Finally, Dun Tabor, the ancestral home of the MacLeods of Skye, came into view. It was an impressive sight, even if he thought so himself. A tall, imposing keep, it was built into the side of a rocky hillside, with a winding causeway leading up to the gates. High, round towers rose at all four corners and pennants snapped in the breeze. A loch spread out from the keep’s knees, and clusters of houses were nestled in terraces below the keep and around the loch’s shore.
He felt a flush of pride as he looked out at Dun Tabor. His home. The place he loved more than any other in all the world. With the sparkling loch at its base, the craggy hills behind, and the thick forests of pine, alder, and birch that cloaked the hills to east and west, it was a beautiful spot that never failed to take his breath away.
And it was under threat. If they failed, if Jenna was unable to revive the magic that protected Skye, all of this would be lost. An image formed in his mind’s eye. Smoke billowing. The houses and crofts burning. Dun Tabor’s gates broken, its towers nothing but skeletal ruins reaching into the sky.
No, he told himself.That will not happen. While there is breath in my body and blood in my veins, I will not let Dun Tabor fall.
At the sight of the keep, some of his men let out delighted whoops and cries of triumph. He understood their excitement. They had survived another day and made it home to their families. In these troubled times, that was the best any of them could hope for.
As they began passing through Dun Tabor village, people stopped what they were doing and came to line the road, calling out greetings and well-wishes. There were many faces he knew, some he didn’t, but he waved and called out greetings and bantered good-naturedly with them all the same, letting his people see him relaxed and in control, as they needed their laird to be.
The curious glances at Jenna were many and his men moved into a circular formation around his horse without Arran having to ask them, shielding Jenna a little from the prying eyes and prying questions that Arran waved away without answering.
“They all seem to know you,” Jenna observed in a quiet voice.
“Aye,” he replied. “I’ve led them for ten years now. My father was chieftain before me, and my elder brother should have followed him. But they were both killed in a raid so the title passed to me.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes large and shining with compassion. “I’m sorry.”
“Dinna be. It was a long time ago and although I canna say I ever wanted the lairdship, I’ve found peace with it. After a fashion.” He wasn’t sure he was being entirely truthful. Aye, he’d found acceptance of a kind, but that didn’t mean it didn’t chafe at him.
They wound their way up the causeway to Dun Tabor’s opengates and clattered through into the bailey where they pulled their horses to a halt. The messengers he’d sent on ahead had obviously reached the keep in good time as it seemed the whole of the household staff had turned out to welcome their laird home.
Welcome me, he thought dryly.Hardly. It’s the MacFinnan spellweaver they’ve come to welcome.
The household was arrayed in two lines in front of the keep’s doors, the soldiers, farriers, kennel masters, and stable hands in the row behind, with the steward, chamberlain, cook, and household servants in the front row. His mother stood in the middle of the front row as well, wearing her best dress and the MacLeod plaid draped across her shoulders.
Arran swung down from the saddle, handing the reins to one of the stable boys. “Bring the mounting block to help the lady dismount,” he instructed the lad.
“Aye, my laird,” the lad replied, running off in the direction of the stable.
But Jenna didn’t wait. Grabbing hold of the saddle horn, she swung her leg over the horse’s back in a most undignified manner and then slid ungracefully to the ground. Her knees buckled and she would have fallen had not Arran darted forward to catch her. He set her safely on her feet.
“Thanks,” she muttered, looking up at him.
He found himself staring into her bright, clear eyes before clearing his throat and stepping back. “I… um… ye are welcome.”
Arran’s mother stepped forward and executed a perfect curtsey. Despite her advancing years and the gray that now lined her once auburn hair, she was still a vigorous woman. When she smiled, he saw the glimpse of the beauty she had once been. But the death of her husband and eldest son had taken its toll on Lady Rosaline MacLeod and now she rarely smiled.
“Welcome to Dun Tabor, my lady,” she said. “I’m Rosaline. Adelight to meet ye.” She glanced briefly at Arran, her eyes full of questions. No doubt he’d get a grilling later, but she was too well schooled in courtesy to ask anything in front of Jenna.
“My lady?” Jenna replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before! It’s just Jenna. And wow. Your place is amazing!”
“That’s very kind of ye to say, my lady. Jenna. Will ye come inside? I’ve had a room made up for ye and food prepared. Ye must be tired after yer… um… journey.”
Again that glance from his mother that promised a thousand questions later. Arran sighed inwardly. Jenna wasn’t the only one who was tired. It had been a challenging day, and Arran would love nothing more than to shut himself in his study in front of a roaring fire and enjoy a tankard or two of ale in solitude. Little chance of that. His mother would not be the only one with questions, and he knew he’d be up late trying to explain everything.
“Go with my mother,” he said to Jenna. “Get some rest. We’ll begin work in the morning.”
“Right. Okay,” she said, looking slightly unsure. Then she smiled at Rosaline. “Lead the way.”
Arran watched as Jenna left with Rosaline. She paused at the doors to the keep and looked back. Their eyes met across the distance, and damn him if he didn’t feel a strange stirring inside. Then she was gone.
“Is she really a MacFinnan spellweaver?”
He turned to see David, his steward, standing at his elbow, staring after Jenna. “And is it true she’s come to save us?”
Arran stifled a sigh. “Aye, it’s true.”
