“Ye always take things the wrong way, Gillian.”
“How am I supposed to take that? From the time ye raised the issue of Fallon’s betrothal ye said it was because she is my heir.”
“Well, she is.”
Gillian didn’t know what possessed her to say what she said next. “How do ye know that? Maybe she isn’t. Maybe I am carrying the next laird of the clan even now.”
Her mother looked shocked but not unhappy. “Are ye, lass? Are ye expecting? Have ye been taking Rhiannon’s special tonic? Oooh, a bairn, how exciting.”
Gillian hedged, “It’s too soon to know for sure, but I could be. My point is that ye are worried over nothing. Fingal will return with his men and our stolen livestock by tomorrow.” Stalking towards the keep, Gillian fervently hoped that was true.
Her mother tried her patience to no end and their argument reminded Gillian of her conversation with Fingal from the previous evening. She heaved a sigh as she remembered how pleasant it had been to talk about her da. Yes, that is what had been missing, what had made things all the more tense with her mother. She had tried to handle the pain of losing him by blocking all thoughts of him, even the wonderful, happy memories.
When she was upset as a girl she would find a place to be alone and eventually her da would find her and help make everything better. That is what she needed now. She needed some peace. Lady MacLennan couldn’t very well find a tree to scramble up, but there was a place where she could be alone with her thoughts and her memories.
It seemed her brain and her feet had come to the same conclusion because she found herself in front of the chapel. She entered its cold stillness and sat down, allowing her jumbled emotions to settle. When they had, she let the happy memories of her da wash over her. She couldn’t stop the tears that spilled down her cheeks. She closed her eyes; she could nearly feel him with her—his warm, strong arm around her shoulder.
When her tears finally subsided, she felt calmer and stronger than she had in days. She dried her face, took a deep breath, and left the chapel.
~ * ~
The peace she found in the chapel stayed with her for the rest of the day. When she finally retired to her chamber that evening she fell asleep almost instantly. She slept soundly until just before dawn when she woke to the sounds of a commotion in the courtyard. She dressed quickly and ran down the stairs. The men who had been on the raid poured into the great hall and Diarmad had joined them as well. She thought things must have gone well because they were clearly jubilant but as soon as she spied Fingal she panicked. A bandage was wrapped around his left arm and blood soaked his sleeve.
She rushed to him. “What happened?”
“I’m fine. ’Tis just a scratch, Gillian.”
“It isn’t just a scratch. There is blood everywhere. How were ye hurt?”
Eadoin laughed. “He’ll be grand, Gillian. Nothing important was injured.”
“He’s a lucky devil, I’ll give ye that,” called Tarmon.
Gillian was losing all patience. “I don’t find any of this amusing and someone had better tell me what happened right now—”
Interrupting her tirade, Fingal pulled her toward him with his good arm and kissed her. She blushed crimson and all conscious thought fled her mind.
When he broke the kiss he said, “Gillian, my love, I’m fine. We didn’t mean to upset ye so.”
“Then tell me what happened,” she said in a calmer voice.
“We found a trail we thought had been left by the Grant raiders. We followed it and, sure enough, caught a small group of them unawares with a few more head of our cattle. They engaged us but were outmanned and gave up soon enough.”
“But how did ye get hurt?”
“Don’t spoil the story, my lady,” teased Diarmad.
Fingal continued his tale. “We had them unhorsed, disarmed, and face down on the ground. I considered holding them for ransom, but I worried if I brought them back here they would see the true state of things and once released tell their laird. So instead, we took our own cows, their weapons, horses, and anything else of value, trussed them up, and dumped them on Grant land. We left them with a warning that if we caught any more Grants on our land we wouldn’t be so benevolent.”
Tarmon laughed. “In fairness, they had some fine horses. I’m not sure ye could have gotten a better ransom from Laird Grant for them anyway.”
“So ye were injured in the scuffle?” she asked.
“Nay, that is where the story gets a bit odd, my lady,” Eadoin said. “We had long since turned back when an arrow flew out of nowhere. The laird had just turned to say something to me, otherwise it would have pierced his heart. Instead, it just barely nicked his arm.”
“How could that happen? Who shot the arrow? Oh dear God, ye could have been killed, Fingal.”
“But I wasn’t killed. It is just a deep scrape. It doesn’t even need a stitch. As to who shot the arrow, we can only assume we missed one of the Grants. Perhaps a squire stayed hidden until we passed again, thinking to have revenge.”
“Perhaps? Ye don’t know?”
“We searched in the area from which the arrow appeared to have been shot, but never found him. He must have laid in wait to take one shot. When he missed he either escaped us or more than likely simply hid himself well.”
Eadoin added, “We decided one lone squire, without a horse, was no real threat. Furthermore, if we stayed in the area looking for him he might continue to take random shots and potentially kill someone before we found him. All things considered, the evening was a great success.”
Gillian was relieved to hear this. “Well, I’m glad ye found our livestock and put the fear of God into some thieving Grants, but I want Agnes to look at that wound before I am willing to call the evening a success. Even the smallest wounds can be deadly if not properly tended. Please send for her.”
“Aye, my lady,” Eadoin said with a grin. She glanced quickly around the room, noticing that all of the men wore stupid grins. She harrumphed in frustration, took Fingal by his good arm, and practically dragged him from the hall.
“What are the eejits all grinning at?” she demanded when they were out of earshot.
“I think they are just pleased at the way things are working out.”
“What on earth are ye talking about?”
He stopped, pulled her to him, and kissed her, again wiping her mind of all thoughts but his kiss. “I’m talking about that. I think the men are pleased that ye are flustered by my kisses.”
“I-I’m not—I just—I just—ye are injured.”
“Aye, that pleases them too.”
“That ye are injured?” She was appalled at the notion.
“Nay, lass, not that I’m injured, that ye seem so concerned by it.”
Before she had the chance to react he kissed her again.
Chapter 12
Like his men, Fingal was touched by how upset Gillian had been by his injury. It was obvious that she cared for him. Perhaps the going was slow, but he was winning her heart. When Agnes arrived she confirmed that the injury was indeed minor. She cleaned and dressed it before offering him a potion to help with the pain.
“Nay, thank ye, Agnes. It really doesn’t hurt that much and if yer potion is anything like the foul swill Niall’s wife dispenses, I can happily do without it. I think after a wee rest I will be fine.”
He did sleep for a few hours and felt perfectly well when he awoke. The sun was fully up and Gillian had left their room. He knew they had had a close call with the Grants and he could not afford another one. He needed to get the wall finished and turn his attention to rebuilding the strength and skills of his warriors. He had to face facts; he needed to bring in additional manpower. Before the midday meal was served, Fingal sat down with Diarmad, Eadoin, and the four clan elders to discuss his plans for moving forward.
“Eadoin, I have mentioned it several times, but it bears repeating, ye have done remarkably well ensuring the clan’s protection given
yer limited manpower over the last year.”
“Thank ye, Laird. I won’t deny that having our ranks bolstered by yer brother’s men has been a Godsend.”
Daniel nodded enthusiastically. “Aye, I have been watching and they are highly skilled warriors to a man. Sure, didn’t ye send the Grants packing right enough?”
Fingal nodded. “Aye, we did, but we took a huge gamble doing that. I don’t ever want to leave the keep so poorly guarded again.”
Daniel said, “Frankly, we could use the skill of some more of Niall’s guardsmen. There are a lot of young men to train and we lost many of our best warriors.”
Diarmad agreed. “Laird, given that the repairs haven taken so much time away from training, it might be prudent to ask Niall for the loan of another guardsman or two, to help with training once the repairs are done.”
“Diarmad, I can’t ask him for more.”
“Aye, ye can. He worried that this might happen and he asked me to remind ye that ensuring the MacLennans stay strong is in the best interest of all yer neighbors. Besides, he owes ye.”
“He doesn’t owe me.”
Diarmad became serious. “Aye, Fingal, he does. Ye saved Duncurra. Besides, when will ye learn not to argue with Niall? He is willing to send whomever ye need and I think it would be an excellent idea if Turcuil came for a while. He is particularly skilled as a trainer.”
“Diarmad, I appreciate the help Niall is willing to offer. However, if he sends Turcuil he may as well come too because Edna will kill him.”
Diarmad grinned. “Aye, she might.”
“Are ye talking about the widow who helps runs the household staff at Duncurra?” Eadoin asked.
Fingal nodded. “Aye. Most of us think Turcuil will ask her to marry him—in a decade or two.”
“Not anxious to be chained down?” Nolan asked with a chuckle.
Fingal grinned. “It isn’t that exactly. It’s more that she terrifies him.”
“And this is the man ye want training our warriors?” Nolan asked incredulously.
Diarmad and Fingal both laughed before Fingal explained, “Aye, I do. Ye’ve seen him. Turcuil may be the fiercest warrior in the Highlands and he could pound ye into the ground as soon as look at ye. But it isn’t just his size that makes him fearsome, his skills are renowned and he has always had both a knack and a fondness for teaching others. His only weakness is Edna and he is so smitten with her that he can barely think when she is near.”
Eadoin arched an eyebrow. “Maybe this would be the push he needs to ask for her hand.”
Nolan frowned. “Why is it that young married men are always so anxious to curse the rest of us with that affliction?”
Eadoin laughed. “Why is that old bachelors think marriage to a good woman is a curse? I assure ye, it is anything but.”
Fingal smiled. A few days ago he might have wondered if marriage was a curse or not, but things were beginning to look up with his own bonny bride. “Turcuil really is the best man for the job.”
Diarmad nodded. “Aye, and it wouldn’t be forever. The wall will be completed very soon, probably by Easter. Perhaps he and a few other men could come then.”
Fingal weighed his options. He hated to ask Niall for more help but he knew, with their limited resources, he had few choices. “I suppose that could work. However, we can’t rely on MacIan men forever. I think it is also prudent to seek several highly skilled warriors to join the ranks as guardsmen permanently.”
Archie asked, “Who do ye propose to ask?”
“Quinn MacKenzie, for one.”
“Quinn MacKenzie is a friend of yers is he?” Owen asked, failing to hide a note of suspicion in his tone.
“Aye, he is. He is a fine warrior and the MacKenzies are the kind of powerful allies we need. Anyone would think twice before tangling with Cathal MacKenzie.” Fingal answered.
“Ye have that right,” agreed Archie. “That man has managed to bind himself to nearly every strong clan in the northern Highlands. Who else were ye considering?”
“Bran MacBain.”
“Bran?” Daniel asked. “Aye, he trained here under Laird Kelvin. He is a fine warrior and well known to most of us. He is an excellent choice.”
Nolan nodded. “They would both make fine guardsmen. There is only one little flaw in yer plan. Our funds are dangerously low. Ye have nothing to offer these men.”
“He does, Nolan,” Diarmad said. “Eithne left a large estate.”
Fingal shook his head. “Nay Diarmad, I told Niall I wanted no part of that.”
“Aye, but I think the elders of yer clan may see it differently.”
“What are ye talking about?” demanded Nolan.
“Over the years, while she was bankrupting the MacIans, Eithne amassed a fairly large sum of money,” explained Diarmad.
“Aye, she built her wealth by stealing it from them. It is MacIan money,” Fingal insisted.
“Niall doesn’t see it that way. They are once again financially sound, ye are her heir, and there is more than enough money available to help resolve the MacLennan’s most pressing issue, skilled manpower.”
“Diarmad, I—”
“Be reasonable, Laird. Eithne played a major role in the tragic series of events that have landed us all here. Take the money and bring some good from it.”
“He is right,” agreed Nolan. “I understand why ye might not want it. Actually, I respect yer reasons. However, it’s true, we urgently need the manpower and our resources are stretched thin.”
Daniel nodded. “As much as I despised that woman, I have to agree. The clan needs those funds regardless of how she acquired them.”
Fingal turned to the other elders. “Owen, Archie, are ye of a same mind?” Both men nodded their agreement.
“Then it is settled,” Diarmad said.
“Aye, I suppose it is.” But Fingal worried about Gillian’s reaction to this. He believed the men were right. He would explain it to her but he knew, deep down, the idea of accepting Eithne’s money would rankle her more than it did him. After the progress they had made over the last few days, he dreaded this discussion. He also knew that if she was adamantly opposed to it and he couldn’t change her mind, he would have to find another way. He didn’t want to cause her more pain.
~ * ~
Perhaps Gillian was over tired. Although she tried, she hadn’t gone back to sleep after Fingal and his men had returned. She couldn’t stop thinking of how close she had come to losing him. It was only by the Grace of God that he had turned in time to miss the arrow last night. She wasn’t sure why it had upset her so badly. She had been distracted by these thoughts all day. That, coupled with her exhaustion, was the only explanation she had for why her guard was down at the evening meal and she had missed the determined glint in her mother’s eyes.
The meal was nearly over when Lana cleared her throat and turned to Fingal. “Laird, I’ve been meaning to discuss something with ye.”
Fingal gave her his attention. “What concerns ye, Lana?”
Dear God, Gillian knew instantly that Lana intended to raise the issue of the betrothal. If Gillian hadn’t been so preoccupied, she might have seen this coming sooner and averted it more smoothly, but alas, she didn’t. Her mother would be relentless and Gillian did not want this discussed in public, in front of Fallon. She jumped to her feet and offered the only excuse she could think of. “Mother, I’m sure whatever it is will wait until another time. I am exhausted and really must retire now.”
“Go ahead, Gillian, ’tis the laird I wish to address anyway.”
“I’m sorry, Lana, I too am anxious to retire.” He stood and flashed a huge smile, generating some chuckles from around the table. “I assume it isn’t urgent since ye have waited until now to raise the topic. Perhaps we can discuss this tomorrow?”
Her mother looked irritated for an instant but recovered quickly. “It is important, but aye, it can wait until tomorrow.”
Fingal gave Lana a nod. “Very well, unt
il tomorrow, we wish ye all good night.” Then he took Gillian’s hand and exited the hall with her as those assembled called their good nights. When they were halfway up the stairs and out of earshot of the hall he couldn’t help but tease, “well done, Gillian. Ye give every indication of being a new bride anxious to be alone with her groom.”
“That wasn’t what I was doing.”
Fingal laughed. “I know that, lass. I trust, when we reach our chamber, ye will tell me what topic of conversation ye wished to avoid with that rapid exit.”
Gillian was aghast. “Was it that obvious to everyone?”
Fingal laughed again. “Probably not. I’m sure most of them think ye simply wished to be alone with me. I am the only one who knows ye want another chance to trounce me at chess.”
Gillian blushed. Someone had thoughtfully placed a full decanter of wine and two goblets on the table. Apparently the servants had noticed their recent habit of spending evenings alone. She poured herself a goblet and although she usually drank watered mead or wine she thought perhaps a little extra fortification was in order. She dreaded talking about her mother’s betrothal plans. After taking a drink she realized she should have offered some to Fingal as well. She turned to face him. “Would ye like some wine?”
He looked exceedingly amused. “Nay, thank ye Gillian.”
Not knowing what else to do, she sat at the table and began to arrange the chess board even as she said, “We don’t have to play chess tonight. Ye should rest.”
“I’d like to play. I find it relaxes me.” He took off his belt and weapons, placing them by the bed before joining her in the other chair. “Now, what unsuitable subject was yer mother about to raise?”
Gillian tried to appear affronted. “What makes ye think it would have been unsuitable?”
“Gillian, I’m not the one who rushed to avoid it but I would appreciate knowing what to expect tomorrow.”
Gillian sighed. He was right. “My mother thinks, now that everything is ‘settled’, a betrothal for Fallon is in order.”
Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3 Page 58