent. ‘Where is Nairna now?’

‘Inside her chamber. She sent us to find you.’ The chief reached out and touched his shoulder. ‘But you needn’t worry about the MacDonnells. I’ll talk to their chief and work out the details of Nairna’s property.’

‘She’s not returning to them,’ Bram swore. ‘They can keep whatever they want, but Nairna stays with me.’

The corners of Hamish’s mouth twitched. ‘I’m glad you’ve come back, Bram. For I’m thinking you’re just what Nairna needs right now.’

Nairna’s hands were buried in her trunk, while she sorted her stockings by colour. First, all the dark colours, then the lighter ones, and last, the heavy woollen stockings she wore only in the winter. She rolled them up into tight, neat balls, arranging them into rows. Though she’d already packed her belongings yesterday, this was the only thing she could do to keep her nerves under control.

Last night after Bram had left, she’d lain awake, thinking about him. It almost seemed as if she’d imagined him kissing her. For so long, she’d held on to memories of the past, but those visions were nothing like the man who had taken possession of her lips, seizing his right to touch her.

He’d kissed her until her body had responded, her skin growing heated at his rough mouth and tongue. Something unexpected had awakened inside her. It was as if he were coaxing her to surrender her tight control and bend to his will.

Iver had never kissed her like that.

Her cheeks burned with shame when she thought of the man she’d believed was her second husband. Had she sinned, by giving her body to him, believing they were lawfully wed? Was she meant to forget those married years, as if they’d never happened?

Her mind turned in circles until she didn’t know what to think anymore. She’d given her heart to Bram once, long ago. And though she was confused about what she felt for him, she couldn’t deny the fierce hope rising inside. He’d come for her, as soon as he’d been released. He wanted her, despite all the years that had passed.

It might be possible to resurrect the buried feelings. And perhaps … there was hope that Bram could fill her empty womb. Her heart softened, for she wasn’t ready to abandon the dream of having a child. Not yet.

Would he take her home with him now? As his wife, she would be expected to join him and live with the MacKinloch clan. Bram’s family lived further north and she’d only visited once. The men were hot-tempered fighters, fierce men whom the English feared. Her stomach tightened with uneasiness.

It will be all right, she reminded herself. There was no need to be anxious about it. Better to think of it as her second chance for a home and family of her own. And Bram would be there, at her side.

Nairna rose and went to the chest where she kept her belongings. Inside, she withdrew a faded crimson ribbon. The edges were frayed and worn.

She held it in her palm, as if she could grasp the lost years. The ground beneath her feet seemed to have split apart. No longer was she a widow, but, instead, a wife. And where Bram went, she had to follow.

She threaded the ribbon into her braids, tucking the strands around it.

The door opened and her maid Jenny interrupted. ‘They’ve found yer husband.’

Nairna let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing. ‘Good. He’ll need food, fresh clothing and a bath.’

Widowed and elderly, Jenny was like the mother Nairna had lost so many years ago. And though her gnarled hands made it hard for the woman to serve, Nairna didn’t have the heart to dismiss her.

‘I’ll see to it, then.’ The old woman paused at the entrance, her voice turning concerned. ‘Are ye glad to have him back, m’lady?’

‘I am, yes.’ Nairna ventured a smile, but truthfully she was worried.

‘Well, that’s good to hear. And at least ye won’t fret about the marriage bed, since ye already know what to expect.’ Her maid gave a warm smile before she left the chamber, closing the door behind her.

Nairna said nothing, for that wasn’t at all true. Although she was no longer a virgin, the idea of sharing a bed with Bram made her face flush with embarrassment. The only man whom she’d known intimately was Iver and, to be frank, there was nothing exciting about his lovemaking. She’d learned to lie still, let him do what he wished and that was that. It never lasted more than a few minutes anyway.

But last night, when Bram had kissed her, none of it was the same. He had looked upon her as though there were no other woman on this earth, as though he wanted to do nothing more than claim her, taking her body and teaching her pleasure. It made her wonder what it would be like to lie with him, to touch his warm skin and feel his body moving atop her own.

A rush of heat flooded through her and Nairna shivered, thinking of Bram’s shadowed face last night. The faint moonlight had revealed a strong jawline and a slightly crooked nose.

Dark brown hair, the colour of wet earth, fell past his shoulders. A beard hid his face, but it had felt silken against her mouth. And, saints above, his kiss could tempt a woman to hand over her very soul to the Devil.

The shy boy was gone, replaced by a fierce man she didn’t know. A man who had travelled through the gates of hell and emerged as a survivor.

‘When were you planning to tell me that you remarried?’

She screamed, bumping her hands against the lid of the trunk. Her heartbeat clattered inside her chest and she had wild thoughts of throwing a stocking before she realised it was only Bram.

‘You scared me,’ she breathed, touching her chest. ‘I didn’t hear you come inside.’

‘When did it happen?’ he demanded again, moving closer. There was anger carved into his features and she sensed that she had to tread carefully.

‘Three years after I thought you were dead.’ She held her ground until he stood directly in front of her. Nervous energy spread over her, but she held her ground. Not a word did he speak, as though he were fighting against his anger.

‘I didn’t know where you went last night,’ Nairna murmured. ‘You left so suddenly.’

‘I wasn’t certain you wanted me to stay.’ Bram’s eyes were weary and he studied her as if he didn’t quite know what to do or say. The more she studied him, the more physical needs she saw. Hunger, a few minor wounds and exhaustion permeated his bearing. Those, she could take care of. But there was something else beneath his expression, a haunted quality she couldn’t understand.

‘Did you care for him?’ he asked quietly. ‘The man you married.’

‘Iver was kind enough.’ She hid her shaking hands behind her back.

‘I suppose you wish I hadn’t come back.’ A grim look passed over his face and Bram folded his arms across his chest.

‘You’re wrong.’ Seeing him standing before her was a gift, one she’d never expected. It was as if she could blot out the years of her failures, starting over again. And the few memories she and Bram had had together had been good ones.

To change the subject, she said, ‘I’ve sent for food and a bath.’

Bram moved to stand in front of her. It was as if he were memorising her face, burning it into his mind. A blush warmed Nairna’s cheeks when he drew his thumb over her lips, his palm cupping her cheek.

Upon his wrists, she saw striated lines and a matching band around his throat. Nairna was caught between the desire to know everything and the stoic don’t-ask expression on Bram’s face. She didn’t know what she could say to put him at ease about the past, but it seemed best to say nothing.

He moved past her and rested his hands upon the edge of a table, his head leaning down. He looked as if he were in pain and she suspected he might need her help in the bath. Although it didn’t bother her to see a man unclothed, she didn’t know how Bram would feel about having her assist him.

Before she could ask, Jenny arrived with the food and clean clothing, which she set down while servants carried in the wooden tub, filling it with buckets of hot water.

‘Leave us,’ Bram ordered. The older woman hesitated before Nairna inclined her head and Jenny scuttled away.

When the door had closed, Bram regarded Nairna before touching the food. ‘Have you eaten?’

She nodded, startled that he would ask about her first. Then he turned to look at the meal Jenny had left. Though it wasn’t much—only some mutton stew and a few oat cakes—he studied it with hungry eyes, breathing in the scent as though he feared it might vanish.

‘How long has it been since you’ve eaten?’ she murmured, the truth suddenly dawning.

‘Two days,’ he admitted. He picked up the oat cake and dipped it in the stew, eating slowly as if to savour every mouthful. She half-expected him to attack the food, but instead he ate carefully and not nearly enough. He left most of the food unfinished, and when she started to clear it away, he stopped her. ‘Leave it. I’ll try to eat more later.’

He unlaced his tunic, eyeing the bath. Nairna wasn’t certain whether he wanted her to go or stay, but when he lifted the garment over his head, her breath caught in her throat.

Massive scars covered his chest, hundreds of red-and-white markings, as though they’d tried to cut the flesh from his body.

Oh, sweet God above. What had they done to him? Her stomach clenched at the injustice and she feared that the simple touch of warm water would cause him pain.

Seeing him like this made her want to take care of him again, to heal the physical darkness he’d suffered. How much torment had he endured in captivity? It frightened her to think of it.

Bram offered no explanation, but when he began to remove the rest of his clothing, Nairna turned away. She waited until she heard the slight splash of water before asking, ‘Do you want me to stay or go?’

He didn’t answer, so she ventured a glance. His knees were drawn up in the water, his back hunched over. She took a tentative step forwards, then another.

‘If you’d rather go, I wouldn’t blame you,’ he said at last. ‘I know what I must look like.’

She bit her lip hard, her ribs tight within her. There were no words to describe the scars carved upon his skin. ‘Tell me what happened.’

But again Bram gave no reply. Instead, he laid his head back against the tub and she moved towards him, offering a cake of soap.

He took it from her, seeming to understand her reluctance to touch him. The fear of hurting him made her nervous about assisting him in the bath. She reached for a drying cloth, placing it within his reach. An awkward silence descended between them, leaving Nairna with little to say or do.

She shouldn’t be this nervous. Heaven knew, she’d helped Iver in his bath dozens of times.

But this was Bram, a man she hadn’t seen in seven years. She didn’t know what would put him at ease, and the longer she waited, the more her apprehension attacked her self-confidence.

She reached out to touch his long dark hair, offering, ‘Do you want me to cut your hair?’

He caught her fingers. ‘It hasn’t been cut in seven years.’ His hand lingered upon hers and the wetness of his palm made her shiver.

‘I’ll take care of it for you, then.’ At least now she had something to do. Something that wouldn’t cause him pain.

His thumb rubbed slight circles against her palm. ‘I’m sorry, Nairna.’

There were years’ worth of apologies in those three words. She met his brown eyes with her own, and when she found herself leaning in, her heartbeat quickened. He was going to kiss her again, if she allowed it.

Her cheeks grew warm and it was hard to breathe. It had been so long since any man had given her affection. Iver had never bothered with it. She might as well have been a spare tunic instead of a wife.

Her fingers laced with his and she waited. Beneath the veiled desire in Bram’s eyes, she saw an unnamed emotion. Whether it was anger that she’d remarried or frustration of another kind, she couldn’t tell.

He let go of her hand and closed his eyes.

Nairna hid her disappointment and went to retrieve a sharp dagger to cut his hair. When she returned with the knife, Bram’s palms gripped the sides of the wooden tub. He steeled himself when she knelt beside him, as if he couldn’t bear to see the weapon.

Gently, she reached out to take a length of his hair, the locks limp against her palm. His mouth was a thin slash, his eyes staring straight ahead.

She hesitated, one hand holding his hair. ‘Would you rather I left it alone?’

‘No. But do it quickly.’ The abrupt words spurred her into action.

Nairna cut the length to his shoulders, slicing his hair with the dagger. She tried to keep the length even, wishing she had shears to do a better job of it. Her hands moved over his scalp, and only when she’d set the dagger aside did his tension seem to dissipate.

She helped him lower his head into the water, washing his hair. With the soap, she massaged his scalp, the warmth of the water rising up against her skin.

When he sat up, his hair rinsed, Bram’s eyes bored into hers. In the dark depths, she saw the same sort of hunger he’d had earlier. His bristled cheeks were wet, his mouth firm. Water slid down his face to his scarred back and the air grew heavier to breathe.

Nairna’s attention was drawn to his chest and she found it difficult to think clearly when he was looking at her that way. ‘Tell me what happened to you, after our wedding,’ she asked, hoping to distract him. ‘I know Glen Arrin was attacked.’

It had been both bewildering and humiliating. One moment, she’d been celebrating her wedding, and the next, her bridegroom had fled with his father and kinsmen.

‘When we arrived home, it was under siege. The English set fire to Glen Arrin and slaughtered our clansmen. All because my father wouldn’t pledge his allegiance to Longshanks,’ Bram said. His mouth tightened with distaste at the English king’s nickname.