Although he had the forces to go after the MacKinlochs again, Harkirk saw no reason to risk the lives of English soldiers or the ire of his king. Edward Plantagenet was not known for mercy. Though he wanted the Scots beneath his reign, his first priority was to dim the uprisings in the northwest region.
Harkirk calmed his temper, gathering a patience he didn’t feel. There was a way to accomplish vengeance, using the blood of Scots instead of his own men. Better to unite the clans against the MacKinlochs, letting them take down his enemy. The king wouldn’t care if the Scots murdered each other.
“We can’t defeat them,” the MacLachor chief argued. “The MacKinlochs are too strong.”
Harkirk crossed the room and grasped the man’s throat while his soldiers held the warrior’s arms back. “I watched their fortress burn. Everything they have lies in ashes. Now is the time to strike. And you’ll do it for me, if you want your daughter to live.”
His face twisted in a smile. “You can’t protect all of them. A pity your wife is dead. But you have a sister, don’t you?” He released the man’s throat and ordered, “You have until the Feast of Saint Agatha to bring me the first head. Or I’ll take your daughter’s instead.”
AlexbroughtLarenbackto Glen Arrin the following morning. When she departed, the first place she went was toward Father Nolan’s cavern on the far side of the loch. Frustration seeped through his mind and heart. Last night, he’d hoped to convince her to try harder, to be strong and stand at his side instead of abandoning him. But he’d begun to realize that Laren wasn’t going to change.
When it had just been the two of them and young Mairin, his wife had been a different woman. She’d devoted her time to their baby, spending her free hours weaving. She’d always had an eye for color, and he’d marveled at the vivid tapestries she’d woven.
But, most of all, he remembered the way she would stop whatever she was working on and fly into his arms, greeting him with a warm kiss. He’d thrived upon her affection, looking forward to it at the end of each day.
Now, she rarely offered a kiss in greeting or in farewell. He missed that. Although he wanted to initiate affection and pull her into his arms, he could sense the frigid awkwardness between them. And he didn’t know how to change it.
He watched Laren disappear along the shores of the loch, her red hair streaming out behind her from beneath the mantle she wore. And with every step she took away from him, it hurt a little more.
Alex took a breath and turned back to the task of setting down the new foundation. He’d widened the space, making it larger than it was before. The structure of the keep was now the size of a Norman castle, one sizeable enough to keep several families together.
Bram was the first to notice what he’d done. “This won’t work, Brother. It’ll take three times as long to build it from wood.”
“Not wood. Stone.” Alex stood up and pointed to the hills. “We’ll need to bring wagons up to the quarry, but this has to last longer. And the danger of fire is less.”
“We don’t have the men to build something that large,” Bram argued. “Has your mind gone soft?”
“It’s what our father wanted,” Alex reminded him. When they’d been growing up, he well remembered sitting at Tavin’s knee, hearing the promises his father had made. One day, the MacKinlochs would be strong enough to have a castle of their own. As a young boy, he’d looked up to his father, wanting so badly to make him proud.
And though Alex knew he wasn’t the chief Tavin had wanted, he could give him this legacy.
“We’ll build it in stages, starting with an outer wall.” Alex nodded toward the horizon. “Lord Harkirk is going to attack again, so we’ll need that defense.”
“We’d need twelve walls to hold him off,” Bram argued. From the doubt upon his brother’s face, Alex knew he had a lot of convincing to do. But he believed it was better to make plans for the long term instead of wasting time on wooden walls that could be easily breached.
When they passed the stables, he saw that Dougal had built a makeshift shelter for the horses with Callum’s help. The two men walked forwards to join them and Alex complimented him. “The shelter looks good.”
Dougal acknowledged the compliment with a half-smile, but it faded. “I thought you should know…Brodie is going east, to Perth. He’s planning to live with his wife’s family at the Murrays.”
“We need every man to stay if we want to rebuild Glen Arrin,” Alex insisted. If Brodie left, others might follow suit. A tightness caught in his gut with the fear that his clan was already starting to fracture.
Bram could only shrug. “You’ll have to talk to them.”
Alex didn’t answer. He knew he had to bring them together, but would words accomplish anything? Too many had lost so much.
“Tell the others I want to talk with them tonight. Then gather a group of men to go to the quarry,” he told Bram. To Dougal and Callum, he instructed, “Prepare the horses and wagons.” It was going to take the better part of a year to finish a castle, but, if they worked hard over the next few weeks—with everyone helping—they could get the foundation and outer wall completed.
Callum drew closer and rested his hand upon Alex’s shoulder. Though his younger brother didn’t speak, he exerted a slight pressure, as a gesture of support.
“We’ll manage,” Alex told him. “Somehow.”
As his brothers departed, Alex surveyed the damage. Only five huts had survived the fires, and they’d lost fourteen men and boys in the fight—nearly a third of their clan. The grief and frustration threatened to close over him, but he shut out the emotions.
Though he wasn’t meant to be chief, he’d sworn a vow to himself that he would prove his father wrong. He’d promised to give everything he could to Glen Arrin, placing the people’s needs before his own.
And yet it had all fallen apart.
They couldn’t live this way, not with their pride splintered, their homes in ashes. Somehow, he had to gather the people back together. If they helped each other, they could overcome their losses. But, most of all, they needed to rebuild their pride.
