The tip of Catherine’s dirk poked against the corner of Maxwell’s left eye before anyone realized what was happening. “If the sight of me troubles ye, then I’ll pluck out yer eyes. If the sound of ma voice troubles ye, then I will hack off yer ears.” She slipped the tip of the blade between his lips until it tapped a tooth. “Either way, I’ll cut out yer tongue and make ye wipe yer arse with it. Then none of us will have to listen to ye spew lies and filth.”
“Catherine,” Andrew Mòr stepped beside his niece. “I dinna want his blood on yer hands, and I dinna think yer husband or father-by-marriage want that either. If ye wish for his head on a pike to greet ye each sunrise, then ye shall have it. But I’ll do it.”
“I’d never take that right from ye, Uncle. Nae after allhetook from ye.”
“Good lass.” Andrew pressed Catherine’s hand away from Maxwell’s face until she drew away on her own accord. She returned her knife to its sheath. “Go with yer husband, Catherine.”
Catherine stared at Andrew for a long breath before she nodded. She stepped back to the horse she’d borrowed as Rab slipped his arm around her waist. They watched as the two Andrews spoke, the younger nodding several times. Caelan came to stand beside the couple as they wondered what the MacFarlanes intended to do since they were on MacLaren land.
“Mòr, I extend ma hospitality to ye and yers.” Caelan reached out his arm. “For better or for worse, we are family now. I, for one, wish to celebrate ma son’s bride. I’m nae so thrilled with him, but I already love ma daughter-by-marriage.”
Andrew Mòr studied Caelan’s outstretched arm before accepting it. The two lairds shook, their rivalry not over as they both squeezed, waiting to see who relented first. When neither flinched nor eased their grip, they both yanked their arms back.
“I feel the same aboot yer son and ma niece,” Andrew grinned. “The least ye could do is feed me a decent meal.”
“I’ve seen ye eat, mon. A decent meal to ye is a feast to anyone else. Do ye intend to eat me out of house and home?”
“Good thing yer wife is a skilled chatelaine. She can manage.”
“Och, aye. But just so ye ken, the feast ye’ll get is for Catherine. I promise ye Nessa will barely spare the rest of us a glance once she sees our daughter-by-marriage.” Caelan returned Andrew’s jovial expression.
“Is it really that easy?” Catherine whispered.
“Nay,” Rab responded in a low voice. “But with our warriors here watching and listening, it must look that way. The past will be left where it belongs, but it will take time for everyone to heal. The first step is the lairds getting along for all to see. We are bound together as family, but we also now have a mutual enemy. While Maxwell isnae long for this world, our shared anger unites us.”
“I ken they’re talking aboot our wedding feast, but would it bother ye if we shared it with Óg and Catriona?” Catherine bit the bottom corner of her lip.
“I already assumed we were,” Rab answered. “They’reourfamily.”
“Thank ye.” Catherine beamed as she kissed Rab. She turned toward Caelan and stepped toward him. “I’m sorry ye and Lady MacLaren werenae at our wedding.” She glanced at both Andrews. “I’m sorry ma family wasna there either. But I look forward to sharing our happiness with our entire family.”
“Lady Catherine. Lass.” Caelan engulfed her in a hug. “The part of me who is laird isnae pleased with ma tánaiste for the deception and taking matters into his own hands. But the larger part of me who is a da is elated that ma son finally wed the only woman he’ll ever love. The laird and da in me is thrilled that ma son married a woman who will be a formidable defender of our clan and our people but who also has a heart as big as the Highlands. Welcome, daughter.”
“Thank ye—Father.” Catherine wasn’t sure how she felt addressing another man by the title, but as the word slipped forth, she realized it felt right. But a moment of regret flashed through her, almost feeling as though she betrayed Andrew Mòr, since he’d been a father to her for nearly half her life. She twisted to look at Andrew, relieved to see happiness in the man’s eyes. She watched as Andrew hesitantly, at first, embraced Rab, clapping him hard on the back.
“Óg, Lady Catriona, feast with us and celebrate yer marriage alongside ma son and his bride,” Caelan announced. “We ken ye will have yer own feast among yer people, but I ken ye are both vera important to ma son and daughter. We open our doors and share our hearth with ye and yers.”
“I make one request,” Andrew Mòr spoke up. “Ma son and I have agreed to how we will handle him.” Andrew jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Maxwell. “I dinna usually send out invitations to an execution, but then again, I havenae ended a feud lately either. He will die where ma people can see, so they ken the mon who stole so much from us has breathed his last. But he has caused the MacLarens great heartache too. I want yer people to ken that we have put our differences to rest now that we ken the real cause. He is to die by stoning. The MacLarens, if ye wish, should be among those who cast their rocks.”
Catherine and Catriona exchanged a glance, neither eager to watch such a death when they would rather celebrate their marriages, but both women couldn’t deny their desire to watch Maxwell Douglas die for his crimes. Catriona had never confessed to Catherine how uncomfortable she felt around Maxwell, but Catherine sensed Maxwell had tried to do more than just intimidate his niece. From Andrew Óg’s expression when he looked at Catriona, Catherine suspected her friend confessed things to Andrew that she hadn’t shared with Catherine.
“We ride for Inveruglas then Edinample,” Caelan stated. The two clans had a full day’s ride ahead of them to reach Inveruglas. The MacLarens and MacFarlanes mounted their horses and wheeled them around to face southwest. When darkness forced them to stop for the night, the clans shared a campsite. Each warrior understood they were all safer traveling together and sharing a camp. It made it easier for them to eat together, but more than one man slept with one eye open. When dawn came, they were all back in the saddle.
* * *
“There is much to tell,” Andrew Mòr boomed as he and the rest of the MacFarlane-MacLaren party led their horses into Inveruglas’s bailey. Men had stood stunned on the battlements as Andrew ordered more boats to ferry the MacLarens across to the tiny isle. He didn’t hesitate to march to the keep’s top step, raising his hand to silence the whispers. “Ma niece, our Lady Catherine, has finally married Rab MacLaren. I ken that must cause ye shock, concern, but hopefully also happiness. It’s nay great secret that we’ve all wished she could marry Rab in the same breath we’ve wished he werenae a MacLaren. Be they impetuous or wise, they forced our clans to consider why we started feuding and why we’ve carried it on. What we once believed to be the truth, on each side, we’ve discovered isnae so. Ma son’s bride—aye, that’s right. Óg’s gone and married too. Lady Catriona was a Douglas yesterday morning, but she arrives here a much-loved MacFarlane daughter. It was she who informed Laird MacLaren and me that neither of us was to blame for how this feud started. The blame lies with Maxwell Douglas.”
Andrew motioned for guards to bring Maxwell to stand before Andrew at the bottom of the steps. He’d been awkward that morning when it was time to set off, so he sported a severely bruised faced. When he’d spewed oaths at Catriona, Andrew Óg’s boot landed against his ribs several times.
“Maxwell Douglas’s ambition for himself and for his clan led him to instigate the feud and perpetuate it. His wish to rival the Campbells led to many deaths for us and for the MacLarens. But we all ken how we’ve suffered for his last act of malice and manipulation.” Andrew Mòr looked down at Maxwell. “For organizing the raid that killed ma wife and daughters and that harmed so many of ma clanswomen, I sentence ye to death by stoning.”
“The king will have yer stones for this,” Maxwell spat.
“And who do ye think will tell the king what happened?” Caelan demanded as he came to stand beside Andrew Mòr. “Yer own brother handed ye over to us. Do ye think he will cry on the Bruce’s shoulder? Do ye think a MacLaren will complain aboot ye dying as ye should? I canna imagine a MacFarlane would. Do ye think the Campbells might take up yer cause?”
Dominic Campbell and his men had parted ways with the MacLarens and MacFarlanes that morning. They were making their way to Kilchurn and not one Campbell had looked back as they rode north. Caelan and Andrew Mòr stared at Maxwell, silently taunting him. When the former delegate to the royal court said nothing, Andrew cast his gaze over his gathered clan members.
“I willna make anyone cast a stone who doesnae wish to. But if ye do, ye’d do well to gather them now. The mon will be dead before the hour changes.”
