Mary Reed McCall (15 page)

A branch snapped back beneath Colin’s hand, spraying him with icy drops of water as he urged his mount faster through the glen. He cursed and wiped his face. He needed to think on something else. Already his belly twisted as if it was infested with a thousand burning snakes.

His mind turned to Morgana. If nothing else, she would be grateful for the confirmation of her vision. It would be proof that her powers were strengthening. And when Morgana was feeling grateful…

Colin’s lips edged upward in a smile. Morgana’s inventiveness would be just the relief he needed. She knew how to drive away the bitterness, the rage that consumed him.
A two days’ ride
. In just two days, he’d be back at Morgana’s side—and in her bed. Then he’d help her to plot their next move.

And when all was in place, they’d spring the trap and seek vengeance against those cursed few who thought to keep them from the power that had always been their destiny.

“I
t’s your own fault, you know. You shouldn’t have done it.”

Aileana twisted away from the chest she was trying to drag across the floor and scowled at Bridgid. “Nay, it’s
his
damnable stubbornness that’s to blame.” She tugged at the corner of the massive case, but it remained unyielding. “He’s worse than a bairn, wailing at the tiniest bit of change.”

Bridgid shook her head and then came over to help her pull the chest into place. “Duncan’s a bit peculiar about his things. More so since the Tower.” She brushed a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead. “And you know very well that he allows nothing to be altered in his chamber without his permission.”

Aileana rolled her gaze skyward and sat hard on the chest’s curved lid. “I was only thinking to make the room more welcoming. The way he’s crammed all of
the furniture against the walls…why it’s as ugly as it’s unnatural.”

“Likely it stems from his years of imprisonment. Look,” Bridgid gestured. “Windows, candles, carpets, draperies…more chests and cabinets than four men could use.” She tramped over to straighten the bed. “He craves the comforts denied him so long.” She nodded, seeming satisfied with her explanation.

“Tower or no, he didn’t need to use such language upon me,” Aileana mumbled. “It was as if he thought that I’d changed his room solely to plague him. He wouldn’t even listen to my explanation.”

“Aye, well after you put those field mice in his boots, his temper was short. You should have waited a few more days to let him recover before you tried another one of your tricks.”

Aileana stopped so quickly that her shoes slid on the floor.

Bridgid cast her a sideways glance. “Aye, missy, I know it’s you who’s been playing all those jests on Duncan. You don’t need to pretend innocence with me.”

Aileana’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Bridgid’s expression was playful as she folded a thickly furred deerskin and tucked it into the corner. “Don’t fear—I don’t think there’s any harm in it. Duncan needs a bit of stirring up, if you ask me. It won’t hurt him.” She stopped to frown at Aileana. “Unless you be trying more of those herbs on him. I wasn’t very happy to learn of that, I’ll be telling you.”

Aileana’s shock melted to shame, and she stuttered, “I never meant to cause him any serious hurt by it, I swear. I only—that is, we—”

“Ach, well, your secret is safe with me.” Bridgid looked up over her shoulder. “And with Kinnon, of course.”

“Kinnon?” Aileana drowned in a new wave of embarrassment.

“Oh, aye. It was he who told me. Though I suspected as much myself.” She puffed over and sat next to Aileana, taking her hand in her own. “Allow an old woman her say, missy. Rattle the MacRae as you like, but leave the herbs and such out of your plans.” She shook her head and sighed. “I wouldn’t have him feeling poorly again.” Then she patted Aileana’s hand and stood. “Come now. We’ve no more time to dawdle. The lot of them down below expect another feast tonight. I’ve a dozen geese to baste, puddings to stew, and loaves to bake.”

Through her tightened throat, Aileana managed to mumble, “But I’m not allowed to help you with the cooking anymore.”

“Ach, I forgot.”

Aileana looked away. Just a few hours ago she’d been so sure of herself and the little revenges she’d been taking against Duncan. Each action had seemed to restore her wounded dignity a bit more. But now everything seemed more muddled.

“Well,” Bridgid shook her head as she gathered her arms full of more blankets, “You can come with me nonetheless. You’ve no cause to be wasting time in this—”

A clamor rose from the courtyard, followed by shouts and hooting. Aileana and Bridgid went to one of the windows and looked below. Several boys waved their arms and bellowed as they raced in circles. “The MacKenzie himself—he’s arrived! The MacKenzie’s here!” The lads yelled so loudly that anyone who hadn’t heard the call must needs be deaf.

Bridgid put down the blankets and planted her strong
hands on her hips. “This changes everything, it does. Duncan will not be too pleased, I think.”

Aileana peered out the window again to see several horsemen ride through the gate. “Why?”

The rider in the lead made an impressive figure; his white hair flowed to blend with a thick beard, and his legs were muscular beneath the distinctive plaid covering him. With the wind snapping his cloak, he appeared regal and in command.

Moving toward the door, Bridgid answered, “Duncan will chafe at having to entertain the MacKenzie. Though his clan is always welcome here, Duncan doesn’t feel kindly toward or respect the chief.”

“Is he unfit to lead, then?” Aileana stole another glance out of the window. The white-haired man looked distinguished enough. He dismounted and began striding toward the entrance.

“Nay, I wouldn’t go that far. And yet Duncan has cause enough against him. It was on the MacKenzie’s orders that an army was not raised when Duncan was sold to the English. The chief could have gone to war for him, but he did nothing.”

“But the MacKenzie couldn’t have possibly attacked England. It would have been suicide.”

“He wasn’t supposed to attack England.” A heavy silence fell between them, and when Bridgid broke it, her voice sounded strange. “He was supposed to attack your clan.”

“Oh.” For the second time in less than a quarter hour, unpleasant surprise dulled Aileana’s ability to speak.

Bridgid continued, “As Chief of Kintail, the MacKenzie should have demanded vengeance for the crimes committed against us. But he chose peace over right.” Pursing her lips, she added, “In his favor, he took in
those of us who survived after the ambush. He even gave some men for Kinnon to take with him when he tried to free Duncan from the Tower. But he wouldn’t raise a force against your people.”

“I see.” Aileana’s back stiffened. “I suppose that gives Duncan another reason to hate me.”

“Nay, missy. He doesn’t blame you for that,” Bridgid said in a kinder tone. “Duncan is just. He always has been.”

“Then I would not want to see him when he’s behaving
unjustly
.”

Bridgid was quiet for a moment. She sighed. “I cannot stay longer to talk about this with you right now. But come and I’ll set you to some tasks outside the kitchens to get your mind off what troubles you.” She gave a gentle smile. “Come.”

Feeling the weight of her shameful position at Eilean Donan settle into her chest once more, Aileana nodded and followed. As she walked alongside the
bailie
, she bit her lip. None of this was working as she’d hoped.

It seemed that it was going to take something much greater than these little revenges she’d plotted against Duncan to ease the ache that grew in her heart every time she thought about him…and somehow she doubted that she was ever going to find the means she sought.

The door blew open. Duncan waited a few seconds before pushing himself to his feet. He stood to face the Chief of Kintail reluctantly, but he couldn’t risk open insult, not when his clan might suffer the consequences of his insolence.

John MacKenzie, Chief of Kintail, strode into the hall, flanked by four other MacKenzies in full regalia.
He stopped ten paces from Duncan. His wide stance exuded pride and confidence, yet his expression revealed a hint of uncertainty.

“It’s good to see you prospering, Duncan MacRae.” He spoke loudly, his words echoing in the silence of the great hall.

Duncan clenched his jaw before tilting his head in greeting. “I’m well enough. Though it’s safe to say that the English did all that they could to ensure otherwise.”

“Aye, well, the English are dogs.”

“Dogs with a bite,” Duncan rejoined quietly, fisting his ruined hand within its gauntlet.

Kinnon appeared out of nowhere, stepping up behind Duncan and laying his hand on his shoulder. “My cousin is too modest to admit that he fought the bastards in body and in spirit, for which they repaid him in cowardly fashion. But we survived, did we not, Duncan?” Kinnon slapped him on the back and smiled, before raising his cup. “Enough talk of our enemies, now. Come, share some warmed ale and a meal with us on this cold day!”

The MacKenzie nodded. “Aye, a cup would be most welcome after our journey.” He moved to a table at Kinnon’s gesture. Duncan flicked his gaze to a serving boy, directing him to bring the ale. Then he too sat.

The chief took his place at the seat of honor next to Duncan, refraining from talking while a trencher of venison, turnip, and bread were placed before him. He dug into the repast with relish, slowing only when he’d finished a good portion of the food.

“I would have come to greet your return to Eilean Donan earlier, MacRae, but for the skirmishes these past months with the Buchanans. The sorry bunch of them keep attacking Brahan Castle.”

“So you still lead raids against other clans, then?” Duncan murmured the statement half as a question, and the chief paused with a finger full of venison part way to his mouth.

Kinnon threw Duncan a warning glance, but Duncan ignored him and tossed back the remainder of his ale.

Finally, the chief put the meat in his mouth and chewed slowly. After he’d swallowed, he spoke. “Aye. I lead attacks—on those who threaten the welfare of Highland peace. If another way is available, I take that over warfare. It is less costly in both men and time.”

Duncan toyed with his empty cup, twirling it between his fingers. “And what of leaving a matter unsettled—leaving a debt unpaid? Are you saying you’ve never allowed the likes of that?”

“Nay, never.” The chief’s eyes were steely, his gaze unwavering. “And I’m not daft, either. I heard about your raid two months past on the MacDonells. I cannot condone it, though I understand your feelings in the matter.”

Then why did you not retaliate against them for me when I was helpless in the Tower?
The question burned in Duncan’s brain, but he didn’t voice it.

The MacKenzie sat back and picked a shred of meat from his teeth. “It’s time now to put aside your thirst for vengeance, Duncan. The MacDonells themselves punished those who wronged you; justice was served many years ago.”

“Not all of the guilty were punished.”

The MacKenzie leaned forward. “Morgana MacDonell was sent into banishment to die, along with two score of her clan.” The chief raised one brow. “If I don’t forget myself, your own brother Colin was made to join them for his part in the plot.” The chief drank and wiped
his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let the past go, man.”

Duncan stared into his cup, gritting his teeth until he thought they would crack. He could say no more. His duty to the Chief prevented it. Yet knowing that the MacKenzie was willing to sit here at his table and defend his lack of action against the MacDonells all those years ago galled him.

The corrosion of such dark emotions seemed strange to Duncan after the relative peace of these last weeks. But it was easily recalled in the face of the MacKenzie’s arrogance. Duncan felt a swelling of the same tension, the same savage rage that he’d experienced before his raid to steal back the
Ealach
. Clenching his fist round his cup, Duncan let the feeling build, let it rise, until it blurred his vision beneath a veil of red.

At that moment his gaze fell upon Aileana. She stood in one corner of the great hall, partly obscured by the others who had come out to see the Chief of Kintail. But she hung back, almost as if she was afraid to be seen. At that moment a wicked thought took hold in Duncan’s mind. An idea to toy with the MacKenzie just as the man had played him for a fool. Duncan latched onto it in the heat of his rage, clinging to it, nurturing it until it emerged whole and perfect. Then he swung his gaze to the MacKenzie and smiled.

“I almost forgot. You’ve not been introduced to someone very important. Someone that I’m sure you’ll be interested in meeting.” Lifting his arm, Duncan stood and gestured to Aileana. “Come, lass,” he called to her across the hall. “The Chief of Kintail has arrived, and it would warm his heart to greet one of those fortunate enough to benefit from his generosity thirteen years ago.”

“Duncan,” Kinnon said quietly, trying to pull him back into his seat, “Don’t do this. Think on it, man, before it’s too late.”

“Nay,” Duncan growled under his breath. He faced the chief again, watching him closely as Aileana stepped into the light that filled the area around the table.

Though the MacKenzie did not gasp aloud, the blood seemed to drain from his cheeks. “What by all the fires of hell is this, MacRae?” he whispered. He could not seem to tear his gaze from Aileana’s face, as he set down his cup. “Why chide me when you yourself have resurrected the serpent and brought her to your bosom?”

Duncan watched the flush spread across Aileana’s face. He felt a brief flash of remorse, but he doused it. “It’s not as you think, MacKenzie.” Duncan stood again, pulling Aileana to him. Though she stiffened, her resistance was no match for his temper.

Reaching out, he stroked a tendril of soft, fiery hair that curled over her shoulder. “This is not the sorceress Morgana. It is her younger sister, the fair Aileana.”

The MacKenzie stared. Then he seemed to gain control of himself. Stepping forward, he nodded to her. “Forgive me, lady, for my lack of manners. They aren’t usually so remiss, but for a moment, I thought I was seeing a ghost.”

“It is of no matter, my lord,” Aileana murmured hoarsely.

“Is this a reconciliation visit you’re making to the MacRaes, then, lass? A gesture of goodwill between your clan and his?”

“Nay,” she answered, though her words were barely audible. “It is no visit. I live at Eilean Donan now.”

The MacKenzie looked stunned again. But then he shook off his amazement quickly, laughing and slapping
Duncan’s shoulder. “You’re a scoundrel, to be sure, MacRae, pretending to hold your grudge against the MacDonells when you’ve arranged a marriage of peace with them. It’s a time-honored way to unite warring clans.” He sat back and grabbed his cup again. “Who’s the devil lucky enough to capture such a bride?”

“I am.” Duncan felt another tingle of success as the Chief snapped his gaze to him. He returned the stare. “But I didn’t take Aileana MacDonell as my wife…”