Lana started. “Nae. Nae! Conall, your da would turn in his grave if you betrayed the clan as—”
“I care not about the clan!” Conall shouted. “This is Da’s very doing! If he would have let go of a bit of his bloody pride long ago, if he would have nae been so hardhearted to his own flesh—his brother—none of this would have happened. None of it!”
“Conall, you doona ken.” Lana’s eyes flicked between the brothers, as if trying to convince them both. “Your da should have done different with Ronan, aye, and he could have begged peace with the Buchanan long ago. But there were other reasons, you must believe. For your own sake.”
“For my own sake?” Conall asked in disbelief. “I doona care about anything or anyone save Eve and my child. This town has been poisoned by my father and his hateful, foolish grudge, and I mean to end it!” Conall was angry now, and glad of it—a relief from the smothering fear. “If Angus Buchanan should grant me pardon, I will run to Eve’s side, for I’ll know the curse willna touch her. If he doesna, if he refuses me”—he paused—“I will shake every home in this town on its side until I have its last farthing. And I will find someone to take Eve far, far from here and the MacKerrick taint. Someone that will care for her and our child.”
Lana was on the verge of tears. “Ronan wasna the only one to lose his life that day, Conall. The Buchanan’s own wife—!” She wrung her hands. “What if he kills you on sight, eh? How will you aid your Eve then?”
“Then I will do it.” Duncan’s voice was low and sure and Conall turned to him. “You’re right, brother. ’Tis past time for this madness to cease. We shall do it together, you and me.”
Conall grasped his brother’s arm. “Thank you, Duncan.”
Lana gave a long, long sigh and sat, a tear working loose from her eye. “Very well,” she whispered. “Very well, my dear, dear lads. I knew ’twould one day come to this, I suppose.” She was quiet for a moment, then raised her eyes to look at the two men before her. “I’m going with you.”
Conall frowned. “Mam, nae.”
“Oh, aye, I will,” she said in a tone that warned against further argument. “I have a bigger responsibility in this muck that you both are too young to ken, and I’d nae let Angus Buchanan vent his wrath on you in my stead. I go,” she said with finality.
Conall felt he had no choice but to relent. “Very well, Mam.”
“But you should know, Conall,” Lana began carefully, “after you return from the Buchanan town, the clan might nae fancy the choices you’ve made.”
“I have thought of that,” Conall answered. “And I am prepared.”
Lana’s eyes narrowed. “You are willing to give up your own town?”
Conall let a ghost of a smile touch his mouth. “I doona need to be the MacKerrick to love Eve.”
Chapter Nineteen
The weather was kind to Evelyn and her company on their journey, and the showers of late held as if to give her dry passage through the long, narrow valley west. But fear dogged her every step, the long stretches of silence broken only by the squish and crackle of her careful footsteps and her own troubled thoughts to brood on.
She feared becoming lost in the wilderness. She feared the grays’ appearance. She feared falling and injuring herself or the babe. She feared the Buchanan would turn her away. She feared Conall MacKerrick might come after her.
And she feared she might never see him again.
To add to her troubles, Evelyn was growing more concerned about Alinor. The wolf was unusually sluggish and disinterested in their travels, seeming to want to lag behind, leisurely inspecting hollow logs and abandoned badger dens and occasionally, but more frequently by the second morning, she stopped altogether to lie down in a soft patch of new, wet growth. Her previously hollowed belly was swollen and taut. She seemed fatigued and her keen yellow eyes were dull-looking and faraway.
Tired. Tired. Rest.
Evelyn could oft coax the wolf onward, but on a few instances Alinor would not be moved, forcing Evelyn to stop as well until the wolf deigned to rouse herself and continue. And each time, Evelyn’s worry over the animal grew.
They traveled lightly. Evelyn carried MacKerrick’s pack over Minerva’s old cloak, and in it were only the most meager rations for the party’s survival. Bonnie grazed at will, gamely carrying Robert’s hutch secured over her side. Sebastian flitted in the bony canopy overhead, cawing encouragement, and Whiskers was content to tumble and ride tucked away in a pocket of Evelyn’s kirtle.
There had been no sign—indeed, neither had there been sound—of the evil gray wolves, although Evelyn did not allow herself to be lulled into thinking they had abandoned the wood. The previous evening, Evelyn and her companions had huddled beneath the massive circumference of an ancient evergreen on deep, soft needles, but she had barely slept, each crack of twig or rustle of leaf causing her heart to pound, certain they would be attacked at any moment.
Now, the afternoon of the second day of travel quickly moved toward dusk and a lively stream slithered along the valley floor, its waters sweet and clear and musical. Ahead, the valley narrowed to a point between two falls of boulders and rose steeply, the stream disappearing beneath the rocky jumble. Evelyn looked up.
They would have to climb.
Evelyn did so slowly, calling encouragingly to Alinor or sometimes retreating to the rear of the wolf to urge her onward with a hand upon her hip. Bonnie cleared the pass with spry leaps and clatters of hoof and awaited them at the summit, bleating happily. When at last Evelyn gained the peak, sweaty and panting at a stitch in her side, tears filled her eyes at the view spread out before her.
Loch Lomond lay long and wide and green under the mist, fringed by sporadic patches of evergreens, the surrounding hills cradling the body of the huge lake like a child. And on the far side of the waters, a wide break in the forest was dotted with what appeared to be, from Evelyn’s vantage point, an army of smoking toadstools.
The Buchanan village.
“Town,” she whispered aloud sadly.
