Ronan sighed. The thought of his fierce and proud grandsire losing face pricked him more than any of the old man’s blustering arguments. Crossing to the table, he poured himself more wine, this time tossing down the cup’s contents in one quick swig.
Turning back to his grandfather, he quelled the urge to grab his travel gear and be gone. Duty and his genuine love for Valdar held him in place.
Not that he intended to wed Duncan MacKenzie’s daughter.
He did, however, wish to decline as tactfully as possible.
Frowning, he reached to set down the wine cup when, for one startling moment, the image of a striking, well-made young woman flashed across his mind. High-colored, with a wild tumble of curling, red-gold hair spilling around her shoulders and great, sparkling eyes, she stared right at him from a narrow, shingled strand. Comely despite her disarray, or perhaps even more so because of it, she stood with one hand pressed to her breast as the tide swirled around her ankles, dampening her skirts and molding them to her legs.
Shapely legs, he noted, before his angle of the unexpected image changed and he saw her from a great distance, almost as if he were looking down on her from the clouds.
Ronan blinked and the startling image was gone.
Shaken, he cleared his throat. “I think you’d best tell me what kind of long-standing debt the Black Stag owes you,” he said, forcing his attention back to his grandfather before he noticed anything amiss. “Why would Duncan MacKenzie entrust his daughter’s life to a MacRuari?”
“Because,” Valdar returned, looking triumphant again, “he has me to thank for his own.”
“You?” Ronan’s jaw slipped.
“Aye, that’s the way of it.” Valdar tugged on his beard, his eyes going wistful until he caught himself and brushed a tad too energetically at his plaid. “You willna ken, but your father and the Black Stag were braw friends as laddies. Back then, I almost believed in Maldred’s most curious legacy, the immortality said to haunt some members of our clan.” He stopped fussing at his plaid and looked at Ronan, the over-brightness of his eyes the only sign the story agitated him. “I even thought I might be such a one. Blessed or cursed, it didn’t matter. I saw myself as invincible.”
“Go on.” Ronan leaned a hip against the table edge, folded his arms.
“Young Duncan was a frequent visitor at Dare. His father was a wise man and felt the lad should know all of Kintail, even its darkest corners. That the lad bravely set foot in Glen Dare endeared him to us all and your da and the Black Stag were soon inseparable, almost like brothers.”
Ronan couldn’t believe it. “My father and Duncan MacKenzie?”
His grandfather nodded. “So I said and so it was. At the time, I kept a galley at Eilean Creag. A gift of the MacDonalds, it was one of the finest galleys in all the Hebrides. So fine, your father and young Duncan pestered me always to take them a-journeying in it.” He blinked, swiped a hand across his whiskery cheek. “ ’Twas a glorious summer day when we set sail. All blue skies and strong winds, nary a cloud on the horizon. Until we neared the Isle of Scarba, near Jura —”
“Jura?” Ronan’s brows arched. “You sailed that far south?”
“I told you, the lads wanted to go journeying.” His grandfather looked peeved suddenly, older than his years. “I was taking them to Doon, to visit the MacLeans.”
“But you never made it, did you?” A strange prickling started at the back of Ronan’s neck, warning him. “Something happened and you saved the Black Stag’s life.”
His grandfather moved to the windows and stood staring out at the mist and rain, his hands clasped tightly behind him. “A storm blacker than I’d e’er seen blew in off the sea, turning day to night faster than you can blink. Huge, standing waves carried us off course, hurtling us way too close to the great Corryvreckan whirlpool.”
He turned then, his eyes haunted. “The galley didna founder, but in the wild tossing, young Duncan was swept over the side. Close as we were to the Corryvreckan, he would’ve been sucked down into the sea had I not sailed to the edge of the whirlpool and plucked him from the water.”
Ronan stared at him, finally understanding his grandfather’s hold over Duncan MacKenzie. “Now I see. The Black Stag is indeed indebted to you. For your bravery and valor when other men might have —”
“That had naught to do with it.” Valdar brushed at his plaid again, looking embarrassed. “I was a young fool, trusting in the dark luck of Maldred’s legacy and certain no ill would touch me.”
“Yet now, in claiming the debt, you’d risk ill befalling an innocent maiden?” Ronan regretted the words as soon as they left his tongue. He lifted a hand, took a step forward. “Grandfather, forgive me. I know you mean well —”
“Nae, I know well.” His eyes blazing, Valdar came forward, grasping Ronan’s hands with his own. “I am no longer young and foolish. I’m well aware of Maldred’s shadows. The dangers. You must believe, I would ne’er have offered for Gelis MacKenzie did I not believe she’d be safe here.”
Ronan pulled free and began pacing. “I’ll still not have her. ’Tis impossible.”
Valdar hurried after him, grabbing his arm. “You must. She is your salvation. She’s Dare’s salvation, as you are hers.”
Ronan’s stomach clenched. “I am no woman’s salvation,” he said, and the girl on the strand flashed once more across his mind. “Only her doom.”
“You must at least think about it.” His grandfather squeezed his arm. “You have till the morrow.”
The words spoken, Valdar strode from the room, leaving Ronan to stare after him, his gaze boring into the murk beyond his opened bedchamber door until his eyes burned and his throat tightened with silent rage.
He couldn’t, wouldn’t marry Gelis MacKenzie.
