Jenna looked around at the young lad standing at her elbow, holding a jug of whisky. “Don’t mind if I do,” she replied, holding out her goblet.
When everyone in the room had a goblet, Arran scraped back his chair and rose to his feet. Everyone fell silent, and all eyes turned towards their laird.
Arran cleared his throat. “I know times havenae been easy,” he said in a gruff voice. “And I wish to thank each and every one of ye for yer courage and steadfastness. I am proud to call ye my kin and friends and even prouder to be yer chief.” There were shouts and rumbles of agreement. “But tonight I want ye all to forget our troubles. My lady mother has reached the ripe old age of fifty years.” Rosaline scowled and swatted his arm at this. “So tonight we celebrate. We celebrate her, we celebrate each other, and we celebrate this clan. To Clan MacLeod!”
He raised his goblet and everyone else did the same. There were cries of “Clan MacLeod!” “Lady Rosaline!” “Happy name day!”
Jenna raised her own goblet in the toast and then knocked it back in one. But as the party began in earnest, Jenna found a strange melancholy replacing the warm feeling inside. Everyone was in high spirits—talking, laughing, sharing jokes. Over in one corner, Ingrid was deep in conversation with a handsome man whom she guessed must be Robbie. Arran and Rosaline were reminiscing about family get togethers of the past, and the atmosphere was warm and jovial.
I’ll be leaving this behind soon, she thought. It made her sad. Her gaze flicked to Arran.I’ll be leaving him behind. That made her even sadder.
She called over the young serving lad and held out her empty goblet.
“Could I have another whisky, please?”
*
Arran had toadmit that this had been a good idea. As he watched his people eating, drinking, laughing, and dancing, he realized that they’d been missing this sort of camaraderie for far too long. Life shouldn’t be all tension and worry. They had to take their chances at happiness whenever they came along.
It had taken Jenna to remind him of that.
He took a sip from his goblet and leaned back in his chair, searching the room for her. There she was, in the cleared space in the middle of the floor that had been set aside for dancing. His people had formed two lines facing each other and were engaged in one of the traditional Highland dances that his mother loved so much.
Right now, Rosaline was twirling and laughing like a giddy girl, and it did his heart good to see her happy. Lord above, she deserved it.
His gaze moved to Jenna. Her partner was old Drurie, the retired stable master. They were trying to keep up with the complicated moves, getting it horribly wrong, and laughing at their efforts.
Arran smiled. Jenna was so unlike anyone he’d ever met. Free-spirited, confident, so full of life. She made his life richer, more vibrant. How could he go back to his old life when she was gone?
All his good humor drained away. His fingers closed around his goblet, squeezing so hard that a sudden crack appeared in the pottery. He thumped it down onto the table. He suddenly felt stifled, like there was no air in the room.
He scraped his chair back as quietly as he could. Despite his size, when he wanted to, he could move as silently as a cat. He employed all of those skills now as he stepped into the shadows around the edgesof the room, made his way to the door, and slipped out.
Outside, a fat moon was hanging in the sky and the air had turned chilly now the sun had gone down. Torches burned along the keep’s high walls, chasing away the shadows.
Crossing the bailey, he approached the postern gate on the far side and was pleased when a voice spoke from the darkness. “Who goes there?”
Hamish, one of his guardsmen, stepped from the shadows, one hand resting on the hilt of the sword strapped at his waist.
“My… my apologies, my laird,” he said when he saw Arran.
Arran clapped the man on the shoulder. “Nae need to apologize for doing yer job, my friend. I’ll be going out now. I need some air.”
“Aye, as ye wish,” Hamish said, stepping aside. Like the guards on the battlements, those that manned the gates were used to Arran leaving the keep at strange times and knew better than to question him.
Arran lifted the heavy wooden beam from its brackets and set it to one side. Shouldering open the door, he stepped out onto the keep’s far side. Here, the walls of Dun Tabor ran close to the hillside that rose behind, creating a strip of land away from the prying eyes of Dun Tabor’s residents which was kept private for the laird and his family. In the darkness, Arran could just make out the rows of mounds that ran towards the hill’s base and smell the night flowers that had been placed on the two nearest.
He paused, wondering why he’d come. Did he expect to find answers here? Not likely. Here there was only dust and memories. And yet, he still came whenever he needed to think.
He seated himself on a crude wooden bench set before the nearest two mounds. Each of those mounds bore a stone cross carved with the names of Arran’s father and brother, but also a round stone marked with the symbols of the old religion. If nothing else, his father had been a practical man, hedging his bets by appealing to both the oldgods and the new. Even in death, that had not changed.
Ten long years had passed since these graves had been dug. Sometimes it felt like yesterday. Sometimes it felt like a century. Sometimes he struggled to remember the faces of his father and brother.
“What would you do?” he said aloud. “What shouldIdo?”
He wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking—whether he was referring to the raiders or the situation with Jenna, or a combination of the two. He only knew that the lairdship felt heavy tonight. The weight of responsibility felt like an iron collar around his neck, dragging him down.
“How did ye bear it?” he said to his father’s grave. “How did ye carry the weight of it all?”
