“There is nay way the king will wait two-and-a-half moons to see ye. He’ll have men beating down our gates if ye keep him waiting that long.”
“Bah. He kens the weather’s unpredictable in the isles. That’s as good an excuse as any. Things are still too unsettled with the MacLeods. I’d rather try to sort some of this kerfuffle out with Landry before the king gets involved.”
“Landry?”
“Aye. His mother was French.”
“I ken. I met a Landry MacLeod at court. I didna ken that he was the laird’s cousin. I ken why Cecily fancies him. He’s vera handsome but vera arrogant. At the time, he reminded me of Cormag. Now I ken why. If he doesnae gain some humility with his new role, he’s going to be just as bad as his cousins.”
“Aye. I ken him too. He has the potential to be far better than Cormag or his brothers. Hopefully, this defeat will give him that humility. Otherwise, it will only drive him toward revenge.”
“That’s true. But they dinna have the forces they did a moon ago. It’ll be difficult for him to act on it without men to swing their swords. His clan will struggle until they can rebuild their fleet. I recognized many of the birlinns were used for fishing, too. Without them, they’ll lose a substantial source of food and trade.”
“That’s what I’m counting on. I hope to broker a truce while they’re downtrodden, but offer terms that will be acceptable even when they’re strong again. The price of peace for them will be getting their men back. If Landry agrees to ma terms, then I’ll release the men. If he doesnae…” Ronan didn’t need to finish his thought. Abigail knew Landry held the power to decide his own men’s fate.
“For his sake, I hope he kens the auld proverb, ‘he who cuts off his nose takes poor revenge for a shame inflicted on him.’ He’d do well to accept aught that ye offer. He isnae in a position to haggle.”
“We shall see. When the weather clears, I’ll send a messenger to let him ken I’d like to parlay. We’ll see if he accepts. Ma terms will insist he comes to us, so be prepared to host our enemy in a fortnight or so.”
Forty-One
Ronan stroked Abigail’s thigh, then patted it beneath the table as they sat listening to Landry MacLeod drone on. He’d accepted Ronan’s invitation under duress, knowing he wouldn’t rebuild his forces to their prior strength before spring. He understood that if Ronan chose to lead an attack on Dunvegan, the MacKinnons would decimate his clan. He couldn’t ignore that the MacLeods of Lewis stood beside the MacKinnons and not their distant relatives. Unfortunately for his clan, he presented himself as brash and immature, though Ronan and Abigail understood he thought he appeared determined and in control.
“Landry, cease your prattle,” Ronan interrupted. “You remind me of Cormag. And that’s hardly a compliment, considering why you’re here.”
Landry spluttered as he looked at Ronan, then swept his gaze over those at the high table. He focused on Abigail, and Ronan felt her tense once more. He wanted to bash the younger man over the head for putting Abigail at unease, especially when he thought he’d just gotten her to relax. Landry MacLeod had swaggered into Dun Ringill’s Great Hall, tossed Abigail a seductive smile, then spoke to Ronan as though they’d been peers for decades. He’d set Abigail on edge when his comment about recognizing her at court was laced with innuendo. Ronan feared Abigail would stab the new laird before the end of the first course. He disliked Landry, but he was already familiar with his arrogance, while Abigail was not.
“You are new to the lairdship, but you are not entirely new to politics, Landry. You have some choices to make. You can accept your clan’s defeat graciously, and we can broker an accord. You can pretend as though your losses weren’t significant in an attempt to save face, but that will only make you look like a fool. You can feed your bitterness and let your anger fester until all you can think aboot is revenge. If you choose that course, you will be the demise of your clan. It will lead you to be impulsive and to put pride before the wellbeing of your people.”
Ronan sat back as he looked at Landry, who was unprepared to discuss clan politics while they sat on the dais. When Ronan said no more, it turned everyone’s attention to Landry, who struggled with what to say. Ronan felt sorry for the man. No one had trained him to be a laird; since he was third in line after Gordon and Donovan, no one imagined Landry would one day lead the clan.
“What would this accord involve?” Landry watched Ronan, realizing that Ronan had gained control of the conversation by being direct, without flowery language or braggadocio.
“We make clear the water each clan claims for fishing. We agree to open water channels around your cape. My wife and I will travel between Dun Ringill and Stornoway often. If you are foolish enough to make the same mistake as your relatives, you will find the MacKinnons and Lewis at your door. You will allow us safe passage without harassment.”
Landry nodded. He knew whatever he brokered with Ronan would influence his relationship with the other branch of his clan. He was disinclined to allow the MacLeods of Lewis to grow stronger. He couldn’t afford for that branch to expand and dominate both Lewis and Harris. It would set his own people at a serious disadvantage. It would also make him appear weak before the MacDonalds of Sleat. He’d received a warning that John of Islay, Lord of the Isles, intended to visit Dunvegan. The new laird wanted matters settled before his overlord turned up.
“Do you have my horse?” Ronan’s question surprised Landry, who blinked several times.
“Your horse?”
“Aye. Do you have him?” Ronan crossed his arms, the muscles rippling in his forearms.
“I do,” Landry confessed. “We rounded up all the MacKinnon horses that made it ashore.”
“I expect them returned—as healthy as they were when you stole them.”
Landry’s expression turned thunderous, but he nodded.
“You will cease crossing onto my land unless you would like to lose every patrol you post. I will do more than lead a hot trot to recover my cattle. I will lay waste to your men along our border. This will open the gates to the MacDonalds, MacQueens, and MacNeacails. Once I have my cows and sheep,” Ronan’s lips turned down, “I don’t care what happens.”
“You do, because if any of those clans gain land from us, they will become more powerful than you.”
“Land is not power, Landry. It’s what you do with it that gives you power. The northern MacDonalds, the MacQueens, and the MacNeacails don’t have the resources to expand their clans onto new land. They might hold it in name, but they won’t benefit from it. I, however, will, if it means they weaken your clan. In addition to uncontested navigation through the Minch, our horses returned, and no more raiding our cattle, I expect two hundred pounds sterling.”
“What?”
“Your clan sank one of my birlinns. On that birlinn were my wife’s belongings. Be glad that I only expect you to compensate me for the boat, and not the costly courtly wardrobe Lady MacKinnon lost.” When Landry glared at Abigail, she didn’t flinch. She returned his stare with one of her own. Ronan draped his arm around Abigail’s shoulders. The silent yet possessive gesture was the warning Ronan intended. Landry looked away but nodded.
