Not willing to dare his father’s mindless rage again, Reid dropped to his knees where he stood.
“Maclan, no,” he begged softly watching Connor press his hand to the gaping wound in Mac’s neck. It was all so wrong. So horrific and unreal, he thought he might wake from this nightmare.
Then Maclan released a long rattling breath and was still.
“No,” Reid wheezed around the pain in his chest. A low keening sound reached his ears and he was surprised to find it came from his own throat. He couldn’t help the rocking of his body as grief welled up and filled him.
To lose Maclan after his mother’s sacrifice was too tragic to bear.
The soft patter of feet and grubby hands pulling at Reid’s shirt drew his attention away from his brother’s still form.
“Reid, stop,” said a small familiar voice. “Please, stop.”
He looked up into Ruari’s tear-stained face. Then, the boy threw short arms around his neck and held on with surprising strength.
“It’s okay,” Ruari whispered to him. “I can be your brother. If you want.”
Reid curled his arms around the boy and sobbed. Maura knelt and hugged them both.
Strangely, it was Bradan’s deep calm voice as he gave instructions that cut through Reid’s shock and grief.
“Ealea, tend to the wounded,” he said. “Ingrid, see to Maclan. This is a black day for our clan, to put a sister to rest and then lose a son. Yet, it could have been far worse.”
Reid gulped down his tears, pushed Maura and Ruari back, and stood up to face the rest of the clan. Ruari’s small hand gripped his finger tightly in solidarity. But no one said anything about Tarhill’s outburst. Bradan only nodded at him and gripped his shoulder firmly.
“Maclan shall be sorely missed,” he said. Was it sadness or pity Reid saw in the chieftain’s eyes?
While Ingrid and a grieving Connor consoled the rabid Tarhill, Bradan gathered a handful of men to help bring Maclan’s body back to the house where just this morning Brigga had lain surrounded by incense and gifts.
Connor’s eyes met Reid’s, their shared sorrow resonating between them binding them closer in their pain. Then Connor turned to follow their father and Maclan’s body. It would fall to him now to shepherd their shrinking family until Tamrach recovered, if he ever did. He didn’t envy his brother that role, but like Maclan, Connor would shoulder the burden without complaint.
Volla came to retrieve Ruari who refused to let go of Reid’s hand. Reid turned and squatted before the boy.
“You know,” he said softly, “you’ve been my brother all along.” He put a finger on the totem Ruari now wore all the time. “But right now, you should go with Volla. She can fix Bear for you and I’ll see you later.”
Ruari peered at him as if trying to determine if Reid was recovered enough to abandon. “Who will fix you?” he asked.
Maura put a warm hand on Reid’s shoulder. “I will,” she told the child.
His eyes flicking between Maura and Reid, Ruari nodded once, turned to Volla, and handed up his torn doll. “Fix Bear,” he said.
Reid stood as Volla led Ruari away. Maura quietly slipped her arm around his waist. “I’m sorry, Reid. For Maclan. I’m so, so sorry.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as she shut her eyes against the sorrow.
He curled warm arms around her holding her close, breathing in the scent of her hair. He had almost lost her too today.
“I should have killed it sooner. I should have saved Maclan.”
“You saved Ruari, and me.” She kissed him then, in full view of her father and mother and everyone.
Though he worried what the clan might think, he couldn’t stop her, didn’t want to stop her. She felt so right in his arms; their lips pressed together tasting of salty tears. She broke off the kiss to stare at him for a long, intense moment until her mother pulled her away to help with the frightened children. Reid’s hand lingered on hers until she was out of reach.
“Tis a shame,” Aedan said with a tsk-tsk.
“What?”
“That would have been the perfect time to ask her.”
CHAPTER 18
The next hours were a daze of grief and guilt. The men had set Maclan’s body on the cot where Brigga had lain awaiting her journey to the barrow. Ealea and Ingrid cleaned and stitched Maclan’s fearful wounds closed, covering the worst of them with new unbloodied clothes, the clothes Maclan would be buried in. Maura braided Maclan’s auburn beard adorning the ends with small beads of polished stone as she sang a prayer to Borran under her breath. A gloom hung over the small dwelling, palpable even from outside. Which was where Reid waited.
Staring at the warm hearth glow through the open door, Reid’s stomach turned at the thought that Brigga’s sacrifice had been for naught. Worse was the sting of his father’s refusal to let him even step over the threshold to pay his respects. Though Reid had always been the black sheep, he didn’t understand his father’s refusal to acknowledge the blood they shared. Like it or not, they were kin. At least Aedan and Gwenna had offered him room at their hearth if Tarhill refused to soften.
It was late now. Darkness closed over the village and Reid was just about to turn his steps for the hall when Ealea’s soft voice surprised him.
“How long will you wait?” she asked.
Reid turned with a start, a blush creeping up his neck. “Wait? You mean for Maura?”
“For your father to become a different man,” she said in a voice that seemed to know all his secrets and more.
“A while longer it seems,” he said, looking back at the door. Connor’s shadow crossed in front of the glow as he brought more drink to their father. The old man’s growl of displeasure was quickly followed by a cup flying against the door and shattering into ale-stained pieces. A drunk Tarhill was easier to placate than a sober one, although a handful nonetheless.
“I should help Connor with him,” Reid said, “and I would, gladly, but he won’t even let me in the door.”
Familial duty aside, Reid longed to share this sorrow with his brother. They had both suffered Tarhill’s disdain and, although Maclan had shielded them as much as he could, Reid had always turned to Conner for advice, for stories, for the occasional rebellion. Connor had always been there for him, more approachable than Maclan. Right now, they should be telling stories together, sharing tales of times past, drinking smooth honey ale until tears turned to laughter and back to tears.
Instead, Reid stood outside like a stray.
“Connor knows your heart,” Ealea said, disturbing his thoughts. She threaded a slender hand through his arm and turned him away toward the river. “He knows why you cannot help.”
They walked for a while in silence. Then Reid said, “Can I ask you something?”
Ealea nodded.
“Did I do something? To make him hate me?” His voice was low and halting in the quiet dark.
She sighed. “No, you didn’t. But what did happen is a very old story, and one I’m not sure I can share.”
Reid’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”
“It was Brigga’s story to tell. Did she never mention it?”
“No.”
Ealea sighed and lifted her face to the sky as if thinking. Then she said, “If you’ve never heard it, then perhaps it is time you did. It happened just before you were born.”
Reid dreaded what was coming: A secret like Ruari’s, known to all but the subject. Ealea stopped at a small rise near the river where a carpet of moss covered the roots, making a soft place to sit. Gathering her skirts, she settled onto the ground and waited for him to do the same.
“The first thing you must know is that Brigga truly loved your father. She used to tell us how she loved the secret warmth he kept hidden away, buried deep beneath his pain and anger. Though we all had doubts about the truth of it, we could never dissuade her from her belief. We worried for her, as you can imagine, his rages being what they are. But she always assured us that she knew he loved her, too,
and that she was safe with him.”
Ealea smoothed her skirt and smiled at her memories. “So, she married him, tolerated his temper and gave him a son. Tamrach was so proud of Maclan. A strapping child, and strong. The kind any father would be proud of. A few years later, she gave him Connor. A sturdy boy too, though prone to colic. Tamrach was not so patient with him.
“But years passed and Brigga wanted another child. She wanted a daughter,” Ealea said. “She grew attached to the idea, became fixed on it. Finally, she came to me thinking to gain the help of the Old Ones if she could.
“I was the one who taught her to call upon Borran.” Ealea paused, her brow furrowed. “I taught her how to say the special prayers. Ingrid helped and together we showed her the things that might strengthen her request.”
Ealea looked down at her hands and Reid got the impression she was ashamed. Were those prayers the ones Brigga had used to bring Maclan back? The ones that had killed her? He said nothing, waiting for Ealea to continue.
“She went to the statue to try her luck one night. Not the blood ritual…” she said. “But with prayers and incense and…a small sacrifice.”
She looked up to meet his shocked stare. “Only a gosling,” she said with exasperation. “Easily caught. Nothing drastic.”
“But Tamrach found out about it,” Ealea continued.
Reid could guess his father’s reaction.
“It was the only time I’d ever seen her run from him. He’d bloodied her face before she made it out the door. When he caught up with her at the dining hall, he beat her as if a madness had taken hold of him. The clansmen who witnessed his rage were too afraid to try to stop him. Usually, her tears would shock him back to his senses, but this time…” Ealea shook her head.
Reid’s heart thudded at the memories of other times Tarhill had taken fists to his mother.
“Bradan would surely have stopped it, but he’d gone north to Seal Bay to meet with Fynan. Without him, I was sure Tamrach would kill her. But there was one man in the clan who stood up. A trapper by the name of Weylin. Weylin O’Cynged.”
Reid didn’t recognize the name that Ealea breathed like one would a hero’s.
“He stepped between Tamrach and your mother. A soft-spoken man, he was tough as iron. He took two or three punches before he’d had enough of your father’s madness and fought back. It was a bloody brawl, but Weylin was determined to stop him. When your father was dazed, unable to stand anymore, Weylin scooped up Brigga and took her back to his hearth.
“It was a compromising situation, him taking her in like that. No one knew what bond existed between them. She’d never mentioned Weylin to me or Ingrid before. In all the years since the incident, she swore nothing happened between them and Weylin was an honorable man.
“But Tarhill was fighting mad as you might guess. Every day, Weylin met him at the door, turning him away with fists if necessary. Weylin kept Brigga nearly two weeks, until her injuries healed enough to let her return home.”
Ealea sighed. “I think he loved your mother, Weylin did,” she mused. “How much she returned that affection is less certain. I do know she wouldn’t dream of leaving Tam.
“When Bradan returned, he talked sense into Tamrach, calmed him down. Through it all, Tamrach claimed loudly that Brigga was a… was unfaithful. Bradan never acknowledged those accusations. He told everyone they were drunken insults, nothing more. Eventually, Tamrach took her back, though things were never quite the same.
“When she turned out to be pregnant, Tamrach was sure you were Weylin’s, not his.”
Reid was stunned. He’d never heard rumors about Brigga being unfaithful, and he had surely never heard the name Weylin O’Cynged.
“Was Tarhill right?” Reid asked. “Am I not…?”
Ealea laughed. “I told you before I started that Brigga loved your father and only him. She would never stray, no matter what he did.”`
“And this Weylin. Why don’t I know of him?”
Ealea grew quiet, her face sad. Then she said, “A year after you were born, Weylin went south on a trading run with a few trappers; Tamrach went too. When they returned, they all said that Weylin had gone ‘missing’. That’s how they phrased it. One night he was there in his sleeping roll, and the next morning—gone.”
Silence fell around them. Reid’s mind churned with the story. He had no doubt of Weylin O’Cynged’s fate. The realization that he was neither the son his father wanted nor the daughter his mother desired left him feeling … inadequate. As much a foundling as Ruari in a way.
But it was also clear that he could never heal this breach.
“Well I’ve given you much to think on, young man,” Ealea said, standing and dusting off her skirts. “I’m sorry I have no happier tale to spin.”
She reached out a soft hand to cup his cheek. “But Brigga loved you well. Never think she didn’t. Bear Clan will always be your home.” She kissed his head and walked back to the village, leaving Reid alone with his thoughts.
CHAPTER 19
The funeral procession passed by Reid where he stood just off the sloping path that led to the barrow. Tarhill and Connor shouldered the poles at Maclan’s head, and Aedan and an older trapper named Gelert at his feet. Reid should have been one of the four except that Tarhill had refused, shouting obscenities the moment he saw Reid at the door. Old Tarhill was intent on shaming his youngest son to the fullest and the pitying faces of the rest of the clan only branded the shame deeper into Reid’s heart.
At least the look Connor gave him was sympathetic. His brother’s face was tear-streaked and wan as he carried himself with more solemnity than Reid even knew he possessed. He looked so much like Mac in the early light. Since the bear attack, Reid hadn’t been able to talk to Connor at all. His older brother spent day and night at their father’s side. Tarhill tolerated him so long as he brought drink. But Reid knew things would only worsen as time passed. There was no one to temper the old bastard now.
He trailed after the four men on whose shoulders Maclan rested, his throat tight with shame and sorrow. Reid waited outside as they ducked into the darkness, arranging Maclan’s body in one of the shallow alcoves. Only Aedan and Gelert returned above ground. Tarhill and Connor remained inside to sing the final dirge.
Reid hesitated only a moment before walking softly into the darkness. He would not dishonor his brother’s memory by not participating. Connor and Tarhill had already begun. The younger man’s voice sounded smooth as ice in comparison to the old man’s rasp. At first, Reid only hummed along, not wanting to draw attention. But as Tarhill’s voice crumbled into soft sobs, Reid took up the melody.
His father turned to glare over his shoulder, and Reid was sure he would profane the ritual with violence. But Connor put a hand on Tarhill’s shoulder and gave him a hard stare, jerking his head in the direction of the alcove where Maclan rested. Connor’s face was serious and looked even more like Mac in the darkened barrow. Tarhill relented and wept, covering his face with his hands.
When the dirge was done, Reid led his kinsmen out of the barrow and through the village to the hall. Gilland and his men were there and already drinking. Reid ignored them as their angry stares burned along his skin. Between the Seal men and the Tarhills, a storm was certainly brewing.
He turned to check on his father and found Connor and Bradan directing Tarhill into the hall, distracting the old man so he didn’t notice Gilland.
But out of the corner of his eye, Reid saw the Seal Clan heir stand and walk toward the hall, too. Reid crossed the distance in three strides and latched onto Gilland’s elbow.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said in a low voice, holding Gilland back.
“Let go of me.” Gil yanked his arm from Reid’s grasp. “Am I not allowed to offer my condolences?” The other Seal Clan men stood up and came to their leader’s side.
“I doubt he’d find your words comforting,” Reid answered.
“More comforting than yours have been.”
/> Anger tightened Reid’s hands into fists. “Leave him be, Gil. Now is not the time for the sympathy of strangers.”
“Let him be the judge of that,” Gilland challenged. “I dare you.”
The Seal men formed a half circle behind Gilland, grumbling agreement at his words. Reid sensed his own clansmen coming to his aid as Aedan and Gelert took up their positions next to him, their faces hard.
Gil was spoiling for a fight, that much was obvious, and Reid had half a mind to let the fool bait Tarhill’s rage. But he thought of Maclan and said, “Don’t be stupid. Even drunk he’d whip you within an inch of your life.”
“Loyal words,” Gil baited, “for a man without a hearth.”
The insult pierced Reid like a hot knife, but he was determined to maintain order if only for Maclan’s sake.
“Leave off, Gilland. Whatever your grudge against me, it can wait until morning.” Reid turned to follow his father and brother into the hall.
“You shouldn’t have done it.” Gilland’s low voice growled behind him.
Reid turned. “Done what?”
“Killed my bear.” Gilland choked out the words on a painful breath. Reid thought Gil only sympathized with the beast. Now he saw something deeper, something he didn’t understand. Still, it was only an animal and Maura’s life had been threatened.
“You gave me no choice,” Reid said.
“You just couldn’t stand to see me win.”
“Win?” That surprised Reid. “That creature was going to kill Maura.”
“She should stay out of things that don’t involve her,” Gil said.
“And the boy?” Anger burned deep in Reid’s chest.
“If he’d done as he was told—.”
Reid grabbed the front of Gilland’s shirt and shook him once, hard. “No! You will not blame this on him. Ruari is only a child! You should have been protecting him. If you ask me, this whole thing was your fault.”
“Mine?” Gilland laughed. It was an ugly sound.
“Yes, yours. Why wasn’t it hobbled? Where were your guards?” Reid shouted, drawing the eyes of the milling people. Reid noticed Bradan quietly watching them argue. Although his uncharacteristic anger might ruin Bradan’s good opinion, in that moment he didn’t care. Some things had to be said.
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