“I need to go home before my mother wonders where I’ve gone.”
“I need to find Androw, since I’m certain he knows we’re back.”
They were slow to step away, but once they broke their contact, Elene pulled the shawl over her head and hurried from the stables. Liam watched her disappear before he sloshed his way to Androw’s home, assuming he was there rather than the mead hall.
“You survived and returned to tell the tale.” Androw greeted Liam with a mug of warmed mead as his wife, Janet, set a trencher filled with a steaming pottage on the table. Liam gratefully accepted the refreshments offered. “Neither the weather nor the people have been on your side.”
“You were right with your warning. I was poorly received, but I suspect it wasn’t the message so much as the messenger. I think it would have been better had Grandfather or Uncle Callum come.”
“But they didn’t. Laird Sinclair trusts you.”
“He does, and he gave me this opportunity. But perhaps I shouldn’t have pushed so hard for this to be my turn. It might not serve him well after all.”
“No. People won’t remember who bore the message, but they’ll remember Laird Sinclair as a fair leader. That’s what matters. They already trust your family and him. As long as naught changes, then things will come right.”
“I suppose. But I doubt having another group of Norse traders arriving any day will help.”
“Actually, it should. Assuming you can keep Gunter from causing trouble. How you handle that will tell everyone what they should expect for trade in the future. If you can keep the Norse coming back despite losing control of the islands, then they will hail you a hero. If not…” Androw shrugged.
“Have they sailed any closer?”
“Yes. They should make landfall in a couple hours, just in time for the evening meal.”
Liam nodded but opted to take a long draw from his mead rather than say more about Gunter. When he finished eating, he retired to the chamber Janet showed him the day he arrived. He gladly accepted the steaming bath that awaited him. He donned a fresh leine and clean plaid. As he wrapped the yards of wool around his waist, he equated it to girding his loins rather than merely donning his clothes. He stepped out of Androw’s home as calls went up that the Norse rowed their curraghs ashore. He watched as six small row boats approached filled with blond and redheaded men and women. As the newest arrivals waded ashore, none appeared affected by the inclement weather, whereas Liam was certain he resembled a drowned rat when he arrived.
Gunter was easy to spot, with his sparkling ruby brooch clasping his heavy fur cloak around his shoulders. Deep-blue tattoos covered the sides of his shaved head and neck. Coarse blond hair that barely disguised the tattoos on the broad expanse covered his bare chest beneath the cloak. An axe swung from his waist while he carried a sword strapped to his back. Liam watched the man approach, certain the Norse king’s younger brother embodied every legend ever told of Norse conquerors.
When the Norseman and Highlander locked gazes, it convinced Liam that his earlier poor reception would seem like a grand fête compared to what he faced. Androw came to stand beside him while Janet remained under the awning of their home. Liam refused to look away first, so he spoke to Androw without turning to the Orcadian.
“I assume he speaks Norn.”
“He does. It’s closer to Norse than aught else. What he doesn’t know how to say in Norn, he can convey in Norse.”
“He’s trying to look for my grandfather without taking his eyes off me.”
“I know. He’s older than Callum, so he will treat you like an upstart whelp.”
Liam grinned. “He’s not wrong. I’mWeeLiam after all.” As Gunter drew closer, it was clear Liam and he were matched in size. However, there was a cynicism that oozed from Gunter than the younger man lacked. As Liam watched him, he prayed he never became so jaded. But he acknowledged he hadn’t traveled as far or likely fought in nearly as many battles as Gunter. Yet, he would guess his father and uncles were just as experienced as Gunter, but none carried an aura of entitlement and ennui that mixed with Gunter’s arrogance.
“Who’s this?” Gunter demanded, focusing on Androw, and ignoring Liam despite demanding to know who stood before him.
“I am Liam Mackay, Clan Mackay’s tánaiste and Clan Sinclair’s delegate. I represent my grandfather, Laird Liam Sinclair, the Earl of SinclairandOrkney.” Liam refused to be spoken about rather than spoken to. Rather than use his grandfather’s new title, the Earl of Caithness, he would remind Gunter just how wide his grandfather’s governance spread. His emerald gaze bore into Gunter’s murky-brown eyes, daring him to contest the reminder that Gunter’s brother no longer ruled the land upon which they stood. While the isles were now part of Scotland, in practice, they belonged to Clan Sinclair.
“Where is the earl?” Gunter looked around, exaggerating his search.
Liam looked to the sky before looking back at Gunter. “Likely in Dunbeath’s lists with my uncles and cousins.”
“Too old to sail?”
Liam grinned, then laughed. “The last time he was here, only six months ago, your brother’s delegate confused him for my Uncle Tavish. He’s hardly old.”
Gunter grunted as he sized up Liam. Clearly unwilling to extend his arm to shake forearms, Liam decided to match Gunter’s standoffishness with his own. He already had his feet planted hip-width apart, so he crossed his arms.
“He’s a Sinclair all right,” Androw guffawed. Liam had watched his grandfather and uncles adopt the same stance his entire life. His father embraced it once he married Mairghread, and the Sinclairs considered him a fifth brother. It was as natural to Liam as it was to his male relatives. It also made the already-impressive men positively intimidating. With his ebony hair and brows, the posture appealed to Liam’s brooding appearance and temperament.
“I’m a Sinclair as much as I am my father’s son—and heir.” Liam’s piercing gaze challenged Gunter, asserting his clan connections and his future as the Mackays’ leader. He wouldn’t allow Gunter to believe he was a messenger who would merely disappear once he completed the mission. With an arrogance that nearly matched Gunter’s, Liam continued. “On behalf of my grandfather, the earl, I welcome you back to Orkney.”
“Smug little turd,” Gunter snapped. Liam shrugged one shoulder, appearing unmoved by Gunter’s insult. The man’s opinion changed nothing. Gunter’s brother no longer controlled Orkney, which made Gunter the guest rather than Liam. Gunter turned toward Elene’s croft and bellowed, “Inburgh! Woman!”
