“The expansion would indeed allow three times what the port can currently handle. And I agree that you can even handle a greater variety and amount of merchandise,” he said, giving a cold glare to his youngest son, Faden. He was no longer a boy, but a man, and by his cool, unwavering countenance, more like him than any of his brothers.
Faden had not been at the dock to meet him. He had joined the meeting along with the port master after Dugan had called them in. At first, MacLeod had believed it had been Dugan’s idea for the delay, but quickly corrected that assumption as soon as Faden looked him directly in the eye. There was no familial warmth there. MacLeod had privately wondered if it had been a mistake to reject Faden’s request to come home six years ago but dismissed the thought. To have accepted meant he agreed to give up the chance of recovering the MacLeod jewels, something Mackbaythe had sworn he did not have, always claiming one of the soldiers or servants had stolen them and disappeared never to return.
“And I agree expanding the routes south to the new McTiernay markets will increase not only traffic but introduce a whole new set of buyers. That could make things very lucrative, especially as those routes will be protected now that one clan controls both Torridon and Gerloch lands.”
“But?”
MacLeod raised a bushy red brow. Dugan just returned the stare, waiting for him to answer his question. Suddenly, MacLeod found himself with the urge to twitch. “But,” he snarled, giving away some of his frustration, “I am not inclined to give you my ships.” He waited for Dugan to ask why and when the seconds stretched into minutes, his impatience got the better of him. “I am not inclined to give you my ships because I don’t know you and therefore I don’t trust you. I scarcely trade with Cole McTiernay and his reputation for being fair and honest is well known. You may have slapped the name McTiernay on everything around here, but these were Mackbaythe lands and men for too long. I know their ways.”
“And yet you chose to do business with him.”
MacLeod’s face turned red. “And I am choosing not to do business now.”
Dugan pursed his lips together and then let go a sigh as he placed his palms flat down on the table to rise. Faden and Dugan’s port master, Fearan, rose as well. “Then I am sorry I requested you make this trip.”
MacLeod let go a loud snort. The herald the McTiernay had sent had not relayed a request, but a carefully worded demand. Laird of the McTiernays of Gerloch highly recommends you immediately sail for Bàgh Fìon before next steps are taken to end the blockade.
That was a threat. Dugan knew it. MacLeod knew it. And he had almost called his bluff. The only reason he had come was because of the man’s chief. Malcolm MacLeod was not friends with Conor McTiernay, but he had met the man on a few occasions and learned enough about him to know that the McTiernay chief did not bluff. And if Conor had appointed Dugan to be one of his chieftains, it was likely he had put someone there of similar mind and personality. MacLeod had needed to hear for himself what next steps meant, but from what he could see, they were just empty words.
“I would like to offer you accommodations for the evening, and I believe my wife has planned a banquet feast in your honor as your granddaughter.”
MacLeod rolled his eyes and rose to his feet. He should have known. Dugan was planning on using Adanel. He was married to her and she was a MacLeod—or at least half one. “Tell my granddaughter her gesture is appreciated, but that I must return immediately. Besides, you need to spend the next several months worrying about how you are going to make this port run without any ships to trade your goods.”
MacLeod gestured to the barrels stacked in the corner of the meeting room. It was a spacious area on the top floor of a building right off the docks where the port master probably conducted most of his business. The stairs he had climbed were on the outside of the building and led to an open deck area that one could stand on and see into the bay for miles. In the distance, he could make out two small dark dots—the MacLeod ships he had sent to prevent any others from coming through. So far none had tried.
Dugan backed away from the large table but instead of going to the door, he went to the other side of the room alongside which were numerous crates and various materials, including signal flags. “I will give Adanel your message. I am sure she will be sorry to hear of your early departure, but she will understand. As far as running this port without MacLeod ships, I have already taken measures to do just that.”
Dugan went to a small crate underneath the window and opened it. Then, he paused and turned around. With a smile, he said, “I find it fascinating how many people assume I am a Highlander by birth. Conor knew, of course, that I had grown up near Dumbarton when he asked me to be laird.” Dugan’s smile grew and MacLeod knew his face had given away his shock. “And while the MacGhille and the Caimbeul clans cannot boast having the number of ships that you can, they do have them and they have large armies to protect them if need be.”
MacLeod just stood there. He was both furious and impressed. He could not help but think that the rumors were true: McTiernays never bluff.
“Both clans have always wanted an inroad into the northern waterways,” Dugan continued. “I sent a herald down to meet with them when I sent my request to you. I must admit that is why I added some urgency to your message, because I wanted to give you first chance to agree to my proposal and let me know the space you required and how often to expect your ships. And while we could not come to an arrangement, I do appreciate you coming so quickly.”
MacLeod refused to show his ire or how close he was to caving. But he knew, just as Dugan did, that the MacLeods would not interfere with either MacGhille and the Caimbeul ships. To do so would mean war and not with the McTiernays, but the western half of Scotland. They could make it so that he could never leave the inner seas.
Dugan had won, but he had not won him.
MacLeod walked to the door, but just before he opened it Dugan stopped him. “MacLeod, one last thing,” he said, pulling out a bag. “A month ago, I found this by sheer accident in, well, let’s just say an incredibly hidden location.”
Dugan dropped the bag on the table. “Of course, seeing its contents, I offered them to my wife thinking I might surprise her. As you can imagine, they did, but she also told me what they were. Her mother’s jewels given to her by her grandmother. She had never seen them before, but her mother had told her about them, it seems.” He pointed at the bag. “She doesn’t feel it is right to keep them as this is now a McTiernay clan and they are MacLeod jewels. She asked me to return them to you.” When MacLeod reached for the bag, Dugan added, “She did take one amethyst hair clip as an heirloom to wear as a reminder of her mother. Of course, she planned to tell you all this later tonight and was hoping to return them to you herself, but I feared you might not be inclined to stay so I brought them with me just in case I was right.”
MacLeod looked inside the bag and then back at Dugan. They were all there. Emeralds, diamonds, rubies. No longer caring if Dugan saw his shock or not, MacLeod said, “These . . . these . . . they mean a lot to our clan. When my wife . . .” He choked up, still unable to believe not just what he was holding, but also that Dugan McTiernay had just handed them to him.
MacLeod would have done anything to get these back. He had given up his youngest son. He had forced his favorite daughter to remain here and eventually die all to get them back. Were they worth it? He had long ago stopped asking the question in fear of the answer.
MacLeod squeezed the bag and then straightened his shoulders. Looking Dugan in the eye, he acknowledged, “I said I did not know you. Five minutes ago, I did not. Sometimes it takes years to get to know a man and even then he can fool you.”
Dugan nodded, having experienced that very thing when his best friend, Leith, had tried to kill him as well as Cole’s wife, Ellenor. They both survived, but they both had scars from the event.
“And sometimes,” MacLeod continued, “a single action can give you so much insight into the
internal workings of a man, that you have no doubt as to who he is. This”—he shook the bag—“is such an action. The MacLeods will be pleased to use Bàgh Fìon as one of its main ports going forward.” He snapped his fingers to the captain, who had been sitting quietly. “Work with the port master and my son,” he said, to Faden’s surprise. “I have a feast to join and a granddaughter that I would like to get to know a little better.”
For the first time that day, MacLeod saw Dugan smile. It was not a large one, but it warmed his blue eyes, which had previously looked cold and impassive. That single action was another insight the new laird probably had no idea he had revealed. Dugan and Adanel’s marriage, as unlikely as it was, was based on love, not circumstance.
“I hope you have a buttery,” MacLeod announced, tapping his belly, “and that it is full!”
Dugan chuckled. “I do and it is,” he replied, opening the door just as a frazzled soldier entered.
“Laird! You are needed immediately at the castle. Daeron MacCoinnich has arrived with several men and he is making demands to Lady Adanel and—”
Dugan heard no more as he dashed down the stairs and ran to the great hall where he had last seen Adanel.
* * *
Dugan watched the man squirm underneath his sword. “You dare to threaten my wife,” he hissed.
Daeron’s eyes darkened with fury. “She should have been mine.”
Dugan pressed forward so that blood began to drip down Daeron’s throat. “Want me to end your suffering? Say another word and I will.”
Adanel’s trembling hand on Dugan’s arm stayed him from making the cut final, but it did not cause him to drop his sword. “Don’t kill him,” she whispered. “At least not here.” When he did not move, she added, “Please, Dugan, I just replaced all the rushes,” hoping her ridiculous comment gave him pause.
It worked. Her words surprised him enough that it broke through his anger and got him to take a step back so that his guards could restrain Daeron. “Take him to Daingneach and throw him in the dungeons. I have no doubt that his father will be here shortly to get him. The boy is a fool, but his father’s not.”
Garrett nodded and dragged an unprotesting but unrepentant Daeron away. Thank God, Tybalt and Brùid had reacted quickly and that the castle guards had hustled to their call. By the time Dugan had arrived, every one of the two dozen men Daeron had brought with him had been disarmed and were kneeling on the ground in front of the great hall. But during the commotion, Daeron had slipped inside where Adanel and Kara were with a couple of servants discussing the menu.
Daeron had surprised them and had just grabbed Adanel’s arm and was about to plunge a dagger into her chest when Dugan had burst in, sword in hand, ready to do battle. MacLeod, Faden, and Fearan were right behind. Fearan immediately headed for his wife, but Dugan only had eyes for Adanel.
Without a word, Dugan had charged Daeron, giving him no time to think. Dugan had flipped Daeron’s sword out of his grip and spun the man until his back was against the stone wall and his neck was under his blade.
Once Daeron was out of sight, Dugan gathered Adanel in his arms, shaking. The fear of seeing her so close to death still coursed in his veins. Never had he been so close to losing control. In battle, he was always completely calm and focused. It was why he had lived when so many others did not, but seeing Adanel in danger made him realize that there was no end to the deaths he would cause if something ever happened to her.
“I’m well, Dugan,” she assured him, rubbing his back in an effort to calm his shaking body. “You got here in time. I promise you, I am well.”
He gripped her head between his hands and claimed her lips, plundering her accepting mouth, needing proof that she was still there with him, that he had not lost her. Adanel met him fully, her kiss as insistent as his. Only when Dugan was thoroughly convinced she was indeed well, living and still by his side, did he let her go and release a deep breath that he had not realized he had been holding.
“Laird,” Loman asked, standing behind him. “Word just came in that Laird MacCoinnich is approaching and he has at least another three dozen men with him. He should be here within the hour.”
Keeping Adanel tucked next to his side, Dugan ordered, “Call every available McTiernay soldier to duty. We will meet them with our full strength.”
“Already done, laird,” Loman replied, and turned to leave.
“Do not engage first. I doubt MacCoinnich is here to shed blood. He just wants his son, who is very lucky to still be alive.”
“Aye, laird.”
“And, Loman,” Dugan said, “you can escort MacCoinnich in here and see that he has food and drink until I arrive.” He looked back down at Adanel. “I might be a while.”
* * *
“My son is brash,” MacCoinnich conceded.
“He’s a fool,” Garrett muttered, “and he’s lucky not to be a dead fool.”
Daeron, released from the dungeon after being there only a few hours, muttered, “I wish you had killed me, then there would be war and the McTiernays would be erased from existence.”
MacCoinnich jumped to his feet. “Cease! If he had killed you, I would be here simply to collect your carcass and drag it back home. God, you may be brilliant, son, and you may remember everything, but murt! I sometimes think you are the densest man to ever live! If I had just one more son, I would have sent you away long ago, never to walk MacCoinnich lands again.”
Dugan’s eyes popped wide open as did those belonging to every single soul sitting at the table, including Daeron’s.
Dugan had requested MacLeod and his captain to join them. MacLeod had not been part of the discussions that led to Dugan being named laird, but he was going to be included going forward. MacCoinnich and the McTiernays had hopes of retaining a civil relationship, but with MacLeod there was a real chance for more. Dugan wanted to explore that possibility, and including MacLeod on strategic discussions concerning MacCoinnich was a step in that direction.
Daeron did not cower. Dugan gave him that. But he did stop talking.
“Now,” MacCoinnich said with a huff, retaking his seat, “my son was telling me that his intentions were honorable and that he had brought goods to trade. Rumors were that a MacLeod ship was sailing in today and he wanted to be here when it was at the dock in hopes to meet with their captain. There is a cart full of goods as proof.”
Dugan looked at each of his leaders in turn—Loman, Garrett, Faden, and then Fearan. For Daeron to know that MacLeod had come in to port so soon meant there was a MacCoinnich spy in their midst, and that was not acceptable.
MacLeod sat forward and with his elbows on the great hall table, he clasped his hands. “I was there, MacCoinnich. Your son almost killed my granddaughter and you think I am going to trade with you?” He scoffed, sat back, and glared at the powerful laird. He fought back a smile when MacCoinnich shifted in his seat. At least someone was still affected by his stare.
“The MacCoinniches have access to Scotland’s eastern shores,” Dugan said, knowing that Bàgh Fìon was far closer to their larger villages. It was also only a day’s ride from the MacCoinnich’s tower keep. Hit hard by the English, Laird MacCoinnich lacked the funds to build a castle and it was one of the reasons he had his mind on Bàgh Fìon, its castle, and the two towers.
“It might be more profitable for you to seek trade in that direction. We are opening up negotiations with MacGhille and the Caimbeul clans as well as the Mackays and McTiernays of Farr, and of course the McTiernays and Schellden clans just to the south. Bàgh Fìon might no longer have the capacity to meet your needs.”
MacCoinnich narrowed his eyes. “That was not the agreement. You were—”
Dugan cut him off. “To have the port running within a year so that it was self-supported. I was to have the Mackbaythe clansmen accept McTiernay rule and name, and train my own army within a year. There was no talk about limiting those I would have to do business with. You assumed I needed you. I don’t.”
The old laird sent him a scathing look. “It doesn’t.”
“That doesn’t mean I won’t trade with you though. If you’re amicable to some changes. Starting with that man never stepping onto McTiernay soil again,” he said, pointing to Daeron. “He does, he dies, and all trade ends.”
“You touch my son, and we will go to war.”
Dugan leaned forward. “Then we are at war now, MacCoinnich.” His voice, though quiet, had an ominous quality. “He held a blade to my wife’s chest. For that alone I should kill him, you, and every man you brought with you, without mercy.”
Daeron was lucky to be alive but his reprieve wouldn’t necessarily last long. If MacCoinnich wanted war, he would have one. Massive casualties would result, but if there was any clan in danger of being wiped from existence, it was that of MacCoinnich—not McTiernay.
War, however, was not what Dugan wanted. He also knew that while Conor did not desire it either, he would, without a doubt, support him. If any men knew what it was to love their wives, the McTiernays did. There was nothing they would not do for them and that included going to war if one of their own was threatened.
“I demand a cut of every good and item we sell,” MacCoinnich said through gritted teeth.
“As you should. And if I agree to do business with you, I’ll give you the same cut I’m giving the MacLeods and what I will be offering any others that go through my port.” Dugan sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, putting an ankle on his knee. “If we were to trade, you can only come through our lands using the main route, the one that hugs the mountain path. No more coming through our farmlands and grazing areas. Not even once.”
MacCoinnich gave a single nod. “My goods will be escorted by my guards.”
How to Marry a Highlander Page 30