King-Consort Raleigh scowled at his son and then waved to Knighton. “You might as well come in, Rourke. It will save us having to tell you later.”
Knighton came in and stood by Wentworth and the admiral.
Aiden smiled at his consort and waved before going and embracing Louie as well. They caught him and Knighton up on everything Bannon had told everyone else, and finally he went and sat on the desk beside his father. “For the record I don’t think we should tell Trouble about this yet.” He glanced at his consort, and they seemed to share a moment. Both of them looked tense, and Aiden’s gaze took on that same haunted expression that was still in Nate’s eyes. “We need time to be able to break it to him.”
Nate gave a stiff nod.
Everyone else murmured their agreement, and Bannon winced. He knew Trouble enough to know he wasn’t going to take it well.
Aiden finally looked away from the admiral, and his smile returned, though it was a little more strained. “Now please continue. What is going on? What are we doing about Skye?”
“Aiden, do you mind if I am in charge for a little bit?” King-Consort Raleigh asked with an exasperated sigh.
“Oh, sorry. Of course not, Cony, go ahead.”
With a smirk he fought valiantly to conceal, King-Consort Raleigh dipped his head. “Thank you.” King-Consort Raleigh started making plans to retrieve Marcus and Patrick, with everyone chiming in and adding their suggestions. The back-and-forth was amazing to watch. It must be what a council meeting looked like, and it gave Bannon a new appreciation for what his father did. They all seemed so excited with the news. Which was odd. There were still so many unanswered questions.
“What aren’t you saying?”
Bannon looked up at his father. “Nothing. That’s everything.”
Eversleigh arched a brow. “It sounds as if you were a fine diplomat for Regelence. I’m very proud of you, but then I had no doubt you could be a fine diplomat if you wanted. I’ve half a mind to suggest you as a new intern, working alongside your brother, but I’d never take you away from your art. It would be a crime for someone with your talent to give it up for politics. I’ve always thought that, but that isn’t what I’m talking about.”
If his father had slapped him, he wouldn’t have been more surprised. Had he never said these things, or had Bannon just never listened? His father was proud of him? Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them back. How long had he longed to hear those words? The feelings swirling in him were so huge he couldn’t quite process them. Pride, love, belonging…. “But I always mess things up.”
“I thought that was Timothy?” his sire asked with a chuckle.
“You know Timothy is me, right?”
“Of course we do. He’s the inquisitive part of you. The daring part. You just need to temper him a little, but this isn’t about that. Why do you still look so… sad? What happened on Skye? Besides you becoming some supersoldier and keeping you and Louie alive. And by the way, I’m very proud of how you handled things in such a tough situation. You’ve grown from the experience. I can see it in your face. Your demeanor. Some of the innocence is gone, but this is not such a bad thing, I think.” Eversleigh squeezed his shoulder.
He could see that? Bannon couldn’t help but blush at the praise. Before he realized what he was doing, he started telling them all about Ciaran. When he was done, he felt as though his emotions had been dragged over hot coals. He wondered for the thousandth time if he’d made the right decision.
For several moments, his parents digested the information without saying anything. Then his sire nodded. “He sounds like a remarkable young man. Does he feel the same about you?”
Bannon shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Father chuckled. “Don’t you? You are obviously in love with this young man.”
Bannon shook his head, ready to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. It was true he was in love with Ciaran. “But he yelled at me. He didn’t even listen to what I said. And I was right. Captain Kindros came, like I knew she would, and now Ciaran and his clan are in even more danger than before. The IN will send men to find out why the base isn’t in contact with them. And then what?”
His sire grabbed his hand. “Look at me, son. You heard King-Consort Raleigh. He’s going to send someone after Winstol and send reinforcements.”
“If Ciaran is the leader you say he is, he will be fine until troops get there. And if he’s the man you say he is, then he’s also regretting his actions and missing you. Love isn’t easy, son, and there are no rule books. You should have learned that watching your brother and Dalton.” Father lifted his chin and glanced over at Blaise and Dalton, who were sitting on the sofa, holding hands and whispering to each other. From the looks of them, their conversation had nothing to do with the recent goings-on.
It was good to see them getting on so well and so happy. “You sound like Marcus. He said the same thing.”
“I’m not surprised. Winstol is a brilliant man and a wonderful friend,” Sire said.
“Indeed he is. It will be great to have him back.” Father nodded, and then he met Bannon’s gaze and sobered. “You did a lot of growing up when you were gone. You need to give Ciaran a chance to explain himself and make amends. We all make mistakes, son.”
For some reason, Bannon got the impression his father was referring to his own mistakes. Could it be that he regretted not listening to Bannon about Blaise and Dalton? “But what if he doesn’t want me anymore?”
“Then you will know for sure.”
That was just it; he didn’t want to find out. The thought terrified him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Sometimes waiting for the right time is the absolute wrong thing to do because sometimes only action will make things right.”
—Ciaran, channeling Timothy and missing his alter ego like the verra devil.
“Are ye going tae just sit there all day again? Ye’ve been sitting on ye arse up on this tower since Red left ye.”
Ciaran sighed at the interruption and continued to stare out at Loch Sterling. First Patrick, then Marcus, then Agatha, and now Maggie of all people. Maybe it was better when she was against him? “I have nothing else tae do.” The fact that he’d chosen Red’s favorite thinking spot was not lost on him. It made him feel closer to Red.
“Ye bum’s oot the windae. Ye have a clan tae run and a mate tae go fetch.”
Ciaran snorted. “I’m nae the chieftain anymore, now am I?”
“Lad, ye are trying my patience.” Maggie sighed. She strode forward, her bootheels clicking on the wood floor of the tower as she walked up next to him, looking out at the loch.
He was feeling sorry for himself, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Red had actually left him without so much as a goodbye. The worst part of it was not the loneliness, though that was there too. He missed Red like he’d miss air if he couldn’t breathe. He suspected it felt similar—a deep abiding ache that would not go away. No, the worst part was the time alone to think, to realize that Red was better off without him. He’d not only let Red down, but he’d let his clan down. He’d disgraced his father’s memory. “I have nae tae offer him. Nae clan, nae wealth, and nae future. I dinna deserve the title of chieftain.”
“What a bunch of horse shite! What would ye da say? Ewan MacKay ne’er gave up. He gave his life fer this clan, fer ye, and this is how ye honor his memory?”
A pang of regret punched Ciaran in the stomach so hard he felt ill. Maggie really cut to the chase, hitting him where it would hurt most. But he could not argue with her, no matter how much he wanted to. His father would not approve of his actions this last fortnight. Frowning, Ciaran glanced up at her.
She stared out at the lake, a soft breeze ruffling the long silver-and-black hair escaping her braid at her temples. She lifted a hand and rested it on the battlements, and Ciaran noticed the dirt under her nails. Finally she looked at him, and a smile softened the planes of her face, making her look younger.
“Y
e think tae much, lad. It’s nae like ye. I’ve a guid mind tae give ye a skelpit lug. What happened tae the lad who was so eager tae fill his da’s boots? What happened tae doing what was right even when everyone was against ye?” She shook her head, and the smile faded. “Ye have always ken what needed tae be done and tae hell with everyone else and what they thought.” She gripped his shoulder, squeezing, and gave him an assessing look. “Ye are ye da’s son.”
Ciaran blinked at the praise, wishing it was true.
“Come, I want tae show ye something.” She stepped back and offered him a hand.
Staring at it for several moments, Ciaran finally gave in. He turned around, putting his feet on the floor of the tower and stood without taking her hand.
Maggie gave him a good glare, snatched his hand, and towed him to the north side of the tower. She stopped at the edge, leaned forward, and pointed down toward the back of the keep. She leaned so far, only the slightest nudge would have sent her plummeting to her death.
Ciaran started to grip her arm, then thought better of it. He didn’t want to startle her.
“What do ye see there?” she asked.
Resting his hand on the stone merlons, Ciaran leaned over the edge much like Maggie did and looked down. Far below them was the garden they’d started, with its neat rows. “The garden.”
“Look closer.”
Ciaran stared down at the garden but had no idea what she was getting at. There were women all around as well as a few of the warriors. They were filling water cans and walking up and down the rows. There were hardly any plants, and it wasn’t impressive by any means. The only green in that garden came from the transplants they had traded for or that Maggie had given them. None of the seeds had sprouted. “I see dirt.”
With an exasperated sigh, Maggie shook her head. “They are working together. Women and men, working side by side. What other chieftain has managed that? Ye have warriors taking pride in what was once considered women’s work.”
Aye, they were. A spark of satisfaction tried to seep inside of him, but before he could give it much thought, Maggie grabbed his arm and pulled him to the east side of the tower.
She pointed out at the distance.
Ciaran followed her finger and found the targets they’d set up to practice with the fraggers. There were several men and women shooting. “Again, they are working together. We have women guarding the cattle at night now. We have nae lost any more food.”
“Aye, because Stuart has stopped stealing it tae give tae the MacLeans.”
Maggie chuckled and pulled him to the south of the tower facing the front gate.
Out in the field past the front tower, the cattle grazed in the now-finished corral. The cows were so small from up here, they looked like…. “Are those goats?” When had they gotten that many goats?
“Aye, and sheep.” She pointed, and sure enough, there were sheep near the edge of the loch.
How had he missed seeing the sheep and goats?
“’Tis from the MacLeans. After ye attack on them and the base, they brought back the livestock Stuart gave tae them and added a few extra heid. Ram negotiated a peace with them on ye behalf just yesterday.”
Ciaran frowned. Why had no one told him of this? Then again, perhaps they had. He’d been too distracted to notice. He’d done little but think about his failings.
“Now tell me again ye have nothing tae offer. Ye did that, nae ye father, nae Ramsey. Ye!”
“But I’m nae the chieftain anymore.”
Maggie threw back her head and laughed. It was full and hearty, and there was no doubt that she was laughing at him, not with him.
After several moments when she did not stop, he scowled at her and put his hands on his hips.
Finally, Maggie stopped and shook her head. “Since when?”
“Since the council voted me out.”
“And ye told them tae stick it where the sun doesnae shine, remember?” Maggie arched a brow at him. “It seems tae me that the clan laws are outdated. And besides, ye have the clan’s support. The council does nae. That gives ye the power.”
“Aye, but….” Could it really be that simple? Hope flared inside him.
“Ye are a guid laird and a guid chieftain, Ciaran. But ye have come tae far tae give up now. Ye arenae done yet, lad.”
She was right; he wasn’t done yet. Ciaran gave Maggie a nod and turned and went down the tower stairwell. He didn’t stop until he reached the great hall.
Men sat at the tables breaking their fast, as though Ciaran was not waging a war in his head. Life carried on as usual. Most of his men looked up at him, but no one made a move to stop him. He got a few nods, but he didn’t return them. Instead, he went straight to the laird’s table, where Patrick, Marcus, Angus, and Ram were eating. He glanced up at his father’s sword, with Maggie’s words ringing in his ears. This piece of metal called to him, reminding him of all he’d lost and all he had yet to gain. It shone like a symbol, a sign of what he could accomplish. It was a reminder. A reminder he apparently needed. A reminder of his father and his clan and his duties. He’d been wrong to leave it here all these years. It should have been with him the entire time.
“What are you doing?” Patrick rose from his seat and came to stand beside him.
Instead of answering, Ciaran dragged the bench nearest them over to the fireplace with a loud screech. He climbed up on it and got the sword down.
“’Bout damn time,” Ram mumbled behind him.
Ciaran ignored his cousin, marveling at the feel of the blade in his hands. It felt cool to the touch but full of life. Full of memories. Even when he’d put it up there, it had seemed so heavy. Perhaps it was just the burden the sword carried with it, but now… it felt right. He turned to Patrick, Marcus, and Angus, who all stood there watching him with puzzled expressions. “I’m going tae talk tae our king about this mess with the IN. Then I’m going tae Regelence and make a deal with their king.” He jumped off the bench with Dìonach Na Sìthe in his hand.
Angus’s brows rose, and a slow smile stretched his lips.
Patrick nodded. “By my calculations, you have just about the right amount of time to get to the capital and back before our lift arrives.”
“And? Then what are you going to do?” Marcus prompted with a smirk.
“Then I’m going tae get Red back.”
“What about the council?” Maggie asked from the bottom of the tower stairs.
“Fuck the council.”
The entire great hall erupted in cheers.
§ § § §
July 15, 4831: Thompson House, Classige, Pruluce
“What is this?”
Bannon moved his paintbrush from the canvas and stepped back, studying his work. It was the perfect representation of his emotional state. Turmoil. Perhaps that was what he’d title this piece. He did not typically do abstract art, but the deep blues and blacks with hints of red really spoke to him.
“What happened to the castle, mountains, and lakes?” Dalton’s boots clicked on the stone floor as he came farther into the room, then became muffled as he stepped onto the tarp Bannon had over the floor to catch paint. “And why are you using real paint instead of your sketchscreen?”
“I didn’t feel like painting landscapes anymore.” He glanced around the room he’d appropriated as his art studio. There were canvases leaning against all the walls, landscapes of Skye: Lochwood Castle, Agatha’s cottage, Loch Sterling…. “I wanted to get my hands dirty.” He wanted to feel the paint. It was kind of silly, he knew, but somehow this made him feel closer to Ciaran. Maybe because if he was still on Skye, he’d have to paint this way, since there was no technology. “I’m in my blue period.” His gaze drifted to the ten canvases he’d tried to do portraits of Ciaran. They were all in different stages of completion, ranging from pencil drawings to nearly complete oil paintings, but none of them were done. He just couldn’t make himself finish them.
Dalton chuckled, crossed his arms, and cocked his
head to the side, studying the painting. He cocked his head the other way, then finally reached out and flipped the painting sideways on the easel.
Growling at his brother-in-law, Bannon turned the canvas back.
Dalton made a humming sound and finally said, “This is shit, Bannon.”
“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at the castle?”
“I just got back from the castle. I was in a meeting with Nate and my uncle all morning.” Dalton reached out and flipped the canvas the other way. When Bannon tried to restore it to its proper position, Dalton slapped his hand away. “This really is shit.”
Snorting, Bannon gave up and stuck his brush in the glass of turpentine on the table by his easel. He did it with a little too much force, and the liquid splashed a few drops on the table. “What do you want? Did Blaise send you?”
His brother had been bothering him for the last several days, trying to get him out of his mood, as Blaise called it. Blaise couldn’t seem to understand that Bannon didn’t want to socialize; he just wanted to paint. Painting made him feel….
Horrible. It’s giving us way too much time to think.
“No, he did not. He’s at Parliament, working on his orphanage bill. I actually brought you something from my meeting, but now I’m debating giving it to you.”
He didn’t want whatever Dalton brought, unless it was peace and quiet, and somehow he doubted that. “Maybe you should go see if he’s available for lunch.”
“No, I think my time is much better spent here with you.”
Sighing, Bannon ran a hand through his hair. “You are very annoying.”
“So I’ve been told. But you see, here is the thing. You’ve been moping around since you came back, and it’s making Blaise upset. It’s making your parents upset, and it’s making me upset. I don’t like seeing my family brooding. So I’m here to do something about it. Unlike my consort and your parents, I’m not going to just pat you on your head and make all the hard decisions for you so you’ll feel better. If you want something, galaxy forbid, you are going to have to commit and go after it this time.”
My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book 5 Page 30