“If they dinna mind company. Kieran willna let Maude out of the walls without at least a dozen.”
“Half a dozen, if ye dinna mind,” Kieran grumbled. “Ma wife tends to put her life at risk to help others. I canna fault her, but I can try to keep her alive.”
“One time, Kier. One time,” Maude reminded him.
“Aye. That was one time too many.”
Maude sighed and shrugged before she nodded. Abigail smiled up at Ronan and nodded too. Ronan signaled to his men and selected a pair to accompany Abigail. He watched as his wife and sister-by-marriage left the lists and made their way to the postern gate, surrounded by guards.
“Ye’ll never like it. But ye’ll learn to live with it.” Kieran clapped his hand on Ronan’s shoulder.
“There is something I wish to discuss that I havenae spoken to Abigail yet. It’s a matter best fit for only two lairds to ken.”
“Ma solar and ma whisky, I suppose.” Kieran led the way into the keep and poured Ronan a mug of whisky before they took seats before the fire. Both men stretched out their long legs, knees apart to allow the toasty air to billow up their plaids.
“We’ve been having more trouble than usual with the MacLeods. I havenae said aught aboot it to Abigail because I dinna want her to fear I will hold that against her or yer people. And I dinna want her thinking to intervene because she shares a clan name with them.”
“Reiving?”
“That and sailing far too close to Dun Ringill. They’re encroaching upon our fishing while stealing our cattle. They’ve lost several men while I havenae lost any. Ye would think they would learn that they are coming out the losers. But they’re persistent.” Ronan took a sip of his whisky, swirling it in his mouth and savoring the flavor before it burned a path down his throat. He appreciated that Kieran dropped his refined speech when he married Maude. They’d abandoned pretention, allowing Maude’s Highland accent and Kieran’s Hebridean one to dominate their speech. It meant Ronan could too while he chatted with Kieran. “I’m nae telling ye this because I have any wish to involve ye. I’m telling ye for two reasons: ye have a right to ken the situation yer sister enters and to warn ye that ye are likely to hear from yer distant relatives. They willna be pleased to ken ye let one of yer own marry me.”
“Cormag MacLeod and I arenae close, as ye ken. I canna stand the bastard. He would gladly claim himself as the only MacLeod laird, and I am naught but an inconvenience. Ye share ma concerns. I needed to see for maself this morn that ye can protect ma sister. Cormag will be a raging arse when he discovers I’ve allied the MacLeods of Lewis with ye. I dinna put it past him to use ma sister as his first target. I hadnae heard of his latest antics. He’s a fool. He believes that because he outnumbers ye that he will defeat ye. He forgets that ye have most of the island as yer land. If ye wish to press him, he has naught but the loch and the sea at his back.”
“A loch ma ally can sail into.” Both men knew Ronan posed a question, even if he made it sound like a foregone conclusion.
“Aye. A vera good loch for yer ally. Ken, though, until I’m certain ma sister is accepted and happy with yer people, I do it for her, I dinna do it for politics.”
“I never want it to be aboot politics, Kieran. I didna marry yer sister for the alliance. King Robert may have pushed me to marry soon, and he may have wanted an alliance that would help me against the MacLeods. But I married Abigail because I love her. If ye come to ma aid, it’s because ye come as family. The king may believe this is a strategic joining, but it isnae for ye. I ken I’m putting ye in the middle whether ye like Cormag or nae.”
“That is true. And ye married ma sister anyway.”
“I did.”
The two lairds looked at one another, assessing the situation and the merits of their newly formed alliance, both political and kindred. It would enrage the MacLeods of Skye. It would be inconvenient for Kieran, but it would be dangerous for Ronan. But he’d assessed the risk when he first took notice of Abigail. He was confident that his clan could not only weather the storm, but triumph against their neighbors.
“Call on me, and I will come.” Kieran extended his arm to Ronan, who grasped his forearm. They shook, and it felt like this conversation solidified their agreement more than the contracts they’d both signed the day before.
Fifteen
The next fortnight was a hive of activity as the MacLeods prepared for Christmas and Abigail’s wedding. The clan noticed the difference in Abigail from when she left for Stirling. The clan remembered her as a spoiled young woman before she handfasted with Lathan. Then they recalled the heartbroken but resolute woman who returned to them. A more loving sister and aunt could never be found, but the peace and maturity that emanated from Abigail since returning with Ronan made many secretly smile. The blustery winds trapped them indoors many days, but when they could venture outside, people spotted them walking hand-in-hand along the headland.
Abigail marveled at the difference in height and took advantage of leaning her head against Ronan during their walks. They tried going for a ride one morning, but the brisk wind left Abigail with watery eyes and wind-chapped cheeks. They went into the village several mornings, where Abigail introduced Ronan to the villagers. Inevitably, they walked past the tavern, and Abigail’s heart pinched as she surreptitiously watched Ronan from the corner of her eye. He was in the midst of explaining the layout of his keep and never turned his head, though Abigail was certain he was aware of the wench standing in the doorway. She could tell it wasn’t that he ignored the woman; he just didn’t notice, his attention solely on Abigail.
Neither enjoyed the two brief trips Ronan made to Skye during the weeks leading up to their wedding. It was inevitable that he had to return to his clan after spending more than a moon away, and Abigail encouraged him to go. But neither was eager to part, even if for only three days each time. Ronan assured Abigail that his clan was eager to meet her, and none held any animosity toward her as a MacLeod of Lewis. Abigail was only half-jesting when she said she would be sure to wear the MacKinnon plaid she would receive on their wedding day and tuck away her MacLeod one in their chamber.
Abigail sensed the strain Ronan experienced upon his return both times. He insisted all was well, but he didn’t elaborate. His evasiveness made Abigail worry, and her mind leapt to various conclusions.
“Why won’t you tell me, Ronan? You promised not to keep secrets from me, but now you change the subject or try to avoid answering me. What happened that is making you no longer trust me?”
“I trust you implicitly, Abby. That hasn’t changed. I’m weary from being away from you each time. I confess that I sulk while I’m home without you, and it takes a little while for it to wear off.”
“Now you really are lying to me,” Abigail huffed.
“I am not.” Ronan sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed they shared each night. He watched Abigail pick at her cuticle, a nervous habit he’d noticed. It was clear he was upsetting her when all he wanted was the opposite. He could guess the various scenarios playing out in her head, and they were all worse than the truth. He patted the bed beside him as he scooted into the middle. He’d shed his boots, stockings, and plaid when they entered since they were splattered with mud from his journey. He stretched out in just his leine.
Abigail hesitated but climbed onto the bed next to him. He lifted his arm to wrap around her, expecting her to lean against him like she usually did. But she sat cross-legged, looking at him. “Abby, there is no great mystery. There’s no illness sweeping through the clan, there’s no famine, there was no attack, and there isn’t anyone else.”
Abigail wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but she scowled instead. If there was no grave situation, she was even more frustrated that he wouldn’t tell her what happened. And it still disconcerted her that Ronan read her mind, but she’d grown just as proficient at reading his. It’s why she knew he hid something.
