11
Nicholas rode beside Rory, while the women followed behind them, along with the Mackay clansmen, a couple of Drummonds for Mary’s sake, and Donald who led the way with Bastian at his side. Rory had insisted on accompanying the new couple to Varrich, if only for the chance to berate Nicholas once more for breaking his nose.
“I’m afraid it’ll heal crooked,” Rory complained, feeling his nose which finally had returned to a normal color other than yellow green.
“Didn’t think you’d really care either way,” Nicholas replied, eyeing the big Scot with a smile. “Are you afraid Fiona will find it distasteful?”
Rory chuckled. “Aye, well no, she’d as soon break it herself if she thinks it needs a bit o’ twistin’.” He sighed, glancing back at the women. “She’s a tough lass, that, as is Mary.”
Nicholas grunted. “Hard to say, Rory, I’ve not known her that long.”
“She told you she hid your armor?”
“Aye, I am sure someone will have found it by now, but if not, you can retrieve it next you go home.”
“I would if you like.”
“You didn’t have to come, Rory.” Nicholas watched his father ahead, noting how much he had aged since Nicholas had last seen him. Not unexpected, surely, but there were lines about his eyes that spoke of worry, stress that perhaps Nicholas had caused directly.
He wasn’t sorry to have left, and knew Bastian would have taken up any slack in defenses and in political matters, yet Nicholas knew doing so had left an empty place at the Mackay table, one he thought would be forgotten after these long years. According to his father, it had not.
Bastian had hugged him after the wedding. Sebastian Mackay hid much behind his quick smile, yet those quicksilver eyes had said more than words could ever have.
They were glad to have him back.
Nicholas only wished he were just as happy to go back. Varrich was an enigma, home yet not home. It belonged to Donald, and would then go to Sebastian, while Nicholas would only be a guest. The long years away had dulled his feelings toward the northern wilds of Scotland. Perhaps, once back in the embrace of the Highlands, he would remember and feel like he was home.
Rory coughed beside him. “Deep thoughts ye got there lad.”
“And I blame it on you,” Nicholas declared. He smiled to soften the accusation. “So how is it that you found the lovely Fiona in a pub, man?”
Rory ran a hand through his blond hair, ruffling the strands where the wind caught them. “She was leaving, actually, as I rode in. Couldn’t take me eyes off of her, in fact blocked her way with my horse.”
“Gallant of you,” Nicholas said.
“Nay, it was quite rude actually, as she complained.” Rory grinned at the memory and rubbed his jaw. “Offered her a token for a night or two, not knowing she was a lady and all.”
“A token?” Nicholas scoffed. “You meant to pay for her services? She didn’t tell you what or who she was?”
Rory winked. “Well, I didn’a give her much chance as I got off Nim, who, by the way, lad, is lucky to like ye. Could’ve killed both you and wee Mary had he not.”
“Nim and I are old friends. Remember, I had to ride him once before to get your sorry arse out of trouble.”
“Aye, and broke my nose that time too,” Rory remembered with a scowl. “It was just a scuffle, lad, no need to have gotten so bloody angry at the lad.”
“I was tired of being needled. Besides, it wasn’t my fault you didn’t see me duck the bench, so technically, I didn’t break it, Angus MacDubh did.”
“Well if you hadn’t complained about ‘is sister looking like a nag, we’d ha’e been fine.”
Nicholas arched a brow at Rory. “But she does, you cannot deny it.”
“Doesn’t matter when you are talking to her brother, lad,” Rory complained, laughing.
Nicholas smiled faintly. “Perhaps not, but it did get a good rise out of Angus.”
“And me a broken nose,” Rory agreed. He touched his nose gingerly. “So Fiona’s told you her worries?”
“Aye, I’ve heard her warnings. Be careful of that, Rory.”
“I know what she is,” Rory replied.
Nicholas glanced at him. “Anyone else might not be so generous, especially in the Highlands.”
“I’ll worry about that. Varrich, now, she sits on the sea?”
Nicholas leaned back in his saddle, his gaze distant as he remembered his family home. “It sits on a hill overlooking the Kyle of Tongue. It’s a long bit of water running deep between Ben Loyal and Ben Hope coming in from the sea. Behind Varrich you see a grand view of the mountains.” He chuckled and winked at Rory. “We built it over a Norse fort that was there for years, a nod perhaps to the ambitions of my forefathers.”
“So you are descended from the Vikings, then?” Rory asked, amused.
“Norse and Pict, a rather wild confluence of bloodlines, including some say, wild Irish rovers,” Nicholas agreed with a wolfish smile.
Rory laughed. “Indeed, a wild bunch you are, one can tell by looking at you. But Mary’s not intimidated in the least.”
Nicholas could think of times that she should have been and shook his head. “Perhaps not wisely, even so. She may not like it there.”
“I think she’ll like it anywhere you are,” Rory surmised.
Nicholas stared ahead at Donald. “Aye, well then maybe we’ll have to find that crofter’s hut up on Ben Loyal then. She’ll have all the luxuries the Highlands can offer-- cold, wind, snow and brutal clansmen.”
Rory looked at Nicholas intently. “She’d not mind most of that, but be brutal to the lass, Nicky, and I’ll have yer head up yer arse.”
Nicholas smiled at the Scot, knowing with Rory that anything was quite possible.
***
It had taken them nearly a week to get near Varrich. The landscape looked familiar, the same mountain heights and winding valleys, if more dramatic and lonely. Varrich, yet another day’s ride, was not yet visible, but the mountains near which it sat had to be much the same as those they rode through now. Mary looked about to note fog still drifted in the lower valleys, while the sun kissed the green rocky peaks of the mountains overhead. Their stay last night had been in a small inn, hardly big enough for the group of clansmen,. Most of the men slept outside near the barn, while Mary had spent the night with Fiona. Her marriage, it seemed, did not alter the fact the men slept together, while the women stayed in safer confines. Mary didn’t mind sleeping with Fiona, they had talked long into the night despite their exhaustion.
Highlanders, they both agreed, seemed to have an endless supply of energy. Most of the men had walked the journey from Perth, keeping pace easily with the sturdy lowland ponies. Nicholas, the Drummonds, as well as his father and Sebastian rode the more feisty horses.
Fiona had whispered of Rory and their initial meeting, leaving Mary and Fiona both giggling. Her brother, usually so nonchalant when it came to women, had fallen deeply for the petite Frasier lass. Their attraction had been instant, a vibration, Fiona confessed, she could feel in the air. He had been uncouth, ordering her to come to him as if she were some common trollop. Intrigued still, Fiona had laughed that she’d agreed and had wound up in Rory’s bed before the day was done. Fiona wasn’t pretty in the sense of physical beauty, quite nondescript in fact with brown hair pulled back into a braid, brown eyes and a quiet air about her. Yet beneath that quiet exterior Mary had found Fiona to be fiercely independent, willing to face such hardships as Mary had without complaint. They were two of a kind, Mary thought, and she was thankful to have the woman’s companionship. Her life had turned upside down and she was still not sure what she had done would go well.
Mary left the inn to stand outside on the steps. The air was still crisp even though it was the middle of summer. Breath fogged as the men moved around loading the horses. Nicholas stood with Rory near the barn, his hair pulled back into a small tail behind his head, broad in shoulders yet still thin compared to Rory’s hulking greatness.
His cough lingered, much to his annoyance and Mary’s worry. William had told her the lung would heal with time, but anything energetic would only delay it. Nicholas had had little time to rest between dragging her from Drymen to the events at Perth; it was hardly surprising that he continued to have effects from the blow to his chest. He was lucky to have survived.
Nicholas turned from Rory, and spying her at the steps of the inn, walked quickly over to her side. “You should be inside; it’s still cold out here.”
She pulled the edges of her cloak closer. “Nay, my place is near you.”
He rubbed her arms gently to warm her. “You have attached yourself quite readily to me, Mary Drummond Mackay. Is that so wise?”
Mary stared at the dark blue plaid he wore wrapped around his waist and then pinned at his shoulder with a small bronze clasp, surprised to see him wearing it. “Perhaps not, Highlander, but I must make the best of it.” She touched the cloth. “Do you wear this to please yer father?”
Nicholas sighed as he looked down at her fingers. “In as much as it does, I found it comforting to put on. Perhaps I am not so removed from my place as I thought.”
Mary curled her fingers into the cloth and drew him closer. She had to look up even standing on one of the steps. “It is a good thing to feel you belong, Nicholas. Don’t push that away.”
“I will try, Mary, but it’s been a long while.” He caressed her cheek with his thumb but then turned at the sound of horses.
The arriving clansmen drew Donald Mackay from within the inn to stand next to Mary, while Nicholas turned around to stand in front of her. She felt oddly protected as the riders came to a halt in front of the inn.
“Well now, are my eyes deceiving me or is it Nicky Mackay?” the eldest of the men declared with a grim smile. Mary shivered at the look of the man, awed by the power that seemed to radiate from him. Sitting stiff and straight, he wore a dull red plaid over one shoulder over a leather tunic to his hips. A claymore strapped behind his back and a blade behind his hip spoke of the violence of the Highland clans, his eyes a frigid pale blue.
“Aye, I am back,” Nicholas replied in a low voice.
Donald rested a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “It is from merry doings that we return to Varrich, William de Moravia. You will not ruin the day.”
De Moravia lifted a brow. “Have you finally settled your errant son with a woman, Donald?”
Nicholas stiffened in front of Mary. Donald moved his hand from Mary’s shoulder to Nicholas’s. “Indeed, we have. As I said it’s been a merry occasion. We only pass on to Varrich.”
De Moravia glanced back at his men. “Still a bit of a ways to go as yet,” he noted.
Rory appeared at Nicholas’s side. “And who have we got here?” he asked, no longer the brother Mary knew, but a clansman to the Mackay, his hand casually resting on his sword.
“William de Moravia, third Earl of Sutherland,” Nicholas replied. “How is your lady wife, my lord?”
“She is well enough.” The earl studied Rory intently. “We’ve just come from Bannockburn. Quite a battle it was.”
Rory smiled agreeably, yet his gaze remained hard. “Indeed, a rout thanks to my brother’s wicked invention.”
William nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, I heard about the caltrops. We lost none of our clan, thankfully, the English, a bit more. But they’ll be back.”
“Aye, as will we,” Rory promised.
“So you have taken on a Drummond, Donald Mackay. How did you manage that?”
“It is none of your business,” Nicholas declared. “We’ve to be on our way.” He pulled Mary from the steps while the earl watched.
Mary hurried behind Nicholas, but looked back, aware of the undercurrents of hostility that flowed between the clansmen. “You don’t like him?”
“No Mackay likes a Sutherland rat,” Nicholas hissed, drawing her into the warmer confines of the barn. He pressed her against the wood siding. “Beware, Mary, of William’s silver tongue. He’d just as soon drag you off or kill you if he thought it would aid his clan. We’ve fought them as long as I can remember.”
“Ah, a clan feud is it?” Mary said, familiar with such politics. “I’ll have a mind, don’t worry. But can he keep you from Varrich?”
“No, this is a public road, but having him notice you was not a good thing.”
“Are you worried for me, lad?”
He placed his hands beside her to hold her against the wall. “Aye, I am. It makes me ill to think of anyone touching you.”
She smiled and brushed her fingers against Nicholas’s cheek. “Ah, be careful, Nicholas, I might steal yer heart yet.”
He kissed her, a quick thing that left her breathless, but more so to watch him stalk out of the barn. He had become something new again, a warrior with clansmen at his side, speaking yet with Sutherland on his horse. The men bandied words; low-voiced hissed sentiments that set well with neither party. Mary watched it from the confines of the barn door and its shadow. Her heart raced too fast while a sudden and irrational fear settled deep into her stomach. She might lose Nicholas to this fight, in as much as he was nearly lost at Bannockburn. A well-aimed stroke of steel could take him from her and for the first time she feared the politics of the Highlands, of clan feuds and more, feared losing the man she knew so little about, who had already burrowed deep into her heart.
“Ah, Nicky Mackay, you are mine,” Mary whispered. “I’ll not let you go so easily.”
***
They had left the inn to travel down a rocky path between two mountains covered with glowing pink fans of color. Heather colored the hillsides, pink with some purple, bright amid the long green grass that hid stones that would break an ankle. Cows milled about occasionally, watched over by young boys, some no more than six or seven from what Mary could tell. Nicholas smiled as they passed, waving to one young child who ventured closer, curious about the travelers.
“Is he alone?” Mary remarked, judging the boy to one of the youngest she’d seen.
“Nay, I am sure there is more. The cattle are well kept, too valuable to be left to just one young highland boy.” Nicholas turned to look at Mary. “Make no mistake. They know what they are there for. Raiding is a family pastime in these hills, losing a cow or two is not good business.”
Mary frowned as they passed the boy. “And if some are stolen? He cannot fight the men who come to steal.”
“Of course not, his job is to alert someone who can. That is why there are more than one. They learn quickly to be vigilant and to live off the land.”
“I suppose you spent many years doing just that.”
Nicholas grinned. “Indeed, most of my summers were spent on the hills. Lost a few cows as well, to both Sutherland and Macleod raiders, and got my arse beat for letting them go. It is what makes us men, Mary.”
She sighed. Her life had been far tamer, but her brothers had done much the same. It just seemed different looking at boys so young, alone and without protection from danger or even the elements. There was danger here, in the mist that had finally lifted, to the land, treeless and rocky as it was; it hid as much as it revealed. Fiona hummed softly beneath her breath, at ease riding behind Rory. Mary, however, felt uncommonly nervous.
Nicholas moved ahead beside to his father where they spoke at some length, but quietly so none could hear. Sebastian slowed his horse to a walk beside Mary. The big horse seemed to covet Mary’s mount a bit too much, reaching with his head to nip at the smaller mare.
She dragged at the reins to pull her mare free of the black’s nipping, sending Sebastian a cross glare. “Could you please control yer wretched beast, Sebastian Mackay?”
“Oh, he’s got a mind of his own. He can’t resist a pretty lass, you know.” Sebastian winked at Mary wickedly.
She rolled her eyes and looked away.
“Call me Bastian,” he offered and held out a hand. “I’d like us to be friends, Mary Mackay.”
Mary shivered at the sound of her new name. “Why?”
“Because, lass, you just might be the anchor we’ve needed to keep my brother at home. Defending you will keep him a might busy.”
Curious, she turned toward Sebastian. “What do you mean by that?”
“Only that a lass as pretty as you are will no doubt draw men like flies, both the curious and those willing to go a step further to smite Nicholas Mackay a blow.”
She blinked at the image he brought to her head. “I won’t be the cause of any unrest,” she declared stiffly.
Sebastian laughed. “Ye’ve been a matter of unrest for poor Nicky since he’s met you. They tell me you dragged him off the field at Bannockburn. Why?”
“He was still alive. I couldn’t let someone finish him off.”
Sebastian nodded approvingly. “Ye are a tough lass. We are in your debt for saving his life. It is good to see ye twisting him inside out as well.” He patted her knee, squeezing it deftly.
Mary gripped his wrist and lifted his hand free of her knee. “Touch me again, Bastian, and I’ll cut yer hand free of yer arm.”
He grinned and drew his hand back to rest it over his heart. “Ah, ye cause me much sorrow to think ye would do such a thing when I meant no harm…” A keen whistling noise brought his head up sharply, interrupting his speech. A moment later, Sebastian reeled back with a gasp when an arrow seemed to blossom from his chest. Deflected by his leather gauntlet, it impaled him though part of his hand and into his shoulder. Mary screamed as Sebastian groaned and nearly slid off the horse in shock.
A moment later, Rory dragged her from her saddle, shoving her beside Fiona between the horses. He pressed the reins into their hands and then was gone, while Sebastian lay over the neck of his horse, gasping for breath.
Mary grabbed his horse, punching the animal when it tried to nip at her. The other horses pranced around nervously, their riders dismounting to melt instantly into the heather clad hills around them.
“We’ve got to get him off the horse,” Mary hissed.
Fiona nodded and between them, they dragged Bastian down to lie on the road. “If we keep the horses close, they’ll provide some protection.”
“Our protection is the men combing the hillside,” Mary declared. She glanced anxiously at the steep terrain. “Help me drag him to the side. There’s water to clean his wounds.”
They managed to slide Sebastian to the roadside, propping him against a rock. He gripped the shaft impaling him, but was too weak to pull it free with only one hand.
“Ye’ll have to do it, Mary,” Bastian gasped.
“If I do ye will bleed to death.”
“No worse than dying with it stuck in me,” he argued. “Bloody cowards to fight behind the hills.”
“It sounds like typical Highland warfare to me,” Mary said sourly. She snapped off the feathered end of the arrow, wincing as Sebastian groaned.
“Aye, perhaps,” Bastian agreed hoarsely, “but still a coward not to show himself.” He grinned, blood staining his teeth from where he’d bitten his lip. “They’ll find the bastards, no doubt. Pull it free, there’s a good lass.” He choked when she shoved it through, pulling the arrow from his back. He cursed weakly, but managed to stay upright. His fingers bit into Mary’s arm. “Careful, lass, there may be more of them out there.”
Fiona ripped off pieces of her skirt and held them to his chest. “Highlanders just don’t know how to die.”
A set of footsteps drew Mary to her feet, her fingers shaking around the small dagger she pulled from her belt. Nicholas appeared above her and then dropped down to the roadway. “Is he hurt badly?”
“The arrow did not pierce anything important,” Fiona declared knowingly. “It is pretty high in his shoulder.”
Nicholas knelt in front of Sebastian. “Bloody Macleod thought he could kill you.”
Sebastian opened one eye to look at his brother. “A Mackay is not so easy to kill.”
Mary slid the dirk back into her belt, relieved to see Nicholas well. “Did you find the man?”
Nicholas stood up, his expression grim. “Aye, but from a distance. It was a Macleod, no doubt. They’ll find injuring Bastian a bad decision.”
“Was he just another of yer clan enemies?” Mary asked irritably. She looked at the hills around them. “How many do we have to fear, Nicholas? How many mountains do we pass where I must fear a stray arrow will take you down?” She stepped back when he reached for her. “Nay, don’t touch me. Fear tears my heart. Such violence makes me ill.”
“It is our way of life, Mary,” Nicholas said in a low voice. “As you well know.”
Pressing a hand to ease the fear lodged in her chest, she turned to face him. “Aye, as I well know, Nicholas Mackay, but I don’t have to like it.” She spun away but didn’t get two steps before he caught her arm in the iron grip she remembered too well.
“Nay, perhaps not, but flying into a snit over such a day doesn’t not become you. The Highlands are full of danger, no matter if I am a knight or simple herder. Life here is difficult. Should you not like it you may still return to Drymen.”
She didn’t like his eyes, glinting with fury, yet she knew she couldn’t leave him, no matter her fear. The fates had led her to him; she had no choice but to follow his path.
“Nay, I’ll not give you the satisfaction, Highlander,” she replied. “Ye took me, now reap yer reward.”
His grip did not loosen, nor did his expression alter when he pulled her closer. Mary met the challenge in his gaze and he smiled faintly. “A tiger still, eh Mary?”
“I am when I must be,” Mary retorted. She jerked back and he released her arm.
“Whatever she is, we must be on our way,” Donald Mackay declared striding down from the hill. “The man is gone and we cannot pursue with Bastian injured. Varrich is another day’s ride. We will not stop for the night, passing as we will through Sutherland land.”
Nicholas nodded and lifted Mary to her horse. He caught the reins to hand them up to her. “Fear not, Mary, I have no intention of meeting Fate herself for some time yet.”
His assurance did not lighten the lump in her throat at all.
***
Sebastian cursed the pain radiating from his shoulder. He leaned over the neck of his horse fingers loose on the reins and eyed the road ahead blearily. Nicholas had taken the lead with their father on the final leg to Varrich. Mary rode beside Sebastian, her expression full of concern. He smiled at her to let her know he was fine. She sniffed at him. The weather had turned foul and Bastian pulled up his plaid to cover his head, much as the other Highlander’s did. Mary shivered, her fingers white on the edges of her cloak.
What had drawn his brother’s interest, Bastian wondered? Was it much the same as the feelings he’d held for the Macleod woman, a tall willowy creature that he could not erase from his mind? He leaned back to let the cold rain drizzle on his face. It chilled the heat radiating in his shoulder and allowed him to think clearly.
Nicholas’s return would put them to sorts, complete the family circle as it had not been since Nicholas had left. His homecoming would certainly stir things up. It wouldn’t be long before Torquil Macleod made his presence known and more than likely involving some bloodshed. Bastian grimaced and shifted his arm. Once Torquil heard Nicholas was back, it would be far worse. It would be wise to be wary. Might behoove them to ascertain just where the Macleod was in fact. Their lands were extensive, remote like most of the Highlands with many glens and valleys. Macleod would not hide from the Mackays, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a look all the same. Stealing a few cows would make the trip profitable.
And better yet, it would give him an opportunity and excuse to look for the Macleod woman. It had been a long time since he’d checked on her. His days of waiting for her were growing long.
Sebastian smiled and ducked back under his plaid as Varrich appeared ahead of them. Mary sniffed again and then leaned forward to study the castle. Nicholas looked back over his shoulder with a frown marring his brow. Was he worried that his wife would not like the castle? Sebastian leaned close to Mary. “Tis warm at least,” he offered.
She smiled faintly. “Warm and dry, it is a lot to be thankful for, Sebastian. You will see that shoulder looked at again, will you not?”
He grinned, unfazed by the pain. “It is nothing, Mary. I could ride another day yet.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “I shall not feel bad for you then when ye fall off yer horse.”
Sebastian laughed, amused by her pertness. Nicholas looked back again, brow lifted curiously.
***
The horses slogged through the mud. Rain had made things damp and wet, the air chill with the wind off the sea. Mary rode huddled beneath the hood of her cloak. Nicholas moved his horse closer to hers, touching her elbow. He must have meant it as a measure of comfort she decided as Mary shivered in the cold, her feet nearly frozen beneath her wet skirts. The Highlands might be in the depths of summer, but with the icy wind from the north sea, it felt more like winter. Nicholas did not seem to mind, his eyes bright with anticipation.
She studied the castle as they drew closer, the tower just visible over the hills. She did not think her first sight of Varrich was as he had hoped it would be with the gray skies and rain. A square tower set high on a bluff, it over looked the shallow depths of the kyle, while the rugged mountains cradled the keep within their grasp in long undulating hills. Clearing the small wood that bordered the kyle, looking much like a river in Mary’s mind, they started up the steep winding trail that led to the castle. Arriving at the keep, Mary could see there was little more than the building itself, a square stone castle sixty paces square, three stories high. A few smaller wooden buildings sat near it, but it was the tower that dominated the heights above them. A wide set of wooden steps led to the second floor and the keep’s main entry. Dismounting in the yard, the Mackay men led the horses around the corner to the stables under the main floor.
Nicholas slid his arm around Mary’s hips and then brushed his lips over her brow to lighten her mood. “It’s just as I remembered,” he said and tilted his head back to stare up at the tall stone structure.
A wooden rampart extended beyond the walls at the top. Mary could see men leaning over the wooden railing, their greetings to Nicholas distant with the wind. Mary smiled faintly, her hands pressed over her arms to keep her cloak from blowing apart in the breeze. She said nothing, only stared at the expanse around her as she stepped around a wayward chicken crossing her path and then allowed Nicholas to lead her up the steps into the keep.
Inside, Donald sat on a bench near the fire with a cup of ale in hand.
“So, what do you think of Varrich, Mary Drummond Mackay?”
Mary pulled off her hood before she answered. “I cannot say as yet, my lord, it is but a few moments of viewing that I’ve had.”
“The keep is small, but well enough for us here. Ye even have a room to yourself above with Nicky.”
“Thank you, my lord, ye are too kind.”
Donald lifted his glass in her direction. “It is the least I can do. Have Nicholas take ye about later, I am sure you are weary.”
Nicholas waited for her to nod and then led her up a narrow set of stairs along one wall that led to the upper floor. A bank of rooms stretched down the hallway. He drew her forward to the last room and opened the door. Mary moved inside and then sat on the bed, hands folded in her lap. “Well, what now?”
He leaned against the door. “You should rest. You must be tired.”
“And you are not?”
“Nay, I have things to do.”
She stared at her hands. “I see.”
He walked to her side and lifted her chin with his fingers. “I’ll not be gone long, Mary. I want to check on Sebastian and see to a few things.” She tried to pull away but he held her gently. “This is your home; you may go as you please. I will be back before you wake.”
He left, closing the door quietly. Mary stared at it for a long time, feeling suddenly homesick for her brothers. She rose to her feet to sit by a small fireplace opposite the bed. Shivering, she held her hands to the coals which gave off little heat. Someone had clearly seen them coming and had attempted to get things ready. She picked up the poker and stabbed the coals to bring them back to life. The peat began to smoke and then burst into a low smoldering flame. Settling on the floor in front of the fire, Mary studied the embers as if they could provide answers. This was her life now and she had no idea what to expect.
***
“It is good to have you home, Nicky,” Donald said a moment later as Nicholas sat beside him. Bastian reclined on another bench in front of the fire, his chest bandaged proficiently by Fiona, arm in a sling. He lifted his mug at Nicholas.
“Aye, the rebel son hath returned,” Bastian agreed. “Word will spread like wildfire that Nicholas Mackay has come home,” he continued with a toast to Nicholas. “Ye never do anything quietly, brother, do you?”
Nicholas ignored Bastian. “So where is Hugh?”
Donald shrugged. “He’s about; I left him in charge of the keep. He’s a good boy that one.”
Nicholas remembered Hugh only as the youngest of the Mackays, fourteen when Nicholas left, a youngster bent on being a man. How had he grown? Well enough it seemed if Donald Mackay was willing to leave him in care of the Mackay holdings. “Is Hugh still married to Branwen?”
Donald took a plate one of the servants held out, setting aside his ale. “Aye. I wish you had come back when Hugh found you at Stirling. Might have settled Branwen a bit to have you here as well, but she’s good lass, if a wee bit spoiled I’d say.”
Nicholas remembered her differently but did not speak of it to his father. “Hugh was good at spoiling things.”
“Aye, like you, a bit of fey blood I think some days.” Donald grinned, himself an image, some said, of the wee folk of the otherworld with his slanted eyes and narrow face. Putting rumor aside, Donald Mackay was fey only in his workings; cunning and keen, his machinations had made the Mackay a powerful Highland clan.
“Will you stay?” Donald asked softly.
Nicholas studied the fire. Bastian had slumped against the wall, eyes half closed, yet still aware. “Aye, for a bit.”
“She’s a fine one,” Donald mused.
Nicholas curled his lip. “We will see.”
“Have you any doubts, lad?”
He considered the woman, what she had done. “No, not really. She saved my life. It was only fair to do the same for her.”
“Maelcolm Beg had plans for her?”
“Aye, which I’ve ruined quite handily,” Nicholas admitted.
“Good for you both then,” Donald decided. “It is good for the Mackays to be bound with the Drummonds in this day.
Nicholas wondered for how long? Highland loyalties ran only so far as they did. Feuds broke out amid allies and enemies. Hostilities handed down generation to generation. Power struggles over land, cattle, women; it was a dangerous time in which to live. Nicholas smiled at the thought. Mary would find Varrich a wild place indeed.
He stretched and then stood up. “I’m going to walk, if you don’t mind.”
Donald lifted his cup. “Go on, boy. Yer mother will be in her garden no doubt.”
Nicholas nodded faintly. “I will pay my respects to Ann on the way.”
Donald’s brows drew together but said nothing more. Nicholas retreated from the keep in a long stride that took him out the door and into the sun. He blinked at the bright light, the mist burned away to leave the day brilliant in contrast. Chickens squawked beneath his feet, a goat stood nearby eating something unnamable, while men milled about their duties. A low wooden building held the kitchens, situated a fair walk from the keep itself, nestled amid the craggy rocks of the hillside. Several fires crackled nearby, one holding a large cast iron pot for washing clothes with lines rigged behind the pot to dry them. He passed several children as they ran screaming in play, nodded at the blacksmith who had turned in surprise and then finally rounded the back of the keep to where the gardens lay.
He pushed open the gate and stepped inside, overwhelmed for a moment by the smell of lilacs. It reminded him of Mary. He closed his eyes to savor the smell, the image of Mary on their wedding night curving his lips into a smile.
“There you are, Nicholas.”
He sighed as the memory abruptly faded. “Aye, here I am.”
Ann Mackay laughed sourly. “Not here by yer wish, I suppose?”
Nicholas opened his eyes. The wife of Donald Mackay knelt on the grass, a long knife tucked into her belt, a basket of cuttings lying at her side. She stared at him, still lovely after all the years, her hair still dark as night, drawn back behind her head in a long braid without any touch of grey. Rumor hinted that her family had gypsy blood, and if looks were to tell, Ann was proof. She held out her hand. “Help me up, Nicky.”
He caught her gently and lifted her to her feet, allowing her to kiss his cheek. “Why do you hold the grudge so long, lad?”
Nicholas stepped back. “I do not.”
“Liar,” Ann replied with a smile. “Ye are still gruff and distant as you always were. I hear that ye’ve done just what you’ve despised me for. Ye have taken a lass from her home, Nicholas Mackay, against her will. How do ye expect her to react?”
Nicholas held out his arm. Ann laid her fingers on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her to a stone bench set near the wall. “It is true, but she has taken it well enough. Events occur that we cannot always control.”
“Indeed,” Ann agreed as she smoothed her skirts.
“So I am here to admit that I know nothing happened between you and …” He paused when she turned to look at him, shoulders stiff.
“Does it matter, Nicholas? Fitzgerald took me against my will to demean your father, the clan and me. What could I do? Should I have taken his dagger to my heart to leave all that I love behind?” She stood up abruptly to walk away but he held her wrist, holding her fast.
“Nay, perhaps I wanted that once,” Nicholas admitted.
Ann looked down at him, fingers clenched in anger. “And now?”
“I have learned many things while I was gone. Patience for one thing, forgiveness even as amusing at it sounds.”
“Ye were always honorable, Nicholas,” Ann replied.
“No, not always, not with you.”
“Ye had clan loyalties to fault for that, and a weak heart to believe the stories that were told.”
“I know you love Donald,” Nicholas said.
“I always have, lad, and always will.” Ann smiled at him and relaxed, sitting back down. “No matter the things that passed between us, I still love ye as well.” She brushed his hair from his forehead. “You would not let me touch you like this before.”
Nicholas sighed and looked away. “No, I was always full of anger.”
Ann laughed softly. “Aye, you were, at me, at your Da, at the clans. Angry at everything some days it seemed. Bastian held you back many a time when I thought you would lose yer mind to the temper. But ye are different now, I can sense it.”
“I’ve spent a lot of that anger a long while ago.”
“And now what, lad?” Ann reached out to touch the locket at his neck. “Did you leave a lass behind?”
He undid the chain and pulled the locket free. “Not in the way you think. This is a reminder only to remember how stupid I can be.” He chuckled and put it in Ann’s hand. “Would you take it as a gift, an offering to assuage my guilt in all that I’ve done to you?”
“Ach, you have not done anything so harsh that you must give me a token that means more to you than it might to me.” Ann put it back into his palm and then curled his fingers around it. She touched the ring on his finger. “This tells me that you were always here in heart, Nicky, to see you still wearing a clan token.”
He smiled. “Aye, it was always another reminder not to forget completely that I am a Highlander.”
“Ye ken that you never would, don’t you? It’s always there in yer blood.”
“Aye, one that was heated once again by clan loyalties on the way here,” Nicholas said. “We met up with Sutherland and a Macleod.”
“Aye, Bastian said as much when he came in. The Drummond lad is a burly one, he is.”
“Aye, and a pea to match the wee lass at his side.”
“How long will the man stay?”
“Until he’s sure Mary is settled, in case the lass wishes to return home.”
“So you aren’t sure she’ll stay?”
“No.”
Ann patted his hand sympathetically, her gaze knowing. “It’s like that, is it?”
Chapter
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Wendi Zwaduk
Karyn Gerrard
JT Holland
Trish Morey
Jeffrey Siger
Linda Gerber
Sophie Playle
Sally Goldenbaum
Wendy S. Hales