Her accusation stung. “She fainted.” He walked to the bed, laid Eveleen on it, and then straightened to face Morrigan. Working one-handed because of the wound on her arm, she stalked to a bucket of water and dipped a cloth into it, squeezed it out, and returned to sit beside her mother.
Laying the cloth on Eveleen’s forehead, Morrigan said, “Why did she faint, Uncle Angus?”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t know what to say. He’d already lied to Eveleen. “Where’s Keifer?”
Morrigan made a dismissive wave with her hand. “He’s at the castle playing with Owyn. What happened to my mother?”
“Your da is dead.”
“Dead? How can he be dead?” Morrigan stared at him. “He was fine this morning. I don’t believe you!”
Angus wiped his hand across his face, felt the sweat on his brow, felt the pain of his own denial.
He would have to talk to Duncan, convince him to back up Angus’s story. No good would come of everyone knowing. It had been an accident—whether he fell from his horse or tripped on a rock, what difference did it make? Ian was dead.
“I’m sorry, Morrigan. ’Tis true.”
Morrigan had faced death in battle, had fought beside him and Ian more than once. She was stronger than any woman Angus had ever known. To see the tear that traced her cheek nearly undid him.
“What happened, Uncle? I came home and told Mother that Da would be along shortly, and then you bring him to us dead?” Her shoulders sagged. “Gordon is barely cold in his grave. How are we to bear this?”
Angus repeated the lie, hating himself but knowing he couldn’t suffer Eveleen knowing the truth.
Eveleen’s eyes opened, and she reached for her daughter’s hand. Morrigan’s tears dropped onto their clasped hands. Eveleen sat up, and the two women held each other. Angus knelt and offered his arms for comfort, but neither woman accepted his solace.
Seeing that they wanted nothing to do with him, Angus pulled back, still on his knees. “I’m as sorry as I can be, Eveleen. Morrigan. What ever ye need, I’ll see to it. Ye won’t suffer for lack, I promise.”
“Aye. All I’ll lack is my husband,” Eveleen whispered. “Go away, Angus. Go home to your wife. I cannot look at you.”
Stung, heartbroken not only in the loss of his brother but also the loss of the esteem of the only woman he’d ever really loved, Angus rose and left the cottage.
Though he would not dishonor his wife by breaking his marriage vows, he could still love Eveleen and see to her welfare. ’Twas the least he could do.
Aye, Eveleen would come around once her grief diminished.
STORM-TOSSED LEAVES covered the ground around the Macnab graveyard at Innishewan. Damp dripped from the trees, but Morrigan’s eyes remained dry. She had no more tears left to cry. How she wished her older brother was here to tell her what to do! But Gordon lay nearby in a grave covered by new spring grass.
Two men with shovels dropped rain soaked ground onto the casket, the mud splattering as it hit the wood. Morrigan held her little brother’s hand as the grave was filled, shovel by shovel. A few feet away stood her mother, leaning on Morrigan’s younger sister. Opposite them stood Angus Macnab with his mousy wife and son, the only one of the couple’s children to survive infancy. He was small and wiry but healthy.
The boy, the same age as Keifer, would one day be laird of clan Macnab.
Morrigan knew the story well of how Angus and Ian Macnab had both courted Eveleen MacTaggert. In the end she had not chosen the laird but his younger brother. Morrigan wasn’t sure if Angus had ever forgiven Eveleen or Ian. But Angus’s grief at his brother’s death seemed real, palpable even.
Angus came over to Eveleen and once again assured her he would take care of her and Ian’s children.
“I’m sure ye would do well by us, Angus. But the children and I are moving to Inverlochy to be near my family.”
“But ye belong here. Ye are a Macnab now.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “I belonged here while Ian lived. Now I want to go home.”
Morrigan hated to leave the relative safety of Innishewan, but her mother didn’t want to stay. Morrigan didn’t have the heart to argue. Too many bad memories here. And Uncle Angus—well, Morrigan had never trusted him. Best to leave as Eveleen wished.
“Morrigan, can ye not reason with her?” Angus beseeched.
“I will do as my mother wishes, Uncle.”
Shaking his head, the man walked back to his family.
Morrigan would grieve the loss of her father. How much worse must it be for a boy to grow to manhood without his father to guide him? As she stood by her father’s graveside, she vowed to see that Keifer received the training Ian could no longer give. And when the time was right, she would join Bruce’s army and fight against her uncle and his English king.
Morrigan looked down at her two-year-old brother. He must have sensed her glance, because he looked up. So forlorn, his expression! She held her hands in invitation, and he darted into them. She picked him up and he put his arms around her neck, clinging so tight she had to loosen his hold so she could breathe.
Still, the small wooden horse in his hand—a toy that Da had whittled for him—dug into her back. A trickle of wetness rolled down her neck and under her tunic. She felt the boy’s shuddering breath.
“Hush now, wee one. Hush.” She patted his back, offering solace. The priest had finished speaking and the mourners were beginning to leave.
Her father’s cousin, Duncan, came over to pay his respects. When he saw Keifer’s tears, he said, “You take care of yer mother, Keifer. Ye’re the man of the house now.” He stared at Morrigan and seemed about to say something more when he glanced up at Uncle Angus. Duncan didn’t make eye contact with Morrigan as he said, “God bless ye, Morrigan.” Then he spun about and left them.
Her da would have made a better laird, Morrigan thought, unable to control her bitterness. Angus inspired fear where Ian had gotten people to see things his way with persuasion and charm.
Morrigan gathered her family and they returned to the cottage to finish packing their belongings. Keifer, silent all this long day, sat by the fireplace playing with his wooden horse figurine.
Morrigan looked at her mother, who picked up the only book they owned—a beautifully copied collection of the Psalms. Eveleen’s eyes shone, and she looked almost happy.
“What is it, Momma?” Morrigan asked.
“I will see your father again, Morrigan. The thought relieves my grief—’tis the only way I can get through this.”
Keifer stopped his play. “Papa coming home?”
Distracted, her eyes staring off in the distance, Eveleen replied, “Aye child. We’ll see him again.”
“Gordon?”
“Aye. Gordon too.”
Keifer said, “Good.”
He was too little to understand what his mother meant. And what could it hurt if the child hoped for a reunion with his father, no matter where it would take place?
ONE
Dunstruan, Spring 1315
FROM BEHIND A HIGH SPOT on the parapets, Keifer Macnab watched the activity below in Dunstruan’s bailey. Today he was to leave here to foster with the Mackintosh laird. The horses were nearly ready, but Keifer was not. Angrily he forced back the tears that threatened.
He was so tired of holding everything inside. So tired of waiting for his father to return. The years at Inverlochy had been good ones. His mother’s father had been there to teach him to fish and how to use a knife and to overcome his fear of horses.
Then Grandfather had died two winters past and they’d moved to Dunstruan. Here he’d been tutored by the warrior monk, Ceallach. And just when Keifer had come to feel attached to the people of Dunstruan, especially Ceallach, once again he was forced to leave behind all that was familiar.
It isn’t fair.
He raced to the stairs and then down them, turning at the bottom— not into the bailey where Ceallach, his sister, and the others ex
pected him.
No.
Instead Keifer ran through the kitchen, careful that Cook didn’t see him. Running as fast as he could, he headed into the oak forest behind the castle.
Following the well-worn path of Dunstruan’s flock of sheep, he ran until he came to the overlook, stopping briefly to stare at the blue loch below. Then he ran toward the water, and now the tears couldn’t be held back. Anger and frustration welled up and flowed down his cheeks.
He ran until his lungs hurt, until he nearly choked on the tears and his fury. Finally he reached the water’s edge and momentarily considered running straight into the water and swimming as far as he could. Swim until his arms gave out and he sank beneath the surface. There would be an end to his problems. His pain.
The boy skidded to a halt in the mud and drew in rapid breaths. He hung his head. He knew such thoughts were evil—they solved nothing, just as running away would do no good. ’Twas no use—they would find him and he would have to leave.
But until then he would sit right here and wish he’d never been born.
MORRIGAN MACNAB FOUND HER BROTHER sitting on a log by the edge of the loch. The future laird of the Macnab clan drew back his arm and threw a rock into the water with a fury that alarmed her and made her glad she, and not her mother, had come to find him. The woman would have taken one look at her son and changed her mind about allowing him to be fostered so far from her.
Fostering was usually done with a nearby family, but Morrigan knew this move was in Keifer’s best interest, to keep him safe. The boy had become quite attached to Dunstruan’s laird over the months they’d lived here. She understood Keifer’s reluctance to leave what had become familiar and dear. Hadn’t he suffered enough losses in his short life?
But something in the angry set of the boy’s shoulders told her more was at work here. She walked closer, deliberately scraping her foot. Keifer’s head jerked up at the noise and he faced Morrigan. His face was streaked with tears, and Morrigan’s heart stumbled. She hadn’t seen the boy cry since their father’s funeral. She’d known Keifer didn’t want to leave Dunstruan, but perhaps she’d misjudged how deep his feelings ran.
He didn’t speak to her, just turned and heaved another rock into the lake. A gentle breeze ruffled his curly red hair.
Morrigan wished she could spare Keifer this upheaval. He would learn a hard lesson today, but learn it he must. Ceallach had returned from the war in Ireland to keep his promise to escort Keifer to Moy. “It’s time to leave, Keifer. Ceallach is waiting.”
Another rock splashed into the lake. “I’m not going.”
Morrigan didn’t argue, seeking instead words that would comfort while letting him know that he must eventually give in. “I know you don’t want to leave, but you must learn to be laird. One day you will take over the clan. You are Da’s only living son—the duty is yours.”
“I don’t want to be laird. I want to be a soldier, a knight like Ceallach.” This was not a new argument. Ever since their earliest days at Inverlochy, Keifer had made his wishes known. However, King Robert the Bruce had disinherited their Uncle Angus and his son— first casting them out of Scottish-held territory and then imprisoning Angus when he came back fighting. The Scottish king made Morrigan head of the Macnab clan until Keifer came of age. But Keifer remained adamant that he wanted to be a knight, not a laird.
Morrigan said, “Adam Mackintosh is a knight, Keifer. ’Tis an honor to be fostered by the laird of the largest federation of clans in the highlands.”
“But he doesn’t know how to joust or, or . . . he can’t teach me to use the claymore.”
Keifer was right about that—Adam Mackintosh had been gravely wounded years back. Though still an admirable adversary with a broadsword, Adam’s fighting abilities were limited. “Aye, that’s true. But his warlord, Seamus, can teach you to use any weapon. He will teach you the ways of the highlands, and Adam will teach you to be a laird.”
Morrigan put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And you will be safe at Moy, should Uncle Angus be released from prison.”
With a shrug of his shoulders, Keifer went back to throwing rocks.
Plink. Plop.
Morrigan sat down on the log and looked out over the peaceful loch. Would Keifer tell her what else weighed so heavily on his young shoulders? Was it only the prospect of being sent away or something more?
She said, “You look like you lost your favorite toy.”
Panicked, he reached into the folds of his plaid and pulled out the leather-bound ball Ceallach had made, looked at it, and carefully put it back. “No.” He threw another rock, with less force this time, then sat down next to her, resting his chin in his hands. “Why can’t I stay here?”
She wanted to put her arms around him, shelter him, keep him close, just like her mother did with him. But he would not appreciate the gesture. And he could not stay. For his own good, he must go to Moy. She feared Keifer would be a virtual prisoner here. At Moy, he could have a more normal life. “I’ve told you. I cannot protect you here—too many men loyal to Uncle Angus remain nearby. Adam and his warlord can train you to be a laird.”
“Fergus could train me.”
“Much as I admire Fergus, Keifer, ’tis a fact he grew up as a servant at Homelea. He’s an able steward but doesn’t have the training to lead a clan.”
“Ceallach then.”
Morrigan drew upon her patience. “He is a wonderful soldier and he is learning to be a laird—”
“But I want to be a soldier like him.”
“War has already exacted a heavy price from our family. No more. You need to learn to lead the clan. And I need you to be safe. You could learn much from any of these men. But I want you somewhere that Uncle Angus won’t think to look, should he be released from prison.”
“Uncle Angus wants the ring, doesn’t he?”
“Aye. He wants the laird’s ring back so he can pass it to his son.”
“He can have it.”
“No, he can’t. King Robert has punished Uncle Angus by taking away the clan leadership and giving it to us. To you, once you are grown.”
“You can keep it, pass it to your son.”
“It is your birthright, Keifer.”
“Wouldn’t you like your son to lead the clan?”
“No!” She gentled her voice. “No, Keifer, for that would mean you’d forfeited your right or that you were dead. I want you safe and healthy and grown to be a man. I promised Da in his grave I would see to it, see that you would be trained to take your place one day.”
He stayed very quiet and still. Morrigan sensed that whatever deeper issue plagued Keifer might soon be revealed.
“Da will never find me at Moy.”
Morrigan jerked as if punched. “What are you talking about?”
“Da is getting out of prison. He’s coming for me, for us. How will he find me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Keifer. Da is dead. Coming on nine years now.” Morrigan and her mother rarely spoke about Ian Macnab, but how could Keifer have come to such a conclusion? Had Keifer harbored such a hope all these years? “You know what it means when someone dies, don’t you, Keifer?”
He nodded. “But when Da died, Mother said it gave her peace to know she would see him again. I don’t remember much about him, but I know he wouldn’t go away and not come back.”
“We’ll see him in heaven, Keifer. Not here on earth.”
“Why doesn’t Mother ever talk about him? Is she angry with him for leaving?”
“Perhaps she still grieves, Keifer.”
Morrigan found it hard to believe that the child had clung all these years to the fantasy that his father was in prison and would return when the war ended. That he remembered anything at all about their da, so young was he. Now the boy must deal with the reality that his father would not be coming back, and she regretted to see some of the light go out of the child’s eyes.
He sighed. “I guess he must be dead or he’d have come back
by now. Gordon is dead, too. I don’t remember him at all.”
“Then when you get to Moy, you must ask Adam to tell you about Gordon—he and Gordon were good friends.”
Keifer turned to her. “Don’t you remember him either?”
Pain stabbed Morrigan. “Oh, aye. I remember him well. He had your hair and slanted eyes, just like Da. Both of you.” She smiled. “Gordon used to tease me something awful. Once he chased me with a rotten apple on a stick, threatening to smear it on my new tunic. I tripped and fell and sprained my elbow.” She laughed and saw that Keifer smiled. “He caught it good from Da for that one.”
“Why did he do such things?”
“Well, now I realize it was his way of showing that he liked me.”
“Oh.” The smile left Keifer’s face. He looked so serious, too serious for such a young boy. “Everyone leaves me or sends me away.”
This time she reached out and pulled the child into her embrace. “ ’Tis not because there is some deficiency in you, lad.”
Keifer hugged her back, and they sat together for a good while. Eventually he pulled away, and she saw resignation in his expression. But the hurt still lingered in his eyes, and she wondered what it would take to heal his sense of abandonment. She would pray every day for him to find comfort and peace.
They stood and walked back to the keep and the future that awaited Keifer in the highlands.
TEN DAYS LATER, Keifer and Ceallach arrived at Moy. They stopped on a hillside overlooking a loch with a castle sitting on an island in the middle of it. Cattle and sheep grazed nearby, and despite his intention not to like the place, Keifer could feel himself drawn to the enchanting, midday view.
As they rode over the causeway, the watchman shouted a welcome. They rode into the bailey and were greeted by the castle folk. A tall blond man and an auburn-haired woman came out of the keep. The woman held a boy child of about two, and a somewhat older lad clung to her skirts.
Ceallach dismounted, but Keifer held back as a wave of shyness overcame him. And just a little resentment. Despite the danger from his uncle, he didn’t see why he must be relegated to the far reaches of the highlands. Granted, Castle Moy looked able to withstand any siege, but there were other castles that could have protected him. Castles closer to his mother and Ceallach.
The Promise of Peace Page 2