Smirking, Niall lifted the heavy, wooden chair in one hand with ease. “’Tis good of you to notice.”
Once he replaced the seat to its original place across the solar, Niall tipped his head at Aaron as he reached for the door latch.
“Niall, wait,” Aaron called out before his friend managed to slip from the solar. “Thank you. For everything. How can I ever repay your loyalty and kindness?”
’Twas no price high enough to touch the depth of his gratitude to the man. Niall’s unwavering friendship was invaluable.
“I’m not seeking recompense. We’re friends, Aaron. I shall always guard your back,” Niall reminded him. “Should I stray from my course, then I expect you to guard mine.”
“You have my word,” Aaron assured. ’Twas an unbreakable vow he intended to honor.
Chapter Sixteen
MAIRI WADED INTO consciousness with a pained moan. A pounding ache battered the inside of her skull, while her face felt as if someone had clouted her with a pile of stones. Her clogged nose forced her to draw air through her mouth which irritated her sore throat.
So much for a sound night’s rest to cure her. She’d spent the better part of the eve tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position that enabled her to breathe.
Flopping on her back, she cracked her bleary eyes open and flinched at the sight of Gertie’s wrinkled face looming over her. A squeal worked its way up her throat which sparked a series of a shuddering coughs.
Oh, Sweet Mother, help her. She felt utterly wretched.
“Why did you not send for me during the night?” Glowering her annoyance, Gertie pressed her fists into her ample waist sides.
“I tried to tell her, Gertie.”
Mairi shifted her head on the pillow to see Connor standing on the opposite side of the bed, wearing a look akin to worry.
She swallowed against the scratchiness in her throat. “’Tis naught but a sniffle.”
By the Saints, was that deep, rasping voice hers?
“A sniffle my arse,” Gertie groused with a bob of her head. Placing a hand to Mairi’s brow, she shook her head. “You’ve a fever already.”
Hanging on to the thread of conversation by a hair, Mairi attempted to shove off the furs, but Gertie popped her hand. “Stop that. Leave them on. The cold air shall do more harm than good.”
With little strength to argue, Mairi dropped her arm and laid there as limp as a scrap of damp cloth. ’Twas doubtful she could manage little more at present.
Gertie muttered some unintelligible nonsense as she rummaged through her massive medicinal bag on the side table. Procuring a sealed jar from inside, she beamed in satisfaction. “Ah, here we are.”
Once she uncorked the small pot, Connor waved a hand in front of his face. “Saints, what’s that?”
“Horehound, licorice root and yarrow.” Gertie lifted the jar to her nose and breathed in a whiff. “’Tis not that bad.”
Either the old healer lied or had a damaged sense of smell. Mairi thanked heaven for her clogged nose. ’Twas a concoction her Aunt Elena administered to anyone ailing with a lung impairment to a simple head cold. She did not need the use of her nose to imagine the offensive odor wafting through the air.
Gertie poured a healthy dose into a tankard of ale, then rifled through her bag for a larger jar. “We’ll add a touch of honey to help with the bitter taste.”
If Mairi disliked the smell, then she loathed the taste. Alas, the brew would soothe her ailment and set her to rights in a day or two. At least, she hoped.
Once Gertie stirred the ingredients, she thrust the cup in Mairi’s face. “No complaints, lass. Just drink.”
As if she’d argue with the woman.
Mustering her strength, she lifted her head and gripped the tankard. Tipping the cup back, she hurriedly drank the contents in long, deep gulps. Saints, she’d gladly drink another if the potion would cure her any sooner. With plans to return home as soon as possible, ’twas hardly the time for her to catch cold.
Passing over the empty tankard, she dropped her head on the mound of pillows beneath her. Frustrated with her sickness, she silently cursed Aaron, remembering his warning the day before. Somehow, blaming him for her illness made her feel slightly better.
“There’s a good lass.” With a nod of approval, Gertie shoved the sleeves of her blouse up to her elbows. “Now, ’tis time to make a poultice. It’ll clear your lungs of congestion and open your nose right up.”
Mairi groaned aloud. If she despised the rank smell of the potion, then she could not wait for Gertie to slather her in the thick, noxious paste.
The healer glanced at Connor. “’Tis no place for you to be, lad.”
“Do you not require aid?” The young man frowned in confusion.
Pausing in her task of crushing herbs, Gertie lifted her brows to her hairline. “’Tis meant to be applied to her bare chest, Connor.”
“Oh.” Connor’s cheeks flushed bright crimson. “Forgive me, I was not thinking.”
If Mairi’s face and throat did not ache, she might’ve laughed at Connor’s obvious embarrassment.
Gertie waved off his apology. “Actually, I’ve a task for you, lad.”
Connor nodded. “Anything.”
“Run below stairs and speak to my sister. Tell her Mairi’s ailing and we shall require a batch of her special pottage.”
Special pottage? Why did the two words together sound ominous?
Hesitant, Connor lingered at the bedside. “She’ll not get angry, will she?”
Gertie wrinkled her nose. “Are you scared of Glinda?”
“Mayhap, I am.” With a reluctant shrug, Connor admitted, “Mayhap, I’m a bit frightened of you, too. You’re both rather imposing.”
That did yank a laugh from Mairi. Aggravating her throat, she choked on her laughter.
Passing Mairi a tankard of water, the old woman grinned in amusement. “I vow you have naught to fear from me or my sister. Now, run along, lad. Glinda shall be pleased to offer her aid.”
As soon as Connor swung open the door, Gertie screeched in alarm which startled Mairi. Despite the pounding in her skull, she bolted upright which caused her head to spin.
“Calm yourself, Gertie,” Connor said. “’Tis naught but Aaron’s cat.”
Within moments, the animal leaped on the bed and sauntered straight for Mairi, rubbing its furry head against her chin. The soft brush of affection brought a smile to her lips.
“Shall I return the beast to Aaron?” Connor volunteered.
“Nay.” She sniffled and wrapped a protective arm around Ash. “I believe I’ve found the perfect companion to keep me company.”
*
TO SAY FACING his clan did not wring a tight grip of dread around Aaron’s chest was a bold falsehood. After a quick peek inside the great hall, he blew out a harsh breath. Almost every MacRae, their numbers nearing a hundred, lined benches around trestle tables, filling their bellies with the morning meal. Fragrant scents of sweet breads and honey drifted from inside, along with the low hum of affable chatter. Lingering on the other side of the threshold, Aaron questioned what the hell he was doing.
Despite his best efforts, one of the last times he’d entered the hall rushed to the forefront of his mind, clouding his focus. ’Twas the day Longford removed his father’s head from his shoulders. The distinct memory flashed as clear as the shallow waves in summer. Though his father’s lifeless body had unsettled him, ’twas the sight of a sword tip at his brother’s throat that had truly shaken him. The image of Connor’s terrified features had nearly crippled him.
And now, the same mild-mannered lad that Aaron would’ve sacrificed everything for sat in the very same hall, within steps of where their father’s prone form had cooled on the stone floor. Regardless of what his brother had faced, Connor dined in the hall each day with the rest of the MacRaes, just as Aaron should’ve done. If he’d ever accused his brother of lacking strength, then he was sorely mistaken. The young m
an displayed more courage and respect than Aaron had of late.
But no more. He’d wasted enough time disappointing his kin and his clan.
Intent to honor his pledge to Niall, he vowed to face the MacRaes and move onward in the right direction. Determined, he took the first leap, stepping over the threshold and into a packed hall.
A hush fell over the chamber, creating a deafening silence that bore in his ears with the rapid thump in his chest. His taut frame grew more rigid as every pair of eyes in the hall settled on him, wary of his sudden entrance. At once, his gaze sought out Connor.
Seated at the high table at the front of the expansive room, his brother rose to his feet. From Connor’s lax jaw and rounded eyes, Aaron surmised his appearance surprised his brother. After their angry encounter a few days prior in the solar, ’twas astounding a scowl did not mar the lad’s features.
Before advancing a step further, he held Connor’s stare, hoping to convey an unspoken message. ’Twas acceptance he sought. He offered a single nod and waited for a response from Connor—a signal that Aaron had not irrevocably damaged the bonds that tied them together as brothers.
To his eternal relief, a slow smile crept over Connor’s features and he returned the gesture with a nod of his own. “Welcome back, Brother. Your absence in the hall has been sorely missed.”
Connor’s easy reception sliced through the barrier of tension hanging thick in the air. Many of the MacRaes offered a smile or nod, relaying their silent approval. Though Aaron suspected a healthy measure of apprehension remained, ’twas to be expected. They needed time, just as he’d taken more than enough of his own.
Nonetheless, each show of support eased the burden of guilt he frequently donned as a mantle for so long. With a lighter stride, he ventured deeper into the chamber to join his brother who sat with Niall, Gertie and Kate.
Though, he noted the absence of one familiar face—Mairi.
As soon as Aaron paused beside his brother, Connor pounced at him, sweeping him up in a crushing hug that pushed the air from his lungs. For a moment, he stood rooted to the floor, stunned by his brother’s embrace.
With their heights equally matched, his brother had filled out his lean frame, shed his shyness and acquired a sharp tongue in the last year. At times, ’twas easy to forget Connor’s young age. Heedless of their audience, Aaron enfolded his kin in his arms.
Saints, he could not remember the last time he’d offered such a show of affection to his brother.
When they released each other, Aaron clapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder. He was a big enough man to swallow his pride and admit his mistakes. “I know I’ve been an arse and, for that, I apologize.”
The smile on his brother’s lips deepened into a wide grin. “Aye, you have. But, I’m pleased you’ve come to your senses.” Lowering in his seat, Connor motioned to the fare set out. “Come, let us break our fast.”
“Aye, but first, there’s something else I must say.” He shifted to face the hall.
For several long heartbeats, his gaze swept over the range of faces waiting to hear word from him. From gray, wizened elders to a handful of small children, each one of them had experienced the same grief, sorrow, and heartache as he and his brother. Yet, they’d clung to their resilience, picked up the crumbling pieces, and moved forward with their lives. As he noticed the slightest glimmer of hope in their expectant features, his behavior since his father’s death shamed him more.
“There are no words great enough to express my regret. Too long, I’ve neglected my duties to our clan by holding my tongue and distancing myself. ’Tis truth, I allowed myself to wallow in shame and guilt for my inactions while my father was laird, and again for my misdeeds when that despicable, English dog invaded our hall.” He swallowed down his bout of nerves. “’Tis ridiculous, but I’ve permitted my own selfish folly to guide my actions for the past year and sat idly by while our clan suffered. I’ve felt as though I could never be the laird this clan truly deserves.”
“So, what has changed?”
Aaron peered toward the entrance of the kitchens where Glinda stood with her hands resting on her hips. With a scowl, the woman’s beady eyes scrutinized him from afar.
After a quick glance at his brother and Niall, he lifted his chin higher and answered in truth. “I am grateful to those closest to me who helped open my eyes. They reminded me of the importance of kinship. That I could not walk this path alone. That I needed my family and I needed my clan. And, they were not mistaken.”
“And we need you.” The deep grooves carved in Glinda’s features eased. “’Tis not a true clan without its laird.”
Pleased with the cook’s compliance, Aaron proffered a faint smile. “I do not claim to be infallible by any means, but I vow I shall be naught like Brodie MacRae.”
“You were never like your father,” an aging male seated in the midst of the hall spoke up. “I remember the lad you were, and I see the man you’ve grown in to. In truth, you take after your grandfather, Connall.” The elder waved a gnarled hand at those seated around him. “We know you tried to help as much as you could while Brodie lived. And though you’ve put off facing your clan far longer than you should’ve, we are also aware that you’ve tried to look over us from afar. You cannot run from your troubles forever, lad. Sooner or later, you must face them like the rest of us. As long as you stand with us, we shall stand with you.”
Bolstered by the older man’s words, Aaron nodded his understanding. Saints, if anything, he felt more ridiculous for his senseless behavior. “I cannot promise to be the laird you deserve or, mayhap, even the one you want. But, I am willing to try…if all of you will have me.”
As several of the clan members exchanged glances, he expelled a shaky sigh, determined to keep his gaze trained on the hall. Others continued to stare at him, gauging the sincerity of his assertion. Before long, most of the gazes in the hall flickered to Glinda, as if they sought the old cook’s guidance with the matter.
The silence stretched on, mounting Aaron’s unease. Despite the cool air, beads of sweat formed on his brow and he tugged at the restricting collar of his tunic. Shifting from one foot to the other, he strove to not fidget under the strain.
’Twas why he doubted his abilities as laird. At times, his lack of confidence hindered him, guiding him to make poor or rash decisions.
Glinda’s arms fell at her sides and she hobbled closer. Wisdom shone in her sharp, beady eyes. “No one’s infallible, lad. Remember that. We shall always stand with you as long as you stand with us. So, aye, we shall have you, if you shall have us.”
Relief spread through his limbs, leaving him lax and weak in the knees. Grateful, he agreed without a scrap of hesitation, “Always.”
She nodded her approval and a rare smile bloomed over her features which stirred the hall into a gush of cheers and excited chatter.
This—the understanding, the unyielding support and encouragement—’twas precisely what he’d missed. How absurd of him to have thought he could survive without his clan.
Aaron took a seat beside his brother and smiled at how right it felt to join his clan for a meal. Reaching for a piece of fresh bread on the table, he nodded at the others seated around him. Mayhap, he should’ve pulled his head from his arse sooner.
Aye, he’d not forgotten his brother’s words. Though, he suspected they came from another source. A source whose absence bothered him.
He darted a questioning look at Connor. “Where’s Mairi?”
His brother’s grin slipped, which drew Aaron’s immediate notice and sent a frisson of alarm speeding through him.
“She’s taken to her bed, ailing with a cold.”
He fumbled with the bread, and the crusty fare slipped from his hand to drop in his bowl of porridge.
Leaning closer across the table, Gertie rushed to assure him, “’Tis naught to fret over, lad. I saw her at first light this morn.”
His gaze swung to the old healer. “Is she all right?”
“Aye, of course.” Gertie nodded. “I’ll check on her in a bit and administer another potion.”
Concerned, he slid his chair back to rise, scraping the legs over the floor.
“Nay, give her a chance to sleep before you go running up there disturbing her,” the old woman softly chided. “’Tis what she requires right now. Give her a day or two and she’ll get over the worst of it.”
Saints, he’d known she might take ill, traipsing about without her head covered.
Give her time to rest, like hell. Once everyone dispersed from the hall, he intended to check on her himself, whether she was still angry with him or not.
Chapter Seventeen
A SOFT STROKE brushed over Mairi’s cheek, stirring her into consciousness. While she was fond of the gray cat, the beast sought attention at the most inopportune times. Blindly, she raised her hand to swat at Ash’s furry tail but swiped at warm skin, instead. She peeled her eyes open and focused on Aaron who stood over her bedside.
Even ailing from a cold and angered with the man, the sight of his stern, handsome features caused a hitch in her congested chest. One corner of his mouth lifted with a grin at her obvious surprise which hastened the thrum of her pulse.
Swallowing against the dryness in her mouth, she shifted to sit up higher against the mound of pillows. Quick to offer aid, he straightened the cushions behind her.
With a grudging frown, she muttered, “Thank you.” Wincing at the scratchiness in her voice, she cleared her sore throat. “What are you doing here?”
Suddenly aware she must look a fright, she yanked the covers higher over her chest and the foul-smelling poultice Gertie practically doused her in. Regardless of her congested state, the offensive odor managed to waft up her clogged nose.
Aaron eased down on the edge of the bed beside her. “Once Connor and Gertie informed me you were ill, I had to see for myself.”
“Why?” Scowling, she sniffled. “So, you can gloat at my misfortune?”
The smile slipped from his mouth. “Nay, never. In fact, when I entered the hall to speak to my clan, ’twas your face I sought out. When you were not there—”
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