“As long as their numbers are no greater than a half dozen that won’t be a problem.”
“That’s not enough to fend off an attack.”
Dugan waved a hand. “My men will ensure there won’t be one.” He paused and then said, “You weren’t inferring that I would be attacking, were you?”
MacCoinnich ignored him. “And I want a building for just our goods. No others, manned, by my men.”
“If I agree to do business with you, I’ll agree to the building but not the men.”
“Four men.”
“Two who are approved by Faden,” Dugan countered, wiggling two fingers. “And again, only if I agree to do business with you.”
MacCoinnich threw his hands up in the air. “And what will it take for you to do that!” he demanded.
Dugan slowly turned his head so that his gaze was solely on the man who tried to end his wife’s life. “I want the names of every MacCoinnich spy in my port. And if I find out you missed one, all agreements will cease and I will burn all the goods in your building. I will then slice open your guards and leave their guts at your border.”
The silence in the room was deafening. “And I want those names, MacCoinnich, even if we don’t come to an agreement.”
MacCoinnich’s eye twitched.
MacLeod coughed into his hand and said, “Agree, MacCoinnich. McTiernays don’t bluff.”
MacCoinnich knew that to be true. He also knew who his spies were. “There are three. My commander knows their names.” They had infiltrated three years ago to see if the port was in such disrepair that it was worth the cost of taking over. Whether it was or not had quickly become moot. Adanel had been promised to his son, and while he would have easily ended that arrangement if Daeron had resisted, the boy had gone and fallen in love with the bewitching woman. The port was going to be theirs regardless.
MacCoinnich had ordered his men to remain and learn all they could about the port, its dealings, and the men who ran it. It was how he had learned that Dugan had routed out the corruption and had started making changes to expand the port that would allow more ships to dock. If true, this little port would evolve into a thriving one, which would make McTiernay rich the honest way. But that coin Dugan was using to repair this hall and his port was his gold and there was nothing MacCoinnich could do about it. It was nearly enough to provoke him into declaring the war nobody thought would happen.
Dugan looked at Garrett and Faden. “Please find those men and tell them that they will be going home today with their laird. And you might want to remind them that they will not be welcomed back.”
Garrett and Faden left and the small group became even smaller and far quieter. MacLeod took a deep breath and smacked his fist on the table. “McTiernay, you promised me ale and I suspect MacCoinnich could use a large mug himself.”
MacCoinnich grimaced but gave a single nod.
“MacCoinnich, my wife has planned a welcome celebration for her father this evening. You are welcome to attend.”
MacCoinnich took in several deep breaths and looked around. The great hall was the same and yet vastly different than the last few times he had been there. The windows had been washed allowing for a lot more light, and the stench was wonderfully missing. Death no longer lingered in the air. The servants, the few that he saw, did not scamper about in fear, trying to do their job and yet not be seen. The smells wafting in from the kitchens adjacent to the hall were more than pleasing. They were making him hungry.
Fact was, he wanted to stay but he also knew that his son should never be in a room with Adanel McTiernay again.
MacCoinnich glanced over his shoulder to his sullen son. “Daeron cannot stay. He has many, many things to do when he gets home. Including packing. I think it is time you visit your aunt for a while. Maybe time with Laird Stuart will teach you how to curb that temper of yours.” He did not add that the Stuart’s southern border was that of England and about as far away from MacCoinnich lands as he could send him.
Daeron rose and stomped out of the room, but smartly remained quiet until he was outside. Then he shouted for a horse.
Dugan was not concerned about the immediate actions of the young man. Daeron was a fool and easily spoke about dying, but he did not have a death wish. Dugan could only hope that when Daeron returned, he would be more mature and in control of his temper. Hopefully that was possible.
MacLeod was right. There were some actions that defined a man and he had witnessed enough from Daeron to know that the young MacCoinnich did not like to lose. A few months ago that had happened when Adanel married Dugan. Daeron had lost again today and then again with his father. These events would forever be etched in the man’s memory, of which all knew was everlasting.
The young MacCoinnich was dangerous and impetuous and did not fear crossing a line that others would never dare. That was proven when he almost thrust a knife into Dugan’s wife’s chest. Mackbaythe had died for almost killing Conor, and Dugan hoped he did not live to regret not ending Daeron for attempting to kill his wife. He feared he might. Daeron now viewed the McTiernays as his enemy. Someday he was going to be chief of the MacCoinniches, and when that happened, his long memory might come back to haunt all of them.
“I, however,” MacCoinnich said, recapturing Dugan’s attention, “am not needed immediately back home.” He looked around again and said, “I’m interested in seeing what this place looks like when not steeped knee-deep in muck, mayhem, and atrocities.”
Epilogue
Dugan lay languidly on the bed, unable to move, completely drained of any energy. Adanel had collapsed on top of him, her breathing still heavy from their lovemaking. He doubted he would ever grow weary of their passion, or if he would ever desire her less than he did in that moment.
After six months, life at Bàgh Fìon was busier than ever. The expansion of the port was coming along, but it would be at least another couple of years until the initial dock expansion was done. He also wanted to erect a curtain wall around the keep and the main buildings supporting the castle, but that would have to wait until there were people available. Between the building of the dock and the additional storage buildings as well as running the port and overseeing basic clan needs, too many things had a higher priority and there were barely enough workers to support already active projects. The clan was almost too small to do all that was being envisioned.
Even now, they were having to curtail those wanting to join the guard. They had doubled their original goal. Granted, they were still learning one end of a sword from the other, but Loman was gifted in the ways of training men. He and Garrett often switched duties, Loman placing the ex-mercenary in charge of the seasoned McTiernay soldiers. At first, Dugan had been concerned, but he need not have been. They all respected Garrett and followed his lead just as if he had been a McTiernay all his life. But he wasn’t one. And though his friend had accepted the label of commander, Dugan knew that it was only temporary. When the year was over, Garrett would be leaving, regardless of how much Dugan hoped otherwise. The man was plagued by something. Dugan could only pray Garrett would quickly find a way to release his burden and return someday.
Loman was aware Garrett would be leaving when the year was out and had already spoken to Dugan about him—a handful of others wanting to remain when the other McTiernay and allied soldiers left to return back to their homes and clans. Dugan had quickly made Loman the commander of his own elite guard for the man was a skilled and capable leader, uncannily and accurately anticipating orders before they were given. Dugan then had the task of sending word to Conor that another of his prized soldiers had permanently left the nest.
If someone had told Dugan six months ago that he and Loman would grow to be close friends, he would have thought them mad. But the man had proven himself not just capable and loyal, but a trusted confidant who always gave an honest, direct answer.
As for Adanel, she had been just as busy. Most of the castle had been in poor condition when she and Tybalt had
started, even more so than they had first thought. Some rooms had been declared dangerous as rot had eaten through the wooden floors in multiple spots. But the buildings and rooms the servants used had been even worse.
Deciding the kitchens were the priority, Adanel had them overhauled first, which meant a lot of cold meals for two months. Tonight had been the first meal prepared in them since the doors reopened and Dugan had to admit that it was worth the wait. And that was just the beginning. Adanel had plans to bring Lasairbhàigh Castle to its full potential glory, and those aspirations also included the two towers—Baile Tùr and Daingneach.
Dugan sighed and let his hand glide up and down Adanel’s spine, hoping nothing interrupted this moment. The love they shared was deep and profound. He still could not quite believe that he had found a soul mate, someone whom he trusted absolutely and completely with everything he was. He knew Adanel felt the same, and while he was still learning more and more about her each day, he had no doubts about the authenticity of her spirit and her love for him.
Dugan lowered his head as she raised hers. He loved that she looked drowsy, sexy, thoroughly loved, and gave her a brief, hard kiss before she rolled over and cuddled into the crux of his arm.
“I love you,” she murmured with a sigh against his chest.
“And I love you, aithinne,” he said huskily, his hands stroking her hair, his mouth brushing her temple. Then with a stretch, he rolled to his side so that he could look at her and watch the firelight play on her features.
Adanel raised a finger and ran it slowly down his chest and along the dark trail of hair on his taut abdomen. With a soft laugh that was a half groan, he stopped her, caught her hand, and caressed her finger with his lips. “Do that and you know where it will lead.”
Adanel wiggled her brows. “To a family,” she teased.
He shook his head and leaned down to nuzzle her neck. “Nay, I’ve been careful. I want you all to myself for a little while longer.”
Adanel giggled. “How much longer?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled against her shoulder, peppering her with kisses. “In five or six years, I’ll probably be able to let you go long enough for you to birth my son.”
She swatted his shoulder. “Birth your son! Aye, we will wait until you can be patient enough for me to feed our daughter.”
“Nay,” he said, moving lower. “These are all mine,” he whispered just before claiming a taut pebble with his mouth.
Adanel groaned and arched her back. It did not matter how many times they came together, how many times he touched her in just this same way, it always caused her blood to run in her veins and her body to come alive.
“See,” he said, coming back to claim her mouth, “I cannot get enough of you.”
Adanel nodded. “I think we need to find someone for Nigel and Brùid.”
“Nigel is too young. It would be cruel to foist him upon a woman, even if she was willing.”
“You’re probably right about that,” Adanel giggled.
“And I’m pretty sure Brùid scares women.”
Adanel winced. “Again, I think you are right. Imagine a woman underneath him. . . . He would crush her.”
Dugan groaned and rested his forehead against hers. “I do not want to think about Brùid with a woman.”
“Then think about Faden and how alone he looked at dinner tonight.”
Dugan rolled his eyes. “I love your uncle, aithinne, and he is a superb dockmaster, but the man simply repels females. How many times have you tried?”
“Well, there must be someone out there for him.”
“A woman who loves crazy hair, large ears, and a crooked nose?”
“If someone could love Laurel’s midwife Hagatha, someone could love Faden,” Adanel huffed.
Dugan raised his head and peered down at her, his face one of utter shock. “That woman is married?”
“Was,” Adanel corrected. “Very happily too. And her temperament matches her looks, so if she could find someone, so can Faden.”
“Then let the man do his own looking,” Dugan groaned, and then furrowed his brows. “What about that widow he used to see when we were meeting at the loch?”
The sparkle in Adanel’s brown eyes dimmed. “She is getting married to someone else. She claimed that all Faden cared about was work.”
“I’m sorry, love. I know you want your uncle to be happy.”
Adanel shook her head. “She wasn’t the one for him. If she had been, Faden would not have let her go. He didn’t even blink an eye when I told him about her wedding. So his soul mate is still out there, waiting for him to find her.”
“Again, I’m telling you to stay out of it. Men don’t like it when women meddle in their affairs.”
Adanel scoffed and gave him a slight shove. “You liked it well enough when Laurel and the McTiernay women interfered in yours, or do you still believe it was Conor’s idea for us to wed and you to become laird?”
Dugan froze above her. Seeing that she was serious, he rolled to his back and flopped an arm across his forehead. “An truaighe mura.”
“Don’t worry. Laurel says all the husbands get it eventually.”
“Get what?” he asked hesitantly, giving her a quick glance.
“Why McTiernays are so successful. Because while you all are incredibly good-looking, smart, and undeniably great leaders, you also have us,” Adanel said, crawling onto his chest. She gave him a quick peck. “You need us wives by your side. We are each a McTiernay husband’s secret weapon. So trust me, Highlander. I’ll never let you down.”
“Oh, I do, aithinne. Forever.”
“Forever,” she agreed, just before his lips hit hers and they gave each other what they always wanted and could never have too much of—true, undeniable, endless, passionate love.
* * *
Three months later, Brùid put the last small block of wood down and stretched his back from side to side. He then laced his fingers and stretched his arms, feeling the tension release all the way down. He had just finished chiseling the last block that afternoon and had rushed to get them up here before Adanel and Dugan came up to change for dinner.
He looked around at the two dozen small toys and wondered if there were enough of them. Aye, they were everywhere, but would Dugan get the message? Was it too subtle? All of his other practical jokes had been designed to force the two to talk to each other when they could not figure out a way to do so themselves. Today they spoke plenty, just not about the right things. These toys were supposed to fix that, but looking at them, Brùid wondered if they would work.
It had taken him three weeks to carve the blocks. Three weeks, in which he had known that Adanel was pregnant while Dugan had remained ignorant.
The only reason Brùid knew was because he was Adanel’s guard. Dugan rose so early in the morning that he did not hear her rush to the chamber pot to expel last night’s meal. Brùid knew very little about pregnancies but he remembered her pretending to do that when faking her last one. But this time her retching had been in earnest. What he did not understand was why Dugan still did not know.
At first, Brùid had thought Dugan was aware and the couple was just waiting to make the announcement. But when the laird had called Adanel to climb a steep ladder and join him on top of a building to take a look at something they were doing on the docks, Brùid realized Dugan was clueless. He could not imagine the smitten laird making such a request if he knew she was not eating for just one anymore.
Brùid sighed and slowly closed the door, hoping that what he had done was enough. Never had two people needed more help talking to each other than Adanel and Dugan. Even when they were happy, it seemed they still needed help. He was not sure where they would be without him.
They had to be goaded into every one of their arguments, major admissions, and even declarations of love. Some of his little tricks had been quite clever, too. Shortening Adanel’s reins right after they had rescued her had been subtle, but leaving Dugan on
ly laces to secure his plaid that morning at the river had been a stroke of genius. Sitting in the meat stew, however, was by far the best. People still broke out into hysterics when it came up in conversation. Little did they know who was behind it all. And it had all worked, just like Brùid knew it would.
The toys will, too, he promised himself. The laird will figure out their meaning. And in a few months, the blocks would be put to good use.
Aye, his ideas always worked. But the best thing of all about them was that Nigel always got the blame.
How to Marry a Highlander Page 31