“Aye, we’ve heard,” Duncan offered. “What of it?”
Lana gave a heavy sigh before continuing. “The troubles between the MacKerricks and the Buchanans began long before that, although Minerva Buchanan was still at its heart.” She bent up her knees with a quiet hiss, wrapped her arms about them. “She was a beauty then. Strong woman. Powerful healer, even in her youth. ’Twas said she could bewitch a man with only a look, and I suppose ’twas true.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Dáire was mad for her.”
This startled Conall from his stupor, even before Duncan bolted upright with an outraged cry of “Mam!”
“Oh, doona go on like that,” Lana scoffed. “He married me, did he nae? ’Twas said I was his second choice, but I knew better.” She looked at Conall. “Your da loved me”—her gaze flicked to Duncan—“loved both you lads. Never doubt that. We owned his heart, true, and in time, he came to know that Minerva Buchanan was a folly he could have never made a life with. A family. She was fiery and impetuous and…a bit of a witch, aye. Much better suited to Ronan’s hotheadedness.”
“Why tell us this, Mam?” Conall asked quietly, even in his own pain marveling at the strength of his mother.
“Because ’twas nae your da’s heart that got us all into this twist, ’twas his pride. His damned, stubborn pride.” Lana nodded, almost to herself. “When Dáire was a young chief, he went to Angus Buchanan and asked for Minerva’s hand. He had wish to unite our towns and claim the one who’d struck his fancy.
“Angus was nae disagreeable to the offer,” Lana continued. “The MacKerrick hunting grounds were old, rich with food. Our men brave and true. Minerva ran wild and free and Angus hoped to settle her untamed ways by joining her with a man such as Dáire—careful, thoughtful, nae an impetuous bone in his body.” The last she said with a smile in her voice, as if remembering the man with fondness.
“They didna marry, though,” Conall said.
“Nae. They didna.” Lana sighed. “Angus gave his sister the ultimate choice of taking Dáire as her husband. Although the woman oft acted with abandon, Angus always indulged her. Wanted her happiness.
“Me poor Dáire—Minerva laughed at him. Before the clan heads of both towns. Called him a ‘young, old man,’ with a small town too far from her home. Called him stingy and without humor. She had seen her soul mate, she’d said, in her dreams, and she would have no other.”
Duncan hissed. “Poor Da, indeed.”
Conall could all too well imagine the humiliation proud Dáire MacKerrick had endured. Even if Minerva Buchanan had not wanted him, there had been no need for such shaming and scorn. His father had never been one to easily yield or admit when he was wrong, choosing rather to stay his own course, regardless of calamity.Hischoices.Hisway.Hislaws.
A little shiver of recognition twisted around Conall’s heart and he remembered the eve of his own wedding, when Nonna had run away. How Dáire had searched with relentless purpose and brought her back. And Conall had married her, against her will. Had his father been reliving a past slight?
But look how it had culminated—Nonna more bitter each day with Conall until the end, taking the one bright spot in his life with her when she went. Had Dáire died wondering if it would have been the same with him and Minerva Buchanan?
And, too, Conall thought of his own summary of his father’s character—unyeilding, imperious. Was that not Conall’s own behavior with Eve? If he had told her the truth, heard her own truth upon their first meeting, he knew he would have no reason to chase after her now.
But they would not have married. Would not have created the little miracle she carried with her through the dark wood to his enemies. His damned pride…
He needed the rest of the tale before making judgment. “Go on, Mam. Please.”
Lana clucked her tongue. “Well, then. Ronan and Dáire, two brothers you’ve never seen the like. Day and night. Water and fire.” She smiled at Conall and Duncan. “Or mayhap you have. But they were loyal to each other with a passion. When Ronan heard of the Buchanan woman’s humiliation of his brother, reckless as he was, he set out at once for the Buchanan town to demand recompense for such a slight.”
Conall noted he was holding his breath and he let it out slowly. “And Ronan saw her.”
“He did.” Lana nodded. “Minerva Buchanan herself told me that seeing Ronan for the first time was like a bolt of lightning striking a dead, dry forest, igniting a blaze that could never be banked.”
Their own fire was dying out and, not wanting the tale to be interrupted, Conall scrambled to toss a thick, jagged chunk of dead wood on the embers, sending a red fountain of sparks dancing high into the night.
Lana smiled her thanks before continuing. “Ronan waited several months—Dáire and I were already wed—before telling his brother of his wish to marry Minerva. Dáire felt betrayed, as if his brother’s request made a mockery of his humiliation, even though in truth, the flame he had once carried for Minerva Buchanan had long since burnt itself out.”
Duncan snorted. “Humiliation might have aided his disenchantment.”
“Perhaps,” Lana conceded. “And if so, then glad I will be to my last breath that the woman scorned him. But Dáire’s pride wouldna yield even to his beloved brother, and he banished Ronan to the old hut in the vale. Ronan wasna without his own temper, and so thought to join the Buchanans, hence the fateful ambush you already know a bit of.”
Conall felt an added measure of sadness slide onto his already burdened shoulders. He had so many questions to ask…
But before he could voice the first one, a crackling of the underbrush beyond the fire caused the three gathered under the tarp to freeze. Conall slowly laid hand to his sword and saw from the corner of his eye Duncan doing the same.
The crackling sounded closer in the dark, then paused, a sick, whistling snarl taking its place.
Duncan’s eyes flicked to Conall’s. “Could it be your Alinor?” he whispered, and Conall could tell by the tremor in his voice that Duncan wanted it to be the great, black wolf.
But Conall knew it was not. He shook his head in answer, only the slightest twitch of movement.
The growl sounded again and, like fog made solid, the pointed, grizzled muzzle of the old gray oozed into the wide ring of firelight from the shadows beyond. The body slinked after the head, bony and crouched and trembling. A sharp, cold breeze smelling of silver snow blasted through the flimsy shelter.
