Posted by shirley on July 12, 2000 at 02:37:23:

Hi, again! This is ch3 in an adaptation of Joan Johnston’s The Bodyguard, please email me with any comments or ideas on how to fix any mistakes, again this is my
first fan fic so I need help!!!! My email address is [email protected], Again thanx to everyone who has written that they are enjoying this.
 

The crackling straw had woken her just in time to defend her virtue, but Brenn was frightened by the man’s boldness. He had broken into her house in the dead of
night for one purpose-to rape her, to impregnate her, and thus win her consent to be his wife. It was a time-honored wife of acquiring a Scottish bride.

Easy, lass, she reminded herself. You needna panic. You’ve the means of protecting yourself. The dastard willna succeed.

She had been taught by her father to defend herself as well as any man. Butt Brenn was all too aware, as she lay in her bed, clutching her grandfather’s claymore to
her chest and listening to the harsh, hushed breaths of the intruder, that she was merely a woman.

Her hands shook beneath the covers, and a trickle of sweat stole down between her breasts, despite the cold that created fog like dragon’s breath every time she
exhaled.

Brenn clutched the ancient broadsword tighter, the copper taste of fear in her mouth, wondering if she would survive the coming battle. She had no intention of giving
anything without a fight. not the castle, not the land, and most certainly not herself.

“Take that ye bandit, ye robber, ye rogue! Out. Get out!”

In the gray, predawn light Brenn sat up in bed, the sword clasped tight in her hand. She watched with astonishment as her old nurse batted her broom at AJ
MacDougal, who was cowering toward the door of the small cottage. Suddenly she found herself giggling as much from relief as from the ridiculousness of the
situation.

“Ruby, let him be,” Brenn said, grinning. “You’ve made your point.”

“I’ll leave no such refuse in the house,” the old woman said, intent on forcing AJ from the cottage.

“You need a husband, Brenda Barrett,” AJ shouted angrily, his large hands held over his head to protect himself from the old woman’s broom. “I’m as good a man
as any.”

Brenn’s grin disappeared as she rose from her bed, for the first time revealing the sword in her hand. She watched AJ’s eyes go wide as she grasped the claymore
menacingly in both hands.

“What do you plan to do with that?” he demanded.

“Spit you with it.”

AJ began backing out the door. “You’ll get your comeuppance, lass. If not me, some other man will claim your bed. ’Tisna right for a woman to lead men.”

“Whether ’tis right or no, I am chief. Go home, AJ. The choice of husband is mine, and I will never chose you.”

“I am the best man, lass. And I am not the only one who thinks to make up your mind for you,” he said ominously. “ ’Tis time to choose.”

“Out, AJ. Get out,” Brenn said.

As Ruby latched the cottage door behind the man, she said, “AJ has a point. Though this was no right way to make it.”

“Not you, too, Ruby,” Brenn said with a groan as she backed up far enough to slump onto the bench before the fire. She was grateful for the large shirt - her father’s
shirt- that hid her knocking knees. She doubted whether AJ would have been so quick to leave is he had known how frightened she was. “Father named me The
Barrett. I have the right to be the chief,” she told her nurse.

“Having the right isna the same as it being right my darling Brenn,” Ruby said, crossing to take the heavy claymore from Brenn’s shaking hands. Lacking the strength
to lift it onto the brackets over the fireplace where it normally hung, she leaned it against the stone hearth.

“Ye should’ve expected it,” Ruby scolded. “Ye didna have to be chief, Brenn. Ye could’ve refused.”

Brenn sighed. Even Ruby did not know the truth. She did not want the job; she had not been able to refuse it. “I know everything I need to know to be the chief.”

“Except how to be a man,” Ruby retorted. “Ye are as God made ye, Brenn. A woman. ’Tis best ye pick a man to lead and marry him.”

Brenn’s chin jutted. “I will prove my worth to them. It will simply take time.”

But time was running out.

Ruby put the broom to use again, this time sweeping the straw from the hard-packed dirt floor in Brenn’s bedroom. She opened the cottage door to greet the rising
sun as she brushed the last evidence of Brenn’s fear out the door. “They think ye’re bringing trouble on their heads by going to the English courts. Even yer father
didna dare to claim the castle,” she pointed out. “ ’Tis folly, plan and simple. no good can come of it.”

“ ’Tis mine.”

“Hush, child,” Ruby said. “Twasna cowardice that kept The Barrett silent before ye, but wisdom of a kind that comes with age and knowledge of the enemy.”

“Aye. The enemy. The English. I hate them!”
“ ‘Twas yer own clansmen offered ye harm this day, lass, more’s the pity.” Ruby sat down the broom and grasped Brenn’s hands between her gnarled fingers.
“Look at ye, still shaking child. ’Tis only a matter of time before they discover the truth.”

It was difficult to meet the wise old woman’s gaze. Tough Ruby’s skin was stretched tight over her facial bones by age, her gray eyes were still bright and sharp, and
shw saw far more than Kitt wished. “What truth is that?”

“Dinna bother denying it lass. I’ve seen ye pretending, but we both know ‘tis only your pride that willna let ye admit-”

“Admit what?” Brenn said in exasperation, yanking her hands free and pulling her feet up onto the bench to hug them to her chest.

“Ye’re scared down to your toenails. When yer father-God rest his soul-was here to protect ye, I didna speak my mind. But I canna keep silent now. Ye need help.
Ye need-”

“I willna marry one of them!” Brenn snapped.

“Hush and listen,” the old woman commanded. “ ’Tis time ye ye-”

Brenn shoved herself up and bounded toward the front door, her hands covering her ears. “I willna listen-”

“Choose yourself a gille-coise.”

Brenn whirled and stared. “A bodygaurd? You think i should choose a bodyguard?”

“Why not?” Ruby retorted. “ ‘Twould solve so many problems.”

Before Culloden, the clan chieftain would have had a household that contained his courtiers, a bard and a seneschal, a piper and a sword-bearer, a quartermaster, a
cup-bearer, a warder, and, of course, a personal bodyguard who stood fully armed behind the chair of his master.

Those days were gone. The existence of such a household presumed the laird had a castle in which to house them. Castle Barrett had become Jacks Hall, and the
chief’s advisors-and the chief herself-now lived in simple stone-and-thatch cottages on land surrounding the castle, praying exorbitant rents to the detestable Duke of
Jacks, sixth of that name.

Brenn found the suggestion tempting. If only there were some man she could trust. She shook her head. “Whoever I choose as my bodyguard would likely open the
door to his friends and welcome them in.”

“ ‘Tis worth considering,” Ruby said. “ ‘Twould mean the end of night raids on yer bed, at least. And a body could get some sleep.”

Brenn laughed. “I see. I need a bodygaurd so you can get a full night’s rest.”

Another knock on the door set Brenn’s heart to galloping again. She glanced at Ruby, who stared at the door in alarm.

“Not another one,” Brenn snapped, grabbing the basket-hilted claymore n both hands. “Two in one night?”

Posted by shirley on July 15, 2000 at 15:25:09:

Hi, again! This is ch4 in an adaptation of Joan Johnston’s The Bodyguard, please email me with any comments or ideas on how to fix any mistakes, again this is my
first fan fic so I need help!!!! My email address is [email protected], And thanx to Vickie, LaQuana, Victoria L., Cheri, Debbie:), Janice, Marti, Lindsay,
Mimi2, No7Shamrock, Amy, Roseanne, and anyone else who wrote to me about the story (if i didnt mention u by name im soooooooooooooo sorry didnt mean to
i swear) I hope you enjoy it!
 

Ruby crossed to the window and peered out. “Hold, child. “Tis only Dara Simpson, Patrick’s wife.”

Brenn breathed a sigh of relief and lifted the broad-sword as though to set it back in its resting place. She suddenly began to tremble again. Her arms felt so weak
she could barely hold the weight of the weapon.

What’s wrong with me?

Brenn set the claymore beside the hearth as though that was what she had intended all along and wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her
father’s shirt.

She stared into the fireplace, feeling the acid burn in the pit of her stomach. It was not her kinsmen she feared, but the revenge she must take on the Duke of Jacks.
Marriage to her bitterest enemy. That was the crux of her father’s plan. Brenn wasn’t sure she could go through with it. She was afraid that in the end she would fail
him...and her clan.

Brenn took a shuddery breath and let it out. I will do what I must, Father. Somehow.

She went to the door and opened it.

“Come in, Dara,” she said with a hard-won smile, reaching for Dara’s hand and drawing her inside. “Sit and have a cup of tea.”

“I canna stay,” Dara said, stepping inside and curtsying. She adjusted the woolen arisard around her shoulders and clutched it beneath her chin, but she was visibly
shivering. “Patrick would beat me senseless if he knew I’d come,” she whispered. “But I dinna see who else I can ask for help. You’re The Barrett, whether Patrick
likes it or no.”

“Come sit by the fire,” Brenn urged, pleased that at least Dara had sought her counsel. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

“We canna afford to pay the rent and feed the wee ones both. So Patrick has taken to fishing the duke’s streams and hunting his forest,” Dara blurted out.

Ruby, who was heating a pot of water for tea, crossed herself and muttered a prayer.

“I’m afraid for him,” Dara said, her eyes filling with tears. “But I canna let my bairns go hungry, can I?”

Brenn stared grimly at the despairing woman sitting before her. Dara was not so different from the rest of the clan. They all suffered terribly from rents that had been
raised thrice in the past year.

“ ‘Tis only a matter of time before Patrick is caught,” Dara continued. “He’ll be transported...or worse. And what will become of my wee bairns then?”

Brenn’s stomach clenched with memories of what had happened to Stone. She wanted to tell Dara she had already taken the first steps toward saving them all, but
she could not take the chance that sword of what she intended would spread to the others.

“I’ll speak with the duke’s steward,” Brenn said, laying a comforting hand on Dara’s shoulder. “Surely Mr. Cassadine will give you a temporary reprieve on the
rents, at least until the crops are harvested.”

“Patrick’s already asked Mr. Cassadine said no.”

Brenn felt the know growing in her stomach. “Perhaps I can be more persuasive.”

“Please help us,” Dara begged. “Please.”

“I’ll do what I can. In the meantime, tell Patrick I forbid him to hunt or fish on the duke’s property.”

At the word forbid Ruby grunted, but Brenda shot her a look that silenced her.

“What shall i feed my bairns?”

“Ruby will give you some smoked haddock and some leeks and carrots and a plum cake she made yesterday,” Brenn said. But as she watched Ruby gather the
meager offerings in a basket for the woman to carry home, Brenn realized it would not be enough to keep Dara’s five children fed for very long.

“Have faith,” she told the man. “I will find a way to make all well.”

Dara looked doubtful and grateful at the same time. She bobbed a curtsy and said, “Thank you, Lady Brenda.”

As Brenn closed the door behind Dara, she turned, took one look at Ruby’s expression and said “Spit it out.”

“ ’Tisna yer place to forbid a man to feed his family.”

“Patrick will surely be caught, Ruby. If he’s caught, ’tis transportation to Australia for sure. Then what will become of Dara’s bairns? ’Twas good advice I gave
her.”

“Except it comes from a woman,” Ruby said.

“What difference does that make?”

“Patrick Simpson must be shamed enough that he canna feed his family. Think what he will feel when his wife tells him ye’ve forbidden him to steal what he canna
earn. ’Tis likely to send him right back out the door.”

“I canna help if he acts the fool.”

“A poor man hasna much but his pride, Brenn. Will ye take that too?”

“Pride willna do him much good if he’s dead!”

Ruby held her tongue, but Brenn felt the older woman’s censure. She wished she could confide in Ruby and seek comfort and advice. but her father had warned her
not to tell the old nurse anything. She had never felt so alone.

Brenn dressed herself quickly in a cambric dress and her polished leather half boots and wrapped herself in a plaid woolen shawl against the cold of the June
morning. She sat near the fire while Ruby brushed the tangles from her waist-length black hair before plaiting it and pinning it at her crown. The curls refused to be
tamed and several escaped at her temples and nape.

She had risen to leave when Ruby said, “Sit and eat, Brenn. ’Tis a long walk to Jacks Hall.”

The concerned look on Ruby’s face had her sitting again to eat an oatmeal bannock and drink a cup of tea before she left the cottage.

It was mid-morning by the time she arrived at the entrance to the castle, hot and sweaty from the vigorous trek along the rutted dirt road. She had taken off her
shawl, knotting it around her hip. She hailed several crofters working in the wheat fields outside the castle, then crossed the drawbridge that was always down over
the draine moat and made her way to the double wooden doors that led into the keep.

In medieval days, the stone castle had guarded against raiders from ships along the coast. She could hear the waves crashing against the rocks at the base of the cliff
and smell the tang of salt from the sea. Before she knocked on the thick wooden door, Brenn unknotted the shawl from her waist and resettled the Barrett plaid
around her shoulders to add what consequence she could to her appearance.

A butler answered the door dressed in red-and-black livery trimmed in gold braid, the cost of which would have fed Dara and Patrick’s children for a year.

“Servants to the back door.”

His disdainful order in clipped English made her temper flare. She put the flat of her palms on the door before he could shut it. “I am no servant, sir. As you would
know if you had lived here long.”

The butler raised a supercilious brow as he looked her up and down. “What is your business, miss?”

“Tell Mr. Cassadine that The Barrett is here to see him.”

The butler looked dubious. “The Barrett?”

She took advantage of his lax pose to push the door farther open and to step inside the castle. “I will wait here in the main hall,” she said firmly. “While you tell Mr.
Cassadine I am here.”

The butler hesitated, then did as she bid.

Brenn took advantage of the opportunity to look around. Her father had described Castle Barrett to her many times, from tales his mother had told him of the years
she had lived there. But her first glimpse of the inside revealed a sort of grandeur she had not expected.

The Great Hall had a forty-foot-high vaulted ceiling and a mammoth stone fireplace guarded by two chain-mail figures. large tapestries and portraits of the duke’s
ancestors decorated the walls. Through the door to the drawing room she could see the carved lion’s paw legs on a sofa covered with a red velvet so rich she ached
to touch it.

The butler returned moments later, out of breath and agitated. “Mr. Cassadine is too upset to see you now,” the man said. “There’s been an accident, a terrible
tragedy.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. What’s happened?” Brenn asked.

“It’s his grace, miss. His ship was caught in last night’s storm and broke up on the rocks. The duke’s drowned!”
end chapter 4